Moderately Homo

“Syd, I think I sent nudes to someone’s boyfriend,” Sam said and tossed his phone to his lady friend who was currently lying on the floor: phone in one hand, currently being applied lip gloss in the other. There was a textbook resting haphazardly on its spine across the room because at one point they had been studying for five minutes - a total of two minutes more than yesterday.

They had this routine: Sam would yell something like "Mom, we're going to study" and him and Sydney would march to his room, open their books "but I thought we were only supposed to do chapter three, why are you on chapter four?" And Sam would say, "I don't know, but Marco does. Let's just copy off of him during lunch," and that's exactly what they would do (the rest of the time was spent with Sydney painting her nails and applying more and more crap to her lips while Sam plays chess online before getting frustrated and switching to checkers and getting frustrated again so he switches to ping pong and before you know it he’s on the other side of the room, fuming and picking at his cuticles until Sydney leaves and he can have a much needed jerking session because he opted for the Cheerios instead when Daniel ran by this morning).

“Who-huh-you what?” Sydney spouted and threw the phone back at the offender, glaring as she dropped her phone to swipe the access goo from her face that totally read you made me spill my lip gloss and Sam gave her one back that said how dare I?

"You were supposed to read it asshat," Sam said and slid his finger across the unlock screen nonetheless and started to read. "I. Don't. Know. Who. You. Are-"

"Why are you reading like that?"

"Uh, because all of the words are capitalized. See?" Sam shoved the phone back in Sydney's face, this time taking care to avoid the still un-opened tube of lip-gloss resting in her hand. Women.

"You're not reading it right," Sydney said after giving it a quick skim. She gave him a pointed look before she started smacking her gum a bit more than usual (which was already enough, in Sam's opinion) to set the mood. "I duh know who you are, nor do I give a fuck who, what, why, and where you are-"

"She forgot 'when.'" Sydney stared at him blankly. "The five W's?" Sam tried.

She muttered something like, "God, you're stupid," to which Sam said, "God, you're too white for this," before she snapped, "just let me finish." She continued:

"... Buh I do care why you sent my boyfriend naked pictures though? Ass on the counter and some more shit- Wow, Sam, you whore. Moving on, -fucking nasty. I seen them myself and frankly I don't know why you put them out there. Not something to break your neck for. Buh you needa get that ass off the counter and in a tanning salon 'cause my boyfriend doesn't like white girlssss so, back up bitch. It's simple. You're basic. Kay thanks bye!"

"… Sam, what the fuck was that?" Sydney looked up and Sam tried not to laugh at her still-present "black girl" voice (and failed drastically).

“Can you believe it? She called me basic, Syd.”

“So wrong number?”

“Wrong number.”

“Are you going to text her back?”

“I want to.”

“Can I help?”

“Can you? Yes. May you? No. I don’t want to go to jail for harassment.”

“She’s the one that called you basic, remember?” Sydney reminded, causing a deep, dramatic inhale from Sam.

“You’re in.” He nodded feverously, probably having a little bit too much fun and acting a little too gay. He just kept telling himself that it wasn’t everyday that you get a text from a random number saying that he needed to get his ass in a tanning salon. It was directed towards a girl, yes. But what Sam really wanted to know was what was she doing sitting on a counter. She probably had some major camel-toe. Which was ew. Random (black) girl was right, it probably was a nasty sight.

Sam took another look at the clock and frowned. “Actually, you’d better get going,” he put it bluntly, the only way to get Sydney’s attention.

“But… why?” Women – never able to just take a hint.

“I need to take a major dump.” Sam winced, scrunching his face and clutching at his stomach. He couldn’t believe he just said that. Actually, according to the past three days Daniel’s been getting his mail at 4:35 and fuck it, Sam wanted to, too. But there’s no way he’d do it with the all-too-watchful eyes of Sydney around.

Okaaay, so he would need a little one on one time with the d if all went according to plan. Same thing.

“You’re so gross.” With one last smack of the lips, she was out of the house and Sam could already see her getting into her car and backing out of his driveway shortly thereafter. He looked at the clock: perfect - 4:30. He had just enough time to fix his hair and put on his shoes and ohmygodhe’swalkingouthisdooralreadywhatthefuck. He thrashed out of his bedroom, almost tripping on a sock and then a probably dirty pair of boxers on his way before making his way to the stairs. He almost fell down those, too, as if the boxers weren’t enough. He ignored his mom shouting “ARE YOU GOING TO PILATES WITH ME TONIGHT?” as he fumbled with the front door and stepped out like he didn’t just trip on his probably-dirty boxers or get asked to go you-know-where with you-know-who.

But he did forget to put on his shoes, dammit. He made his way to the mailbox calmly, coolly, naturally. Like “oh, look at this. Just two neighbors getting their mail at the same time. Whatta fuckin’ coincidence.”

They made eye contact before he turned around to his box and it went like:

Sam: hey

Daniel: …

Sam’s dick: heeey

Sam’s feet: we’re cold

Daniel: …

Sam only had one thought on his mind: omigodhetotallyknowsimasturbatetohisshirtlessphotosonfacebook.