Moderately Homo
Prison-style
The duration of the past week had been nothing short of traumatizing and life altering - and not in the good way - for Sam. Ever since the first Great Mailbox Meeting of 2013, otherwise known as Sam coincidentally getting his mail at the same time as Daniel, he kind of had this perpetual desire to hang himself from the top bunk with his sheets - prison style. Except his dear ol' madre decided to take down the "wooden monstrosity" he liked to call a bunk bed at the tender age of seven. At least for Sam it'd been a gradual process. It had started when there was a power outage and they had no firewood; the top rung of the ladder was the first to go. And it moved on until - no ladder, no railings? Not safe! No more bunk bed.
In retrospect, maybe his mom had seen this coming. It would also explain his lack of ceiling fan.
So, yeah. Instead of closing his eyes at night and having a good wank about he and Daniel's dreamy encounters at the mailbox each evening, he was too busy moaning and groaning (not in the good way) about how much life sucked (seriously, not in the good way) and he'd have a constant re-showing montage of the past week's events.
Monday: He'd forgotten to put on his shoes on his way to the post, thus resulting in wet feet.
Tuesday: He had shoes on this time, but found himself in Mario PJ pants - Daniel didn't seem like he was the type to appreciate his get-up, but then again he never actually looked at him.
Wednesday: He was fully and decently clothed (yes!), but it'd been extra windy and a wrongly addressed Playgirl tossed itself across the street and of course managed to be road-blocked by Daniel's foot. Sam's face had turned fifty shades of fuck my life when Daniel wordlessly (and expressionlessly) held out the now-tattered magazine and he couldn't even manage to mutter a "not mine" after he'd scuffled across the street to collect "his" magazine. Their hands had touched, which was kind of cool.
Thursday: He'd never had a real reason to hate his mom's bitch-ass two-faced Chihuahua before that day. She'd managed the Great Escape to the outside world alongside Sam, Sydney's My Little Pony short-boxer-thing in tow of her little Chihuahua mouth. He didn't even think to say "not mine" and ran directly back in the house. So Daniel probably thought that that was Sam's way of saying "definitely mine."
Friday: Daniel's dad got the mail. And fuck if Sam wasn't fully clothed, alone, and had normal people mail for once.
Come Saturday, it was safe to say that Sam had officially fucked his chances of wooing Daniel over through the Great Mailbox Meetings. With an exclamation of "fuck that, being gay is too hard," he found himself in a green booth across from Cassie Ho, a girl he'd met during the single time he'd went to Pilates with his mom.
He wasn't really paying attention to her, but when the food came he noticed that she'd gotten some sort of Eggplant thing with a salad (no dressing), while Sam opted for the steak sandwich (medium rare, extra mayo) and he thinks he has a salad (swimming in dressing, of course).
He'd went back to her house after, and she asked him if he wanted to stay the night. Her parents weren't home, so it would be okay, she had said. But Sam's parents were home, and wanted him home by 11 thank you very much - but he didn't say that.
But before he left, they'd kissed. It wasn't anything new for Sam - he's kissed lots of girls before. The one he shared with Cassie wasn't bad, but Sam probably wouldn't mark it as memorable (the one that takes the cake being the time when he and his sort-of-friend, Scott, got drunk for their first -and last- time. Afterwards they'd shared mutual looks of disgust, never again, and a nod that confirmed the kiss was to remain unspoken and un-thought of for the rest of Humankind).
Cassie smelled nice, though. Nothing like eau de booze and weed (cough), Scott. And that was enough for Sam.
--
Sam didn't make his 11:00 curfew.
In retrospect, maybe his mom had seen this coming. It would also explain his lack of ceiling fan.
So, yeah. Instead of closing his eyes at night and having a good wank about he and Daniel's dreamy encounters at the mailbox each evening, he was too busy moaning and groaning (not in the good way) about how much life sucked (seriously, not in the good way) and he'd have a constant re-showing montage of the past week's events.
Monday: He'd forgotten to put on his shoes on his way to the post, thus resulting in wet feet.
Tuesday: He had shoes on this time, but found himself in Mario PJ pants - Daniel didn't seem like he was the type to appreciate his get-up, but then again he never actually looked at him.
Wednesday: He was fully and decently clothed (yes!), but it'd been extra windy and a wrongly addressed Playgirl tossed itself across the street and of course managed to be road-blocked by Daniel's foot. Sam's face had turned fifty shades of fuck my life when Daniel wordlessly (and expressionlessly) held out the now-tattered magazine and he couldn't even manage to mutter a "not mine" after he'd scuffled across the street to collect "his" magazine. Their hands had touched, which was kind of cool.
Thursday: He'd never had a real reason to hate his mom's bitch-ass two-faced Chihuahua before that day. She'd managed the Great Escape to the outside world alongside Sam, Sydney's My Little Pony short-boxer-thing in tow of her little Chihuahua mouth. He didn't even think to say "not mine" and ran directly back in the house. So Daniel probably thought that that was Sam's way of saying "definitely mine."
Friday: Daniel's dad got the mail. And fuck if Sam wasn't fully clothed, alone, and had normal people mail for once.
Come Saturday, it was safe to say that Sam had officially fucked his chances of wooing Daniel over through the Great Mailbox Meetings. With an exclamation of "fuck that, being gay is too hard," he found himself in a green booth across from Cassie Ho, a girl he'd met during the single time he'd went to Pilates with his mom.
He wasn't really paying attention to her, but when the food came he noticed that she'd gotten some sort of Eggplant thing with a salad (no dressing), while Sam opted for the steak sandwich (medium rare, extra mayo) and he thinks he has a salad (swimming in dressing, of course).
He'd went back to her house after, and she asked him if he wanted to stay the night. Her parents weren't home, so it would be okay, she had said. But Sam's parents were home, and wanted him home by 11 thank you very much - but he didn't say that.
But before he left, they'd kissed. It wasn't anything new for Sam - he's kissed lots of girls before. The one he shared with Cassie wasn't bad, but Sam probably wouldn't mark it as memorable (the one that takes the cake being the time when he and his sort-of-friend, Scott, got drunk for their first -and last- time. Afterwards they'd shared mutual looks of disgust, never again, and a nod that confirmed the kiss was to remain unspoken and un-thought of for the rest of Humankind).
Cassie smelled nice, though. Nothing like eau de booze and weed (cough), Scott. And that was enough for Sam.
--
Sam didn't make his 11:00 curfew.
♠ ♠ ♠
Am I fired yet??