Kiss This Bedwetting Cosmonaut Goodnight

shimmering under a moon made in anger and haste

The first time I meet Laslo Cervenka, I also meet his cock, and something in my heart says vomit-at-first-sight.

Because his eyes are staring up at me all big brown and bambi-like, drowning in innocence and glistening like the pre-cum on the tip of his dick. His face reads with this erotic paradox of a fucked up sort of purity, those lips swollen and shining with spit, I want to vomit. The fists at my side twitch with the passing thought of punching him in the face, the usual resort my lack of decision making skills agrees upon, but I don't. Not today. I feel a tickle in the back of my throat as I look at him the same way God probably looks down upon all of us, before I even hear his last name.

It doesn’t even make sense. Even though I’m getting the full uncensored panorama of his cock, all pink and throbbing and flopping from the hem of his tight white briefs, he gives off the aura of a blushing Japanese school girl.

Even before I even hear his name is fucking Laslo.

Christina lifts her bedroom eyes towards me and wipes the back of her hand on those swollen pale lips that are still echoing with the tip of Laslo’s dick. She’s grinning at me now. Christina grinning like she's in on some inside joke no one else is a part of.

“Ah, Dom, this is my new friend, Laslo. He’s gonna be hanging out with us for now.”

No words are able to pry my lips open. I throw my worn out backpack into the corner of the room, next to an empty bottle of Jack Daniel’s and a VHS version of Peter Pan.

Christina laughs but I’m not even looking at her, I’m just looking at him. All of Laslo right in front of me. This is Laslo’s big debut, sitting on my plaid bed covers, his throbbing python of love welcoming me to my own room, and he looks like he’s about to cry.

I watch his Adam’s apple pressing against the pale skin of his throat as he swallows.

Echoing in my mind I can hear Christina's irritating voice with that bullshit book cover analogy and a "Dom, stop being so goddamn judgmental", but I ignore it the same way I did even when she first said it. A tiny voice that's probably a broken shell of a conscious agrees with her. But whatever, there's still failure and blood pumping through my veins with every breath I draw in, and I don’t have to time to give a fuck about another shitty person in my life.

These are life instincts. Or something.

“Uh-uh, um, hi…”

His cheeks are burning that classic virgin blood red against those pale mattress cheeks of his, and he looks like I just ran over his pet dog.

Christina’s all maternal adoration drowning in her eyes. “Isn’t he just adorable?” She’s pinching both his cheeks with those overgrown claws of hers, and she’s saying, “I picked him up at convenience store down the street.” She says, “Don’t you just want to eat him all up?”

He finally manages to tuck away his dick from my assassinating glare.

Christina cheekily ruffles his drug mart pink hair, because Laslo has pink fucking hair, but I guess that’s the sort of typical thing that’s born from the failed father-son relationship that's clearly weighing on his conscience. I just left cigarette butts on the hardwood and put the empty OJ carton back in the fridge.

I'm probably a spitting image of his dad right now, with just a little more fuck up and maybe more liberal fists.

“Stop using my fucking room like a prostitution ring, you damn slut.”

Christina's laughing, too hard and too loud again. Laslo is refusing to meet my glare. Christina with her cross necklace and cross earrings and fashion-forward religion who only accepts the holy host of cock to melt on her tongue, she’s cooing, “Aw, are you just jealous that I got to dig my claws into him before you?”

I cringe a little at that voice she's faking on purpose. Her glimmering eyes are all-knowing. My bitten down nails are digging into my palms again.

“I’m-I’m so sorry, I really didn’t know, I-I-”

“Come now, Laslo,” she’s purring, “Dom’s just pissed off because he couldn’t score such a cutie like you.”

Dom’s just pissed off because there’s a pink haired fucker lounging naked on his bed and he’s already suffering with this migraine that’s clawing into his brain matter and there's sleep already gnawing at the edge of his consciousness, so he'd really enjoy attending to that, thank you so fucking much.

“Get the fuck out of my bed.”

Christina throws her dark curtain of dead hair over her shoulder and rolls her eyes all 90’s sitcom like. “Oh whatever you pissy pants." She accessorizes this with a melodramatic sigh.

Laslo appears to be a quick learner as he shoots up like a soldier and for a moment I'm waiting for his salute but he just flicks his hair out of those teary eyes and stands up straight.

This lanky tree-like fucker is taller than me.

Christina slips by me and calls for her little pet with a wink thrown over her shoulder. Laslo swallows again and obediently follows after her, daring to peek at me once more before he goes.

“Again, I’m just- I’m just really sorry. I didn’t know and I, um, I-I’m Laslo…”

With such a foreign name I’d expect some sort of accent, and he’s got those European cheekbones but his voice is all American and cracking like a pre-pubescent boy.

“Laslo, darling, don’t mind Dom, he’s just a little baby,” Christina’s saying while draping an arm over his chest and urging him out the door. She says, “He just needs a good blowjob and he’ll be fine, c’mon, let’s go.”

I don’t say anything as I wait for them to disappear from my sight, which they do, and I am finally left with the tranquility and peace that all of alone encompasses. My body drags itself over to the bed, a single mattress and cum stained bed covers that I affectionately call home, and I swathe myself in the blankets in a self-loathing cocoon.

The last thing on my mind is this pink-haired fucker with his curious sounding name because picking up abandoned puppies off the road side is Christina's hobby aside from knitting and sucking dick. I couldn’t be bothered to remember every lipstick stained cock that walked through the front door.

But I guess it’s always that one, isn’t it? That one person after you stopped caring, stopped bothering, that slips into the cracks of your apathy and detonates the catastrophe that fucks up your entire goddamn life.

And that same nauseating vomit-at-first-sight feeling kept clawing at the sides of my esophagus the same as the first time, and the next time, and the next. Laslo with his pink hair and his lanky beanstalk height and those watered down shit brown eyes. And every time I wanted to puke.

But I felt that nausea began to pass as I slowly watched every hint of life leave those teary eyes for the very last time.

Goodnight, Laslo Cervenka.
♠ ♠ ♠
i honestly feel like my emotions towards this are
wait what

but c'mon admit it you think that's a bomb ass name too fucking laslo
you bomb ass little shit you