White Teeth and Blue-Blooded Boys

The first time I jacked off to Henry's face I was in ninth grade and the guilt stayed with me for the rest of the day. Not the guilt of jacking off, I'd done that too many times to count, but the fact that imagining a real life person, a person I knew, languidly running his hands down my body made me come made me sick. I also realized that for so many years beforehand the people I pictured while jacking it looked eerily similar to my best friend.

It was early in the morning so my parents were probably still asleep, the birds chirping to one another outside my window, the blue-black light creating bars on my hardwood floor. I pulled off my boxers, threw them somewhere in the bottom of my closet so I could wash them myself, and while I was putting on new ones my phone buzzed.

When I saw it was Henry I started to feel the same way I felt when I got on boats, so I ignored him while I went to the bathroom and splashed cold water on my face; a vain attempt at cooling my skin to normal temperature because I was still thinking about his hands all over me and I was starting to feel like jacking off again.

It wasn't the last time that my best friend's eyes were inside my head while I came.