Warning:
Firstly, I'm new to this whole writing thing. Secondly, I have a bad sense of humour and that tends to be present even in my most intense romance/ sex scenes. Lastly, if you want more you have to tell me, I lose interest in stories easily and will probably not finish anything I start unless someone is hounding me.
Enjoy.
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Impossible Love 01
I'm what most guys call 'Mr. Fucking Perfect My Ass' and what most girls moan 'Mr. Perfect Ass Fucking'.
It's no surprise because I'm not very tall and have mischievous girlish good looks rather then drool-worthy man muscle rippling through my delicate frame. The guys have no idea why the women love me because I'm no jock and secrete no manly body odour. But to the girls, I'm a real life anime character, who looks sensitive but has a dark dominating playfulness deep inside.
Sensitive my shiny white arse, the only thing I'm sensitive to is how my hair looks when it's really windy. That's right, I'm a narcissistic, selfish little bastard and I love every inch of it.
And that's what makes me such a potent mix. I'm hot, and I know it. The visual and the attitude combined does wonders when you want to get into someone's pants.
So you could have guessed the shock I felt when I was informed by my less-then-abusive uncle that I was to be moved to a private, all-boys boarding school. For once in my over-sexed life I was faced with the daunting issue of self-masturbation.
Smiling gleefully at me over his morning newspaper, my uncle's double chin wobbled erratically as he described to me all the fun I would have. Apparently it was his old high school, where he had been football captain and school captain and blah blah blah blah...
It was so like him to ignore me in his plans for MY life, which is painfully punctuated by the way he continues to talk to me as if I was still at the table when I am upstairs packing my stuff. I have suspicions that he has an imaginary version of me that he has created just so he could torture me with his incessant chattering even when I'm not physically around. The bastard.
Though, at least I would be getting away from him and my old high school. Due to my tendencies to love myself more than the flavour of the week, the school bitch had put a bounty on my head and was driving me insane with her dictionary-length love letters.
Finding one of the said bitch's love letters tucked into the side of my school bag I crumple it up and toss it angrily at my desk. Then, being the OC (Obsessively Compulsive) person I am, I stood up, picked up the letter, and folded it neatly before placing it carefully in my waste basket. Yeah, I have problems.
After a week of being silently pissed at my bastard of an uncle and packing and repacking I finally found myself at my new room and spraying everything with disinfectant. I could see dust everywhere and the discovery of a cockroach had me hyperventilating into a brown paper bag.
An hour of spraying, hyperventilation and cussing in four different languages finally convinced me I needed my pills.
Rummaging through my bag I felt the cold hand of reality go down my pants, I'd forgotten to pack my pills. But that was impossible! I was so meticulous that I even packed my own toilet paper so that I wouldn't have to suffer the rasp of cheap, nameless brands on my tenders.
But it soon became apparent with everything neatly lined up on my bed covers that my pills had somehow deceased along the way. My over analysing and paranoid mind immediately brought up the prospect that this was a part of one of my uncle's sick jokes, but I knew that was untrue. He cared too much for his own reputation to let me go to his old school without pills, because without pills, I have the potential to commit acts of manslaughter and aggravated assault.
Just as I was about to reinitiate hyperventilation into my now soggy brown paper bag, the door to my room swang open and a bear of man leapt in. What was this, some kind of preschool entertainment session?
"Welcome roomie!" He bellowed, and before I could blink he had me in a painful headlock while he knuckled down on my head with a determined fist. Somehow I got the feeling God hated me.
Reeling out of shock and into panic about my hair, I brought my elbow down hard on his steel abbs. A bit of pain flickered across his features but I was in AGONY. What the fuck did this steroid junkie take!?
Quickly backing up to my bed I noticed that the guy had brought an audience. All of them were big, bulking, beefy brutes; need I go on with the alliteration for emphasis?
"Awwww, man you scared the poor kid. Shame on you Troy!" laughed a gigantic redhead. I wanted to spit on his freckled smirking face. Coming up close and taking up much too much of my personal bubble he stuck out a calloused paw.
"The name is Torq, yours?"
I was too scared to ignore him and too disgusted to take his hand so I replied in as much of a monotone as I could manage, "Decarde."
Now when I tell people my name, those with 100+ IQ would normally nod thoughtfully and ask me if I was into philosophy, 70+ would crack some lame joke about me being a fruit, 50+ would have some sort of vague recognition flash through their eyes and at last, the >20 would have no reaction. Guess where these four big jocks belonged on the IQ ladder?
"Cool, I'm your roomie Troy, and those two are my buddies Can and Do," announced the brute that had ravaged my hair. My elbow was obviously not an effective attack weapon because he still had that shit-eating smile plastered onto his face.
Apparently the jocks all thought 'Can' and 'Do' was a funny combination. Lame. Their names were actually Canis and Dominic. I wanted to puke from all the dumbass lameness.
For the next few weeks Troy stuck to me like dog shit on the bottom of brand new stilettos. I would be eating and he would come sit next to me, peeing and he would use the one next to mine, and if he could, probably even shower next to me if I didn't make sure I showered at odd irregular hours when he was off at football practice.
I was at the point of screaming and throwing myself out the window, when he broke the last straw and paraded into our room naked. Now I didn't give a shit that he was naked and was hung like a fucking minotaur, but the minute his sweat-slicked ass connected with my pristine bed covers I launched myself at him.
It must have been shock because he went down like a rock. I'd see him in football practice and trust me; it took a lot more than a skinny-assed girly boy like me to move him even an inch.
Always being one to take hold of opportunity, I brought my legs up and straddled him with my hands moving to grip tightly around his neck. Did I ever mention what a fucking gorgeous neck this piece of shit had?
"I have had enough of your crap on my stuff you asswipe!" I yelled, hyperventilating a little as my rage took over and my grey cells pulled out their oxygen masks.
"Don't touch my stuff, don't sit next to me, don't pee near me and most of all DON'T spread your fucking ass-juices all over my sheets you fucking piece of...!" Before I could finish Troy had effectively dismantled me and now held me hostage with his mountain of a body.
