Eddie slid the little plastic gun back under his closet's shoe rack. He had spent the last half-hour once again pretending to want to commit suicide. The pot didn't help either, his blue eyes now redder than ever.
"Fuck," he muttered to himself, "Saturdays are boring as fuck."
His tall, pale, 17-year-old body was topless, but a pair of loose fitting black jean shorts clung barely to his waist. He ran both of his hands through his matted, light brown hair and sighed loudly, hoping that anyone would hear, but he was alone in the house. His sister Jenny was out, on a date with his best friend's older brother.
His best friend! That's right. Tim. Eddie sat down on his bed and fumbled through the small mountain of cigarette cartons to the phone on his night table. He dialed Tim's number and Frank, Tim's father, picked up.
"Hello?"
"Hey, Mr. Teller! What's going on?" Eddie coughed and cleared his throat loudly.
"Eddie? God damn it, Eddie. Are you stoned again?"
"Hm? Oh, no sir. I just woke up."
"It's a quarter to ten at night. My ass, you just woke up."
"Sorry, sir, but I was asleep. Hey, is Tim around?"
"He's still in the hospital. Christ, you can't even remember, can you?"
"In the---oh, yeah! Yeah, I remember. Hey, how is he?"
"You just saw him today! You know how he is! He'll be out tomorrow. God damn it, Eddie. Get some sleep."
The line went dead, but Eddie continued talking into the receiver.
"That's right, sir. Hm? Well, not since yesterday. I wanted to tell her, but---you know how girls can be. I brought her some firewood."
Becoming bored with his game, Eddie hung up the phone. Reaching to the floor for his near-empty bottle of Jack Daniel's, he swigged down the remainder. He then stretched himself out and pulled his right foot up on the bed. Studying his toenails intently, he began picking out the dirt caked underneath them. Soon after, he started pulling off some of the longer nails, but quickly gave up.
He rolled fully onto his bed and onto his pile of pornography---a veritable mattress of magazines. He inhaled deeply, the starchy scent of dried semen filling his nostrils. Reaching into the pile, he pulled out a Penthouse special edition: the farmer's daughter issue.
He flipped through the magazine, and was in the middle of wondering why there weren't any Black girls, when he stopped on an ad for a male enhancement pill.
In the ad was a black-and-white photo of a dark-eyed, busty woman with a full mane of black hair, sucking her left finger.
"Oh, that's it," he whispered hungrily, unbuttoning his shorts and pulling himself out.
Pumping himself, a pleasant sensation fluttered its way from his crotch up into his throat. "Yeah, yeah, bitch---suck it, yeah, you like that, yes you do, yes, suck it, suck, aw, fucking suck it, bitch . . ."
Tim naked! Fuck! Damn it! "Come on, come on, bitch, fucking suck it, yeah---come on, I like that, yeah, I do . . ."
Going to the hospital, grabbing Tim's naked, sweaty ass---no!
"Bitch, come on, you fucking slut, you fucking whore . . . bring it, bring it---oh---oh---!"
His head spun, swimming in a cloudy haze of orgasm and total confusion. Unbidden images of Tim flickered into his imagination. Then, a picnic basket, full of daisies.
What the fuck did all this mean?
"Fuck," he muttered to himself, "Saturdays are boring as fuck."
His tall, pale, 17-year-old body was topless, but a pair of loose fitting black jean shorts clung barely to his waist. He ran both of his hands through his matted, light brown hair and sighed loudly, hoping that anyone would hear, but he was alone in the house. His sister Jenny was out, on a date with his best friend's older brother.
His best friend! That's right. Tim. Eddie sat down on his bed and fumbled through the small mountain of cigarette cartons to the phone on his night table. He dialed Tim's number and Frank, Tim's father, picked up.
"Hello?"
"Hey, Mr. Teller! What's going on?" Eddie coughed and cleared his throat loudly.
"Eddie? God damn it, Eddie. Are you stoned again?"
"Hm? Oh, no sir. I just woke up."
"It's a quarter to ten at night. My ass, you just woke up."
"Sorry, sir, but I was asleep. Hey, is Tim around?"
"He's still in the hospital. Christ, you can't even remember, can you?"
"In the---oh, yeah! Yeah, I remember. Hey, how is he?"
"You just saw him today! You know how he is! He'll be out tomorrow. God damn it, Eddie. Get some sleep."
The line went dead, but Eddie continued talking into the receiver.
"That's right, sir. Hm? Well, not since yesterday. I wanted to tell her, but---you know how girls can be. I brought her some firewood."
Becoming bored with his game, Eddie hung up the phone. Reaching to the floor for his near-empty bottle of Jack Daniel's, he swigged down the remainder. He then stretched himself out and pulled his right foot up on the bed. Studying his toenails intently, he began picking out the dirt caked underneath them. Soon after, he started pulling off some of the longer nails, but quickly gave up.
He rolled fully onto his bed and onto his pile of pornography---a veritable mattress of magazines. He inhaled deeply, the starchy scent of dried semen filling his nostrils. Reaching into the pile, he pulled out a Penthouse special edition: the farmer's daughter issue.
He flipped through the magazine, and was in the middle of wondering why there weren't any Black girls, when he stopped on an ad for a male enhancement pill.
In the ad was a black-and-white photo of a dark-eyed, busty woman with a full mane of black hair, sucking her left finger.
"Oh, that's it," he whispered hungrily, unbuttoning his shorts and pulling himself out.
Pumping himself, a pleasant sensation fluttered its way from his crotch up into his throat. "Yeah, yeah, bitch---suck it, yeah, you like that, yes you do, yes, suck it, suck, aw, fucking suck it, bitch . . ."
Tim naked! Fuck! Damn it! "Come on, come on, bitch, fucking suck it, yeah---come on, I like that, yeah, I do . . ."
Going to the hospital, grabbing Tim's naked, sweaty ass---no!
"Bitch, come on, you fucking slut, you fucking whore . . . bring it, bring it---oh---oh---!"
His head spun, swimming in a cloudy haze of orgasm and total confusion. Unbidden images of Tim flickered into his imagination. Then, a picnic basket, full of daisies.
What the fuck did all this mean?
