I Original Play #2
“He’s drunk,” Dr. Westfield said. “All the time. All the goddamned time. It’s a problem.
He’s a lush. He’s a problem for me. I don’t want you associating with someone who is drunk all the time.
I’m not treating him any differently. He should be an appropriate young gentleman, same as the straight students. ”
“Dad, you said that there was an emergency. What was the emergency?”
“You got a DUI,” Dr. Westfield said. “You are very troubled. It is a problem.” “You told me to come home, so I came home because I worried about my family,” Westfield said.
Westfield’s brother, Peck, walked into the living room.
Peck smelled of sweat and cologne.
Dr. Westfield wore nice black pants but had taken his dress socks off.
He had unbuttoned several buttons on his dress shirt and had taken off his lab coat.
He had a beer in his hand. The television played the current sports game - the local team was losing again. They were having another bad season.
Dr. Westfield had shaved carefully and had short dark hair with a hint of gray. He smiled a thin, ironic smile.
“My sons,” he said. “I thought so much of what you would become. What we would accomplish. Fuck. We can hardly accomplish lunch. Westfield, you had a DUI. You swore you would quit drinking, and now you are on the internet, drinking wine. And then you drove home. Jesus.”
“Dad,” Westfield said. “I’m an honor roll student at New Liberty High School and a celebrated actor who knows how to direct short films and similar projects.
I don’t know where you perceive me as being worthless because I don’t fight people.
I don’t. I don’t hurt people. I don’t like violence. I try to be a good person.”
Peck, aka Peck Westfield, dominated every room he was in. He stood six foot two and two hundred twenty pounds, all muscle. The steroids kept him strong, and so did a ridiculous amount of cardio.
Westfield looked at Peck.
“Admit you suck,” Peck said.
“No, I admit you are a jerk,” Westfield said.
“You need to quit drinking,” Peck said. He grabbed a beer. “I need a beer,” he said. “I’m celebrating that I’m the man of the house. Both of you are terrible. Dad got fired from work. I am the real man here.”
“Jesus,” Dr. Westfield said. “I need to work.”
“No, Dad,” Westfield said. “It’s nighttime.”
“Oh,” Dr. Westfield said.
“In the morning you will have to work. Now it’s night. You don’t have to work.” “Okay,” Dr. Westfield said. “I won’t work right now.”
Madelyne looked at the pill container. There were five pills for her to take. The pills would make her gain weight and get tired - not asleep, but tired. She would be able to wake up if needed but would be sluggish. They worked, though. They were effective antipsychotics.
She looked in the mirror.
She saw Melody in the mirror behind her.
Melody was a skinny brunette waif of a teenage girl with cargo pants and a tank top.
“Fuck a nerd,” Melody said. “Someone hideous. Fuck someone hideous. Then kill yourself.”
Madelyne ignored Melody.
“Kill yourself,” Melody said. “You have to kill yourself. It’s very important that you kill yourself. You don’t understand. You’ve been caught. Being bad. Very bad. They’ll find out your secret.”
“No,” Madelyne whispered, the tiniest of whispers. “They won’t find out.”
“They will,” Melody said. “They’ll find out about me, and you will burn. You will burn, and someone will dethrone you as queen bee.”
“No,” Madelyne whispered, tiny as a mouse. “No. You don’t matter.”
“Everyone matters,” Melody said.
“Everyone except you,” Madelyne said.
Madelyne took out the five pills and put the first three in her mouth. Then she took some water and drank it. Then she put the other two pills in her mouth and drank more water to wash them down.
She went to bed. She tried to watch something on the laptop but wasn’t interested in it. She got distracted by porn and masturbated desperately while dreaming of a consensual threesome with two jocks - real studs. Melody had left at some point without saying much else.
Mitchell was in bed with a cute guy.
A stud jock was sitting in bed in boxer briefs and a T-shirt. Caitlyn sat in a tank top and casual shorts. They sat in Mitchell’s room.
Mitchell’s bedroom had a coffin in it - he pretended to be a vampire.
He had a bookcase full of role-playing games, lots of indie ones and lots of Dungeons and Dragons gaming modules and rule books.
Next to that bookcase was the bookcase with the board games - fifty or so board games of all types and sizes, from famous ones to obscure indie ones.
He also had a desk and chair with a laptop casually placed on it.
On the walls were nice Impressionist paintings of landscapes.
The walls were painted blue and green. His bed was a large king bed in the middle of the room.
The jock was nervous and hesitant. He was well-built and strong. He played linebacker for the football team in the fall. They called him Shotgun.
“Shotgun, do you want to take your shirt off?” Caitlyn asked.
“Sure,” Shotgun said. He took off his shirt. He had muscles for days. “I like both of you.”
“We like you,” Mitchell said. “You seem like a delight to us. Is gay sex something that you have considered?”
“Maybe, yeah. I’m taught that gay sex is something to be made fun of, but I don’t hate anybody, and I like sex. I like gay porn.”
“Gay porn is indeed great,” Mitchell said. “Do you like us?”
I’ve always been curious about trying a threesome with a girl and two guys,” Shotgun said.
“Awesome, stud,” Caitlyn said. “Now can you kiss my friend Mitchell? Would you be willing to do things with him?”
“I’d love to try it,” Shotgun said. “I’ll kiss both of you if you want.”
Caitlyn kissed Shotgun on the lips, deeply, for several seconds.
“Kiss him,” Caitlyn said.
Shotgun kissed Mitchell.
Mitchell smiled.
“I’m not good enough for this,” Mitchell said. “You are too studly, too attractive.”
“You are pretty intimidating,” Shotgun said. “I am incredibly turned on, but I’m nervous. I have to trust you to let you nail me.”
“You can trust us,” Caitlyn said. “Mitchell is not trying to take advantage of you, I will say that. If he fucks you, it’s because he thinks you’re cute and wants to care about you.”
“Good,” Shotgun said.
“I don’t know,” Mitchell said.
“Mitchell, come with me outside for a smoke,” Caitlyn said. “Put some pants on.”
Mitchell put some shorts on and walked outside.
Caitlyn walked outside and lit up a joint.
They looked at the slightly chilly May evening.
The outside of Mitchell’s family’s home had three beautiful trees, big trees that dominated the backyard.
There was a little treehouse from his childhood in one of them.
The deck was small but had some chairs and a coffee table, and Caitlyn sat there. She smiled.
“Man up and fuck that young jock senseless,” Caitlyn said.
“You love Ai,” Mitchell said. “Why fuck him when you have her?”
“She’s not well,” Caitlyn said. “And it’s open. She doesn’t mind.”
“They always mind,” Mitchell said.
Mitchell hated the slutty guys. He didn’t have any respect for them.
“No,” Mitchell said. “I don’t love him. I hardly even know him. I don’t care about him. He would just be a conquest. I’m not that guy. He’s only naked because you are pressuring him into a threesome with me.”
“I’m getting you laid!” Caitlyn said.
“No, thank you,” Mitchell said. “I am not that guy. I do not want that. I am a proud young man who wants to fall in love. I want hearts. I want romance. I do not want a jock with a big dick in my bed for some pointless sex. Wait a second.”
“Talking yourself into it?” Caitlyn asked.
“No!” Mitchell said. “Who cares if the sex would be great? I don’t deserve great sex with nice young jocks. I don’t deserve or want that.”
“But will you break and fuck him?” Caitlyn asked. “Come on, fall to the dark side, fuck him, fuck him senseless.”
“I hate myself so much,” Mitchell said. “Do you have a condom?”
“Obviously,” Caitlyn said. “Come on, let’s get laid, my friend. A threesome awaits.”
Caitlyn and Mitchell walked upstairs to see a fully nude Shotgun, ripped and big. He smiled and kissed each of them and took them to bed for the night.
Waylon Conson wanted friends. He didn’t receive an invitation to Mitchell’s basement gathering even though he wanted to be an actor. He didn’t care; he just wanted a fair shot at the male lead in the play. Westfield usually got the good parts because he was a charming asshole.
Waylon looked in the mirror. He saw a man overcome with emotion, caring, love, and passion. He felt more than he could possibly feel. He lived.
He started to talk to the person in the mirror.
“Self,” Waylon said. “In the world, the only real passion is the arts. In that vein, I need to create an unforgettable work of art. A work of art that shows what is wrong with our wonderful world of Earth - our wonderful country of America. What is wrong with us.
“I want to show reality a new kind of hero. One who fights the darkness, the pain, the self-hate, the loneliness.
“Loneliness. I have no one. I have no friends, no girlfriend, no boyfriend. My life is a terrifying empty void of loneliness and desperation. Am I going to do something wrong? No. I will write about it. I will feel. I will live. I will be an upright person in a decadent and corrupt world in which friends party, orgy, and play games all night long, living their debased lives.”
He believed in honor. He wanted to create a work of art.
He started to write - a play. He would write a play - a two-act play, a full-length one, something that would show exactly what happened when the pretty teens of New Liberty High were faced with questions of their mortality - when someone tried to kill them.