1. Seth
Seth
I’m still on my knees when Adam—my next-door neighbor—zips up his pants. I can still feel the taste of him on my tongue, in the back of my throat.
“Thanks,” he says and pats my cheek. “I needed that.”
I’m rooted on the floor, and he doesn’t even notice as he picks up his phone from the coffee table, and turns towards the hallway.
“See you around,” he says, before he opens the door and walks out. He doesn’t wait for my answer. Not that he would’ve gotten one. What was I supposed to say? ‘Yeah, thanks a lot. Leave the money on the table, please’?
I feel disgusting. And small. So fucking small. I feel even worse when I think about the fact that this is not the first time it’s happened. It happens all the time. With the straight men—it’s always the “straight” men.
And I just take it. I’m basically used to it by now.
The giving but never receiving. So, it’s not just that he left me here, blue-balls and all, or that he patted my cheek—it’s what he said before that.
Right before he came with a roar, he grunted, “You’re so pretty like this.
With my cock in your pretty little mouth. ”
I froze. Just one word and I froze. I almost feel like I deserve a medal for being able to keep going after that. That I got him off at all.
I hate that word. Hate being called pretty. Because I’m not.
It’s not that I think I’m ugly per se. I guess I’m kind of good-looking—like if I squint a little in the mirror, I can see it.
I’ve got my mom’s slim nose, and dark blue eyes. High cheekbones, and sometimes when I smile, I get a dimple in my left cheek.
I’ve got a good sense of style—I’ve always loved clothes. My taste is a little on the expensive side, but being the only child of two attorneys comes with both trauma and privileges.
But I’m not pretty. I’m not.
Wow, you look pretty tonight.
I shake my head in a poor attempt to suppress the memories.
How the fuck did I end up here?
The thing is, I like people. I think most people are good, and if they’re not, then there’s probably a reason for that. I don’t think you’re a dick just for the fun of it.
And I think most of what people say are said with good intentions, and what they’re saying is true. And that means I adapt. I’m adaptable because it’s easier that way. Because I want people to like me too.
But I know I can’t control other people, or their perception of me, and when what I present isn’t what they see, I spiral.
And as always when I spiral, I keep to myself. I bottle it up. I sit in it, let it fester inside me until I choke on it, before I swallow it down and move on.
If you’re not thinking about it, it’s not there, right?