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Kevorkian Logic · 03-26-2007, 06:13 PM

As far as I know we don't have this thread, and since I know some of you write stories(instead/as well as poems/songs), at least I know Strummer(has anyone heard from him lately?) and Red do.

^I might of just killed that with parenthesis. I have the tendency to do that.

Basically, post your stories. People will either appreciate or trash them.

Here's mine:

The Blow Job Tree
(I realized I didn't know how to intent, so I went with double paragraph spacing, sorry)

He took me to the blow job tree. It was this big fir behind the cafeteria, once of those trees whose needles brush the ground. Boys would part the branches and lead giggling girls inside, pull down their jeans and wait. My friend Katie told me it was like one of those fudgsicles they sold to the big kids at lunch, only smaller and didn’t taste as good. She said you close your eyes and try not to choke. Boys don’t like it when you gag, she said. It means you don’t know what you’re doing.

I didn’t. I was sweating like crazy, dark spots beginning to blossom under my arms. I couldn’t look him in the eye. We didn’t speak. As he grabbed my wrist and pushed the branch aside, I wondered; can you die from this?
We’d watched that video in Science the week before, the STD one, with all the rashes and boils and seeping wounds. This, our teacher bluntly said, is what happens when you don’t use Protection. I wondered if she would show us how to apply Protection. She didn’t. She wrote on the chalk board in big white capitalized letters ABSTINENCE. Then told us it is the best way of Protection.

I didn’t know what ABSTINENCE meant, let alone how to say it. I had been too afraid to ask, so whatever it was, I couldn’t use it. Now I panicked. Would a rash cover all of my skin and the inside of my throat and suffocate me until I died? Or worse, would everyone find out and call me a slut? I hoped he wouldn’t tell anybody.

We were inside the tree. It was unexpectedly dark, and there were bugs. A condom hung on a twig near his head. I still couldn’t look at him. We stood there for an eternity, far too close for comfort; the blow job tree did not allow for much personal space. Finally, he sucked in a huge breath.

“Don’t tell anybody,” he blurted, and kissed me on the corner of my mouth. My eyes were open. I blinked.

“Sorry,” he said, staring at the spot where his lips had just been. His hair hard, heavily gelled in a short slightly spikey fashion and he smelled like my brother’s aftershave.

“The’s oka--” but he smothered the word, kissing me again, harder, and this time dead-on. I had not expected it to be so wet. I moved my tongue and lips like Katie had told me to, but he had not been given the same instruction. Our teeth clicked painfully and I pulled away.

“I’m not giving you a blow job,” I told him, looking him straight in the face

“Yea, I know,” he said solemnly.

03-26-2007, 06:13 PM	#1 (permalink)
Kevorkian Logic Imperfectly Perfect Join Date: Jan 2007 Location: North Carolina Posts: 1,290	Story thread As far as I know we don't have this thread, and since I know some of you write stories(instead/as well as poems/songs), at least I know Strummer(has anyone heard from him lately?) and Red do. ^I might of just killed that with parenthesis. I have the tendency to do that. Basically, post your stories. People will either appreciate or trash them. Here's mine: The Blow Job Tree (I realized I didn't know how to intent, so I went with double paragraph spacing, sorry) He took me to the blow job tree. It was this big fir behind the cafeteria, once of those trees whose needles brush the ground. Boys would part the branches and lead giggling girls inside, pull down their jeans and wait. My friend Katie told me it was like one of those fudgsicles they sold to the big kids at lunch, only smaller and didn’t taste as good. She said you close your eyes and try not to choke. Boys don’t like it when you gag, she said. It means you don’t know what you’re doing. I didn’t. I was sweating like crazy, dark spots beginning to blossom under my arms. I couldn’t look him in the eye. We didn’t speak. As he grabbed my wrist and pushed the branch aside, I wondered; can you die from this? We’d watched that video in Science the week before, the STD one, with all the rashes and boils and seeping wounds. This, our teacher bluntly said, is what happens when you don’t use Protection. I wondered if she would show us how to apply Protection. She didn’t. She wrote on the chalk board in big white capitalized letters ABSTINENCE. Then told us it is the best way of Protection. I didn’t know what ABSTINENCE meant, let alone how to say it. I had been too afraid to ask, so whatever it was, I couldn’t use it. Now I panicked. Would a rash cover all of my skin and the inside of my throat and suffocate me until I died? Or worse, would everyone find out and call me a slut? I hoped he wouldn’t tell anybody. We were inside the tree. It was unexpectedly dark, and there were bugs. A condom hung on a twig near his head. I still couldn’t look at him. We stood there for an eternity, far too close for comfort; the blow job tree did not allow for much personal space. Finally, he sucked in a huge breath. “Don’t tell anybody,” he blurted, and kissed me on the corner of my mouth. My eyes were open. I blinked. “Sorry,” he said, staring at the spot where his lips had just been. His hair hard, heavily gelled in a short slightly spikey fashion and he smelled like my brother’s aftershave. “The’s oka--” but he smothered the word, kissing me again, harder, and this time dead-on. I had not expected it to be so wet. I moved my tongue and lips like Katie had told me to, but he had not been given the same instruction. Our teeth clicked painfully and I pulled away. “I’m not giving you a blow job,” I told him, looking him straight in the face “Yea, I know,” he said solemnly. __________________ "it is only through a limitless accumulation of the imperfect that a certain type of perfection can be attained"