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“The world’s as big or as small as you want it to be. Makes no difference in the end. What matters is what you do with what you got, and how much happiness you find in it, don’t you think?” He shrugs.
A grudge can be a slippery, unreliable weapon. Especially when you forged it during your teenage years. It doesn’t sit right in your hand as an adult, no matter how you hold it. Yet something deep inside you—something that feels owed—it keeps urging you to brandish it. The weapon convinces you that your whole being has been somehow defined by it, and without it, you wouldn’t know who you are. But every time you stab your enemy, you feel less satisfied. Every time you stab, you’re the only one left bleeding.
“And why can’t you say it here? I’m enjoying my dinner. Don’t your wrestler buddies know everything about you, anyway?” He brings his lips to my ear, his words choked and anguished. “Not that I’m gay, you stubborn, infuriatingly adorable punk.”
Are high school students just an incestuous ring of one person taking out their anger on another, round and round, until the day of graduation at last sets us free from each other?
It’s a moment like this—and a monster dick like that—that makes lube an absolute godsend.
Of course everyone is close during the act of sex. Everyone is intimate when they fuck, that much is a given. But I always find the better judge of a person’s character to be what happens after the orgasm. What they do. How they react. Who they become.
I prop my elbows on my knees and lean forward. “You can’t put your whole life on hold for him. Sometimes, life has a way of pushing you forward, whether you’re ready for it or not. It doesn’t always play on our own time.”