1 of my amazingly sexy Twitter followers. Makes my mouth water every time ;P

Warning: There be porn ahead! Coltyn Jerking

Warning: There be porn ahead! Since I can't seem to post this on any of my normal porn accounts, here we go.....
This is 1 of my friends. Wish it had a cumshot but still hot :)

The Body Imperfect

How do you overcome crippling self-image problems? I've asked myself this question for a long, long time. Undoubtedly it is 1 of the founding pieces of my depression. Ever since puberty hit I've been a chubby person. And I loathe it, among other things I can't really stand about myself. But weight is a "relatively" easy thing to overcome. You just have to want it badly enough and work hard enough at it. When I was around 17 or so I dieted and exercised and lost 25 lbs. and for a short period of time was probably the happiest I've been in my adult body (with my body in any event since happiness depends on so many other factors). But unless you make a complete lifestyle change you will always gain the weight back. And I did. It is a complicated issue with lots of different factors weighing in (pun intended) but without dissecting every facet of it lets just say I've never been happy with my body and I doubt I ever will be. The problem with never being good enough for yourself is that even if I worked really hard and dieted and exercised again and made a lifestyle change and lost enough weight to get down to something that I could live with, I'd still be me. All the weight loss in the world will never change that. I'd still be looking at myself in the mirror and thinking "Man, I'm just not happy with this person." Part of going to therapy every time I've been has been to try and make peace with myself. My last therapist even said  to me "Who are these people you're looking at and comparing yourself to who make you so uncomfortable in your own body? Have you been to Motor Vehicles lately?" Looking back it seems ludicrous that she even said that seeing as she was a very pretty and very skinny girl who always seemed on top of things. But I digress. As an example of how duplicitous this whole body image loathing issue is for me, I've made countless friends on Twitter, Tumblr, and Skype who all have seen my pics and/or vids and haven't vomited in disgust but have in fact said that they love it and want to cam with me. Yet every time I find myself not believing them or still not wanting to show my body on cam out of fear. Essentially I have what I believe only a skinny body would get me, which is someone hot who is saying they're into me just the way I am and wants to cam with me and possibly more but I always find excuses not to appear on cam and then they lose interest and its like some sort of mental roller coaster that I can't get off but that keeps bucking off people who are trying to save me. That is probably a good analogy though, because in truth I know for a fact that nobody else can save me. I have to save myself. That is the only way I will ever beat this problem. Every little step is a major victory for me. Just a few years ago I would never have dreamed of taking a naked picture of myself and showing it to someone (I still preferably only ever show my cock cuz fuck the rest of my body see there I go again), but I've done that now. I have cammed, though it usually takes a LOT of smooth talking from the other person and a LOT of build up so most people who don't appreciate a challenge give up easily but it HAS happened. And perhaps, maybe one day, I'll be able to look in a full length mirror no matter what my weight is or how my body looks and think "I really love this person." I am not there yet, but I consider it a work in progress. Wish me luck.

The Language of Love

"Idyll Plains" continues

     Toby was seated on the closed lid in the first stall, desperately trying to avoid advanced algebra by adding to the graffiti on the walls around him. Apparently one of the gym teachers, Mrs. Randall, was both “a bull dyke and a raging kike”, if stall lore was to believed. He took some solace in seeing that it had been spelled correctly. It was the least hate mongers could do. He was angered slightly to find Will’s name there as well, along with a rather rude assessment of his sexuality. True or not, he didn’t want it to remain there and was just beginning to black out the words with a pen from his pocket when several voices entered the bathroom. There were three of them and he recognized Erik Miller’s vicious cackle almost immediately which meant the other two voices belonged to Russell Keith and Anthony Boyd, the two seemingly brainless stooges who often served as his personal entourage. All three were stereotypical football jocks, though Erik looked more the part of a bookworm with his long curled hair and stylish horn-rimmed glasses. He was more slender than the other two, which was also probably one of the reasons he would often terrorize boys like Will. Toby realized only after it had grown quiet that he had forgotten to raise his feet. Swallowing hard and accepting his fate,  Toby stood up slowly and unlocked the door. Sure enough, Miller was standing at one of the sinks with Boyd just next to him, and they were watching him carefully. Russell, the bull-necked slab of sinew Toby had never heard utter anything besides a chuckle or a grunt, stood guarding the bathroom door. Toby faced him, and though he probably could have pushed past him with the element of surprise he knew that the payback later would be very harsh, so he turned back and looked at Miller head on. “Wassup Erik?” he asked, the slight tremble in his voice betraying him.

    A malevolent grin covered his face. “You were just gonna leave without washing your hands? That’s fuckin disgusting, isn’t it boys?” The other two laughed and nodded though it was clear they didn’t get the enjoyment out of it that their friend did. “Maybe you weren’t taking a shit. Maybe you were jerking off thinking about your little butt buddy friend, Billy. That’s what faggots do, right?” All three tormenters laughed.

    “I’m not a faggot.” he replied through gritted teeth.

    “Save it. This is gonna be a warm-up. We’ll catch you and your queer bait friend after school. That’ll be the real show.” he said, moving toward him and grabbing Toby’s arm. Toby dug his heels against the stall door behind him and prepared to lash out as Miller pushed against him. The football player was just too strong and the door gave way as Miller’s hand clutched Toby’s neck, forcing his head down toward the bowl. He was anticipating the cold water on his head when the sound of a commotion in the room outside halted his descent. He was still crouched and leaning against the wall when Mr. Bryce, the assistant principal, poked his head in. Though he did register concern, it was soon replaced with a weary been there/done that façade Toby had grown all too accustomed to.

    “You all right?”

    “Yeah.” he replied sheepishly, standing up and composing himself as Mr. Bryce moved to the sink and began washing his hands. The other three boys were gone.

    “You want my advice, son?” Toby half shrugged and half nodded. “Go out for some extracurriculars. Maybe even try out for the football team. Miller would find it harder to constantly harass a member of his team”

    “I’m in the choir.“ Toby responded, probably a bit more forcefully than he had hoped.

    Mr. Bryce smirked. “I’m not talking about that crap, I’m talking about sports.“ Toby was still eyeing the authority figure with confusion when he continued, leaning in and almost whispering. “If you continue to act gay and show weakness, they’re going to continue to torment you. I’m trying to help you here.” Life lesson espoused the elder man stood up straight again, finished wiping his hands dry and threw the soiled paper towels into an overstuffed garbage can near the door. “I haven’t seen your Dad at any of the PTA meetings lately.”

    Toby, still seething quietly, managed to reply. “Because my Mom’s not forcing him to go. He hates that shit.”

    “Hey! Watch your language.” he snapped, afterward taking a deep breath and placing a hand on Toby’s shoulder. “Look, I cut you a lot of slack because your Mom was a big part of this school behind the scenes, but I can’t keep finding you playing hookey in the bathroom. I know your Mom’s been sick, and I’m sorry, but I need you to get it together.”

    Toby’s face sank as the words of misguided hope settled in. “Fuck you.” was all he could think to respond, afterward turning and leaving a stunned Mr. Bryce behind shaking his head.







   

"Idyll Plains" Continues

     Andrew stepped off of the elevator onto the 23rd floor of the Rand Building and hurriedly brushed a hand through his thinning hair to try and undo the damage inflicted upon it by the winter winds. He’d been away from the New York branch for at least a month, content to supervise things from Royal Fields’ Main Office. But the development was almost completed and filled with homeowners now, so his job there would soon be done and left to a Property Manager. He’d decided to go into the office today and check on some designs his team had been working on. Cubicles and offices alike were filled with employees either chattering away with each other or trying to hook prospective clients over the phone. He fidgeted with his tie, the Windsor knot he had done up quickly that morning making it hard for him to breathe as he quickly traversed the main hall which split the office in two halves toward the executive area at the back. Numerous people wished him good morning, and eventually he was greeted by Stacy, the secretary he shared with several other suits. She was a mousy brunette who always wore clothes ill suited to her environment, but she had a great set of tits so Andrew wasn‘t complaining. Today was no exception, despite the cold weather, as he had to try and avert his eyes several times from the heaving bosom she presented to him through her low cut blouse. “Good morning, Mr. Kirkland. Its been a while.”

    “Good morning, Stacy. I was exiled to the burbs for a bit.” he told her chuckling slightly.

    She laughed back, though it sounded fake to him. “Mr. Kensington wanted a quick word with you the next time you were in the office. I’ll page him to let him know that you’re here.”

    He froze for a second. Kensington was the CEO, and somebody Andrew hardly ever dealt with on a 1-to-1 basis. It was a little disconcerting hearing that the man was waiting to speak with him. He nodded, though, trying to seem upbeat about it. “Gimme about ten minutes, all right?” She nodded, half-smiling, and he stepped past her into the spacious office with an amazing view which he sadly rarely ever got to appreciate. He’d been promoted from Sales to Director of Property Development after encouraging the company to branch out into New Jersey. They’d been thinking with their upturned noses rather than their pocketbooks for decades, content to build upscale condos and housing developments in every New York borough because the city afforded them the right to zealously overcharge people who desperately wanted to live there. It had been a long and tiring pitch, consuming a year and a half of his life from the first time he broached the subject with his supervisor to the final draft meeting with the designers, and then another 6 months after that to secure the acreage they needed in Branchburg, a town nestled midway between New York and Pennsylvania and located conveniently ten minutes from the Turnpike. But finally, after two and a half years, their first New Jersey development, River Walk Gardens, had been mostly completed. Named after a downtown remodel which was supposed to have riverside trails but had eventually been cancelled, the complex in the end offered neither a River Walk or Gardens of any kind since space had been at a premium, but he had been proud of the site nevertheless. As a virgin venture it was not half bad, and had turned a profit almost immediately. The company had done three more since then, culminating in Royal Fields where he was currently living. But the next project was to be his masterpiece. He’d been planning it for almost his entire adult life, if not as a business venture then simply as an ideal place to live. Whereas the other developments had only tertiary involvement from him as far as designing and layout went, the new project was his baby from end to end. He still needed a team to draw up plans, but the layout and contents were entirely his, and he was extremely proud of this fact. He took off his black winter trench coat and threw it over the easy chair in the far corner of his office, placing his briefcase on top of his desk and taking a moment to look out the window at the skyline and surrounding buildings. It was overcast, but it still presented him with a hell of a view.  He felt terribly small despite the world below seeming microscopic from this vantage point. He let out a long sigh, and then there was a knock on his office door. He turned, taking a deep breath. “Come in.”

    Stacy smiled through the open doorway. “Mr. Kensington to see you.” she said, stepping back as the elder man walked forward into the office with his arm outstretched.

    Andrew moved toward him, probably a bit faster than he would have liked, with his arm outstretched. Their palms connected just as Stacy closed the office door behind her.  “Andrew. Its been a while but its good to see you back at the old homestead for a day.” Kensington told him, shaking his hand vigorously and then clapping a palm against the younger man’s shoulder with a grin. He was a bullish man, stout and sweaty, saved only by an elegant thatch of silver hair and the expensive suit and jewelry he draped himself in every day.

    “Thank you, sir. Would you like to sit down?”

    “You sit down, let me fix us some drinks.” he said, walking toward the small liquor tray nestled between bookcases against the far wall.

    Andrew sat down warily. “Uh…its 9 in the morning, sir.”

    Kensington nodded, looking back from his drink preparations. “True, but you’ll need it.” He finished pouring small shots of whiskey into glasses and turned, handing one to Andrew, who had seated himself in front of his own desk. Kensington leaned on the mahogany desktop in front of him and raised his own glass. “Hopefully to new beginnings.” he said, downing the alcohol in one quick gulp before placing the glass beside him and fixing Andrew with a heady stare.

    Andrew hadn’t touched his drink, merely holding it while he watched his boss with abject fear racing through his mind. Kensington motioned toward the glass, and to banish the issue he knocked the whiskey back quickly but gritting his teeth a bit as the white hot liquid flowed down his throat. “Mr. Kensington, I…”

    “I’m sure you’ve been keeping track, Andrew, but our stocks have gone down steadily for the last month.”
   
    He nodded gravely. “Eleven points. But the entire DOW is down.”

    “Sadly, I don’t speak for the entire DOW. Just for this company.”

    “We’ve had this kind of thing happen before. Its cyclical. In six months it’ll turn around. Royal Fields is almost a complete sell-thru.”

    He nodded, his face still stern. “Some of the Board members think that’s the problem. We’re spending too much time and money on these New Jersey operations while some of the New York properties are floundering. Spreading ourselves too thin.”

    “Sir, one building burned down because of a meth lab in the basement, another is under investigation by the Board of Health. Those aren’t things that are market driven or any of my concern really.”

    “No, but they are my concern. And the Board’s. Andrew, they’ve voted to shut down your project until further notice.”

    “But…” he began, louder than he had wanted but he was fighting to hold back anger and disappointment now.

    “It’s the most expensive project we’ve ever done. They’ve frankly been looking for an excuse to back out of it since the beginning. I was your biggest supporter, but I have to answer to them in the end.”

    There was a moment of silence during which Andrew put a worried palm against his forehead. “I’ve been dreaming of this development for twenty years.  Let me talk to the Board. There has to be a way.”

    “I’m afraid their minds are made up. But I have been thinking of an alternative for you.”

    “What? I’ll do it.” he said, standing up and fixing the older man with a pleading glare.

    “Their main concern is cost. You’ve proven yourself as far as sales ability and design goes several times over. They might consider underwriting a small portion of the cost if you found your own investors.”

    His brow furrowed at the thought. “Well, its not really my area of expertise. I find homeowners, not investors.”

    Kensington nodded. “You’ll have to broaden your scope if you want to continue with this project. For now, finish your time out at Royal Fields. It should be another month or so, right?”

    “Probably.”

    “That might give the stocks a chance to come back a little. In the meantime, try to find your own investors. I’m sure I can get the Board to cough up twenty million when the time comes provided you have the rest. I really don’t want to lose this opportunity since we’ve spent so much time and energy on it already.” he said, standing up straight and walking toward the office door. He turned back before opening it. “Good luck, Andrew. I’m pulling for you.” And with that he was gone.

    Andrew sat in stunned silence for a moment. This was a one billion plus project. Twenty million was merely two percent of the funding he would need to raise to make it a reality, if he was doing the math in his head correctly. Kensington probably pocketed more for his last Christmas bonus. Angrily he flung his glass into the far wall where it shattered into pieces, afterward sitting back down with gritted teeth and placing his head in his hands.

My Novel Continues.....

This is the next few scenes from my novel, in case anyone is actually keeping up. If anyone discovers this just now, the entire thing so far can be found in this blog. It is called "Idyll Plains"

Chapter Two



    Friday morning. All should have been tinged with an air of satisfaction that he had survived another week. But Toby had not felt something as lightweight as satisfaction for quite some time. This morning was no different. Just over one year ago, his mother would have woken him by throwing open his bedroom door and allowing the light from the hallway to stream into the darkness around him, blinding him momentarily. She would offer no words of comfort or assurances for the day. She would, in fact, be rather brusque, usually jabbering into a cell phone and already dressed in some prim outfit for a PTA meeting she was going to attend or the luncheon or whatever other inane function she was prepping for that early in the morning. As if to compound the idea of his rousing as just another box to tick on her list of activities, his mother had Toby’s father long ago wire his boom box, which always sat perched on his bedside table waiting to be played, to the light switch. If he rolled over and went back to sleep after the first warning, she came and flicked the switch, flooding his room with light from the overhead and the sounds of whatever he had fallen asleep to the previous night. Several times he had faked her out, in a way, by having some quiet, soothing choral music cued up. She had laughed when Gaudete came over the speakers and he had put the pillow over his head in mock protest of the light. He shook his head, willing the memory away. Even when he tried to own up to the fact that his mother had never exactly been nurturing to him as he saw Will’s parents were, some humanity crept back in and he was reminded of her absence in the house, and he would miss her. The fact remained that whether or not she woke him with kind words, her very presence had comforted him. And the house had lacked her steady presence for more than seven months now. She would sometimes return home for brief periods, but even then she would be weak and ill-tempered, and eventually would be driven back to the hospital when her condition worsened. He realized suddenly that he was being incredibly selfish in thinking about how his mother’s illness affected him. He gritted his teeth, reminding himself that it had not been him who had gone through chemotherapy numerous times now.

    He threw back his duvet and sat up, his legs falling limply to the floor, his blackened toe drawing his gaze as he rubbed tired hands through his ever-growing hair and then rubbed some of the sleep out of his eyes. In his mother’s absence he had become accustomed to waking up himself, and in fact, didn’t need to set the alarm any longer. Even in November, with little sunlight still at six in the morning, he would often turn over at five before and glance at the clock, willing himself out of bed within the next several minutes. Today had been no different. It was five after, and though he could have slept another fifteen minutes or so, he found himself standing up and moving toward the window, the first rays of orange sunlight awash in the sky as he looked out toward the McNulty farm and Indian Point. It looked dirty and desolate out there, the snow from two nights earlier, or what was left of it after the rain, having turned black toward the street. It was no place to die, he thought, his mind bringing the image of the dead blonde girl front and center before he could will it away. She was out there. Alone. Half-naked. His brow furrowed, he lowered his head, placing it against the cold glass. Who was she? And how did she end up half-naked and dead only 200 yards from his back door? The decision to leave her there weighed on him heavily. It was in no way a fitting end to someone’s life, no matter who they were or how they had lived. He strained his eyes to try and locate her position, but from the 2nd floor, with numerous trees in his way, she remained hidden, and the glass began to fog up as he furrowed his brow. He turned, heading for his bedroom doorway, and the bathroom two doors down. Callie would already be out with Sean at this point, and his Dad would have left for work long ago, so he thought very little about the fact that he was dressed only in his Calvin Klein’s with a massive bout of morning wood tenting them outward. There was no way his aim would be true in this state, though, so he merely opened the standing shower door and emptied his bladder, afterward turning the water on as far as it would go and waiting till a steady bit of steam began to rise before he pulled off his underwear and stepped inside, letting out a yelp as the hot water hit him but closing the door behind him as he slowly became accustomed. Fifteen minutes later he had dried himself off and thrown on a pair of jeans and his favorite Jansen Feathers t-shirt, despite the fact that it was short-sleeved and it was freezing outside. He could hear his mother’s protests but decided against listening to them. He had never been a fashion plate, that was Callie’s department, so he opted for things that made him feel comfortable in his own skin. The outfit did that for him. He pulled on a pair of gray Vans to complete it, then sat down on his bed and glanced fleetingly at the clock. He had a small stretch of time to kill before Will arrived, so he leaned over and looked beneath his bed where he had last thrown his yearbook . It was just underneath and out of sight, nestled amongst the dust bunnies along with a Victoria’s Secret catalogue that he had been using to jack off since stealing it out of Callie’s room one morning several weeks ago. He wiped his hand through the veneer of dust that had formed on The Patriot and began flipping through it,  passing his own grade to look through what had been the freshman class last year, where he thought he might find the dark-haired girl who had spied him in the woods yesterday. Why hadn’t she reported him? Or at least reported the girl? He found her several pages in, under the “D”’s. Her name was Alyssa Delmonico. She seemed rather straight arrow in the little photo, her hair several shades lighter than it had been yesterday with no streaks of pink to be found. But he recognized the faraway sadness in her eyes from the previous morning. He examined the photo closely for a few moments, trying to figure out what might be on this girl’s mind. Eventually,  after leaning back and exhaling quietly, he caught sight of the clock and realized that Will was running late. “Fuck!” he shouted, running a hand through his still wet mop of dirty-blonde curls and quickly standing up and throwing his winter coat on.





    The remnant odor’s of the previous night’s cookie baking greeted him in the kitchen doorway, though his mother had more recently prepared eggs and toast for his father. A bowl of Frosted Frizzies sat in Will’s place at the table, and he plopped down in his chair and regarded it quietly as his mother hurried about the room cleaning and storing dishes while his father read the stock market tallies. Neither offered him more than a cursory glance, though his mother did bring him a carton of milk as he hadn’t touched his cereal yet. He wasn’t really hungry to begin with, but decided to forego an argument and silently began filling his bowl with milk. “Mom, can’t we get Frosted Flakes next time?” he asked, referring to the no-name brands she always insisted on buying to save a few pennies.

    “Billy, these taste exactly the same.” not bothering to turn around from her dishes.

    “Will.“ he replied quickly, to which his mother brushed away with her hand. He smiled a little. It wasn’t really an argument per se, but he knew the issue made her neck hairs bristle so he delighted in pushing it just a little. “They do not!” he told her, a slight laugh escaping toward the end.

    She turned to face him, smiling a little herself despite the tiny hint of anger in her tone. “When you get older and live on your own you’ll see how expensive it is to buy Frosted Flakes and you’ll see that these taste just as good.”

    His mother returned to emptying the dishwasher as he quickly emptied the bowl of cereal. He was just about to sip the last bit of sugary milk up when his father looked above his paper and gave him a serious glance. “You won’t forget about the math team today? We have a deal.” he told his son sternly.

    Will let out a long sigh. “Dad….”

    “Its not up for discussion.”

    “Why doesn’t anyone ever ask me what I want to do? I hate math.”

    His mother turned back around. “But you’re so good at it. It comes easy to you. You might as well take advantage of that and get some stuff on your school record to help with college.”

    “That’s three years away!”

    His father’s tone said the issue was closed no matter what points he raised. “What would you like to be doing?”

    He struggled to think of a good answer. One that would satisfy his father since the first thing that came to his mind, playing video games and jerking off, certainly would not. He desperately wanted to tell them both that he simply needed the freedom of choice. But all that would come out of his mouth was a meek “I don’t know.”

    His father nodded. “Math team. Today!” he told Will firmly, in response to which his son quickly got up, threw his bowl in the sink and ran for the front door with his book bag and winter coat in tow. His parents merely exchanged worried glances as the front door slammed shut.





    A blast of cool air struck his cheeks as Toby stepped down onto the front walk of his house headed for the street. He could see Will in the distance, a little speck half jogging toward him from the other side of town. Will actually walked double the distance just so he could accompany his best friend to school. The devotion therein sometimes troubled Toby, but he put it out of his mind. Soon, Will was beside him at the edge of Emperor Drive and they both exited the complex and began the long walk down Sullivan toward Main Street. Will was out of breath at first, but he soon settled into their easygoing pace and resumed normal breathing. Will dug a pack of Marlboros out of his back pocket and lit one up, offering the pack to his friend. “Are you fucking kidding me? They kill your voice. Mr. Townsend’s already on my case. You want me to be a bass in six months? I thought you were just trying them out.” he told his friend, referring to the excuse Will had given him two weeks earlier after a pack of Camels had fallen out of his winter jacket pocket.

    “I like them now.” Will told him, a goofy grin across his face.

    “Probably cause you’re not inhaling.” he shot back, smirking.

    “Fuck you!” Will shot back with a laugh, taking a big puff deep into his lungs then stopping for a moment to exhale and blow a small smoke ring out of his mouth.

    “Bravo! Finally something your Mom and Dad can be proud of.” At that they both chuckled and continued walking. “They’ll kill you if they find out.”

    “That’s something we can agree on.”

    “You seen Miller yet?” Toby asked suddenly, realizing he’d forgotten to check.

    “They were ahead of me when I left. I waited until I couldn’t see ‘em anymore. S’why I was late.” Toby nodded in understanding. A brief silence overcame them during which Will glanced over curiously at his friend. Finally, he decided to ask what had been gnawing at him since the previous day. “Are you ever gonna tell me what happened?”

    Toby took a deep breath. He wanted to lie, and not be honest about what had happened, even to his best friend. But the thoughts welling up inside him needed to be voiced more than the fear and shame he felt. “I…uh…I took some pills.”

    “Sleeping pills?” Toby nodded confirmation. “I didn’t know you weren’t sleeping.”

    “I have been sleeping.” he answered calmly. Will stopped walking and looked up at his friend with concern. Toby wouldn’t meet his friend’s gaze at first, but eventually looked at his friend with sheepish acceptance. “I took two boxes of them.” he said, his eyes averting from Will once more as the morning traffic on Sullivan Street continued on its way all around them.

    Will’s frame seemed to crumple, though he was still standing and watching his friend with mounting concern. “Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked, tears threatening at the corners of his eyes.

    “Because I didn’t want help.“

    Before Will could answer, a look of realization spread across his face. “That’s what you bought that gun for. Not target practice!” he said, referencing the gun he had been cleaning two nights before which his friend had given him a week earlier, saying he’d become bored with it.

    In truth, Toby had spent many nights lying in bed holding the handgun cocked and ready to his temple. But something inside of him simply refused to allow him to pull the trigger and after a close call with the cleaning lady nearly discovering it in his bedroom closet he’d decided to get rid of it. “Yes.” he responded, nodding.

    Now Will began to cry, tears streaming down his cheeks as he continued. “Toby…man…I can’t do this without you. You can’t leave me alone.”

    He seemed perturbed more than anything by this show of emotion but tried to be even-handed with his response. “C’mon, we gotta keep moving.” he said, taking his friend by the arm and starting them in motion again as Will hurriedly wiped his eyes. “It didn’t work anyway. Obviously. I woke up under a pile of leaves with a killer fuckin headache. But I woke up.” Will finished wiping his eyes and held his book bag in front of him almost as a defense, still sniffling every now and then as they rounded Sullivan and stepped onto Main Street for the last mile of their trek. “This is why Miller and those other dicks pick on you and call you queer. You shouldn’t be crying.”

    There was a long pause, then Will replied without looking at his friend. “Maybe they’re right.”

    “Don’t talk like that!” Toby demanded.

    “Dude, we kissed!”

    Toby reacted violently, grabbing the collar of Will’s jacket and pulling him to within inches of his face. “Don’t ever mention that again! Fuckin pot was so strong I woulda kissed a tree.” he said, quickly adding “I ain’t a fag.” He released him and they resumed walking once more.

    “Maybe I am.” Will responded firmly.

    “Then I don’t know if we can stay friend, man.”

    “What?” he asked, alarmed.

    Toby smirked. “That’s why Miller picks on me and calls me a faggot. Cause we hang out. “

    Now a long period of silence ensued as their school became visible in the distance.  “Do you still wanna…you know.”

    “It doesn’t go away overnight.” he shot back, then added a comforting “But not right now.” and offered his friend a quick smile. “Besides…” he started, but stopped himself.

    “What?”

    Toby shrugged. “You’ll think its stupid.”
    Will shook his head. “I promise.”

    “I think God was giving me a sign, man.”

    “What?” Will asked incredulously. His friend had never been particularly religious.

    “How else could I take 2 boxes of pills and still wake up?”

    “Cause they’re over the counter baby shit?”

    Toby dismissed this. “He didn’t want me to do it. He wanted me to be strong.”

    “You really think he cares?”

    “He must. I was saved for a purpose, man.”

    “And what’s that?”

    “I have no idea.” he replied, and they both shared a chuckle. “Know how Mr. Townsend’s always been telling me I should try my hand at writing music? I think I’m gonna start there. I’ve been wanting to do something about my family.”

    “Death metal, then?” he asked, and they both laughed again, coming to the front of their school where countless kids were heading inside after being dropped off in the side lot. Thankfully, no sign of Miller and his cronies. “See ya later, Chosen One.” Will shot, which Toby tried to playfully punch him in the arm for but he was off an running toward his homeroom class, leaving Toby to ponder the fact that his friend had never asked him why. He wasn’t sure he would have been able to verbalize an answer anyway.