Repost: Untitled Fiction

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Note: I originally wrote this back in 2007, but never revisited to continue the story (and yes, it is completely fictional lol).. Should it stand alone as a complete short-story?  Or can you think of where it could go from here?  Ideas and thoughts are always welcome. 😀

“Will you hurry up already?  I don’t want to stand here all night,” whispered Darel as he waited for me to pass him the coke.

It was just a typical Saturday night at the Big U.  Darel and I were crammed together in one of the bathroom stalls doing bumps of coke as the electronic-laced dance music thumped in our ears.

To be frank, it’s all his fault.  Darel was the one who first introduced me to the ‘magic white powder’ about a year ago.  Now, whenever I go out, I usually have some with me.  It’s almost a requirement these days just to get through the night, especially at this hole.  Tragic, really, how I don’t remember the last time I went out without it.

“Hey, don’t snort the whole fucking bag, dumb-ass,” I hissed at him. “I didn’t say I was going to get you fucked up, just a little bit buzzed.”  I snatched the little bag back from him and gave it a flick to see how much was left.  The little bitch left me barely enough for another bump later if I needed it.  What a fucking drug-whole he’s become.

Sometimes I truly wonder how the two of us even became friends in the first place.  We’re absolutely nothing alike.

Darel started pouting as I put away my meager stash.  “Aw, come on Sasha.  I barely did any.  You never share your drugs.”  His whining was getting on my nerves as he opened up the stall door to leave.

Without a word, I closed the door in his face so I could take a leak.

This was typical Darel behavior.  To him, the entire world was conspiring against him so he wouldn’t have a good time.  Meanwhile, he never has enough money to pay his cover, let alone for drugs.  As much as I love hanging out with the guy, he was starting to get way out of hand.  I couldn’t keep paying for both of us.

Flushing, I zipped myself up as I left the stall, which was quickly snatched up by a couple of muscle queens.  At the sinks, once I’d washed my hands (a rarity in bars somehow), I gave myself a quick once over while I wiped my nose to ensure there weren’t any stray flecks for all to see.

Not to toot my own horn, but I wasn’t looking too bad for a guy who just celebrated his 32nd birthday.  I still had a full head of messy black hair, barely any wrinkles, and all those hours in the gym had finally given me that coveted ‘short-n-stocky’ build I’d always wanted for all those years I was overweight.

Hell, even I’d fuck me, if I weren’t such a bottom.

Looking around the bathroom, Darel was nowhere to be seen.  Not a surprise.  He was probably off to find someone to either buy him a beer or give him more drugs.  Or both.

Just to catch everyone up to speed, Darel and I met through a blind date.  One of his best friends was a co-worker of mine a few years back and thought the two of us would make a cute couple.

Admittedly, we did hit it off right off the bat and we spent the next few months screwing our brains out.  But we were never exclusive.  We eventually stopped sleeping together and decided just to be friends.

Sure, the sex was great and all, but I wasn’t looking for a fuck-friend at the time.  I’d been in husband hunting mode.

“Shit,” I muttered under my breath.  As usual, there weren’t any paper towels in the bathroom, so I walked back to the bar for some napkins to dry my hands off.

Tossing the crumpled napkin on the bar, I waved a ten spot at the barman to get another drink.  As I glanced around at the crowd, I easily spotted Darel in one of the corners with his hands down some guy’s pants.  Again, this was typical Darel.  As coked up as he was, he probably wouldn’t even be able to get a hard on.

Leaving some change on the bar for a tip, I grabbed my drink and decided to take a tour of the club.  Like every other Saturday night, it was packed with all the usual people.  It has always amazed me how these people are so reluctant to do anything different on a weekly basis.  As if this was the only club in Montreal.

Can you tell I’m bored with the place?

Walking around, I stopped briefly to say ‘hi’ to the few people I know.  I wouldn’t call these people friends at all.  They were just people I’d bump into from time to time, and it wouldn’t be anything more than a quick peck on the check and bland pleasantries.  It’s not like you’re able to sustain a meaningful conversation with some drunken fool while the music echoed off the walls.

It’s a wonder we’re not all deaf already.  Think about that.

This will definitely sound clichéd, but all I was trying to achieve in my tour of the place was to catch some cute guy’s eye, have a little flirtatious chat, maybe make-out a little, and hopefully take him home to fuck me silly all night long.

Was that really too much to ask?  It’s not like I was looking for a husband for Christ’s sake.  Well, maybe.

Anyway, I was swaying on the edge of the dance floor to the latest pop-princess remix when I spotted Darel again.  He was being carried out of the bar by two security guards, completely passed out.  Again.  I don’t think this has happened in at least a month or so.

So, of course being the good friend that I am, I left my half-finished drink and ran after him to make sure he was alright.  I caught up to all of them by the front door but Darel wasn’t passed out after all, he was just too out of it to walk on his own.  Stupid jackass.

“Hey Sylvan,” I said to one of the bouncers, “guess he’s done it again, huh?”

Sylvan is this hunky, beefy straight guy that works security for the bar, and every guy I knew there would jump at the chance to get their hands on him.  “Sash, how the fuck does he get so messy every time he comes here?” he asked in that gorgeous French-accented voice of his.  “The boss is almost temped to ban his ass for good this time.”

“I don’t blame him, and sometimes I wonder why he doesn’t.”  Sylvan helped me get Darel down the stairs to street level.  “So, how long is he banned for this time?”

Making sure nobody could hear him, Sylvan whispered, “Actually, the boss was the one feeding him shooters and shoveling coke up his nose in the back office.  When I went into the office, your buddy was in la-la land while the boss and his boyfriend were double fucking him.”

For fuck’s sake!  What the hell had Darel gotten himself into this time?  “His ass will definitely be sore tomorrow,” I joked.

“You could say that again.”  Sylvan chuckled as he helped me get Darel into a cab and I gave the driver my address.  “Take care of that idiot, will ya?”

“I will.And thanks for the help tonight.”  I closed the cab door and off we went to my place.

At least this time Darel wasn’t puking his guts out.  The last time something like this happened, the cabbie wouldn’t even let me put Darel in the cab.  We had to walk to my place instead, and it wasn’t pleasant.  I didn’t enjoy stopping every couple of blocks to wait for dumb-ass to finish puking and then listen to his whining about how it was all this person’s or that person’s fault that he was so messy that time.  At one point, I got so sick of hearing it all that I kept walking despite his screams for help because he’d fallen down in a puddle of his own vomit.  One of these days, I may actually leave him there.

Luckily, this time Darel just sat back with his eyes closed and didn’t say a word or move a muscle.  If it wasn’t for the fact that I could hear him breathing, I might have thought him dead.

Copyright 2007 – 2013 M P Wilson

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My Name is X (Part 4)

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Click HERE to read Part 3

The night we first met was funnily enough at a gallery opening not far from the one we’d gone to tonight.  That artist apparently had a fascination with the penis, so every piece of work was very phallic to say the least.  We swear a couple of the photographs were of his own cock.

I’d agreed to meet Mags there that night but couldn’t find her once I’d arrived so I got myself a watered-down cocktail from the overly priced bar and kept an eye out for her while I took a look around.

Just as I was turning away from a suspicious looking sculpture, some muscle-bound twat bumped into me and spilled his drink down my shirt.

“Watch where you’re going, will ya?” he growled at me as he moved off as if he’d done nothing wrong.  As tempted as I was to go screaming after him, instead I headed to the loo to try and dry my shirt off.  Luckily it was only white wine he’d spilled on me so it wouldn’t stain.

Cute-Low-Bodyfat-Tanned-Blond-Male-ModelOf course I did a lot of cursing and swearing in the mirror thinking about that pretentious asshole.

And just my luck, when I finally met up with Mags, that ‘asshole’ turned out to be her bestie Daren.

It’s always the way, huh?

To be honest, I can’t remember exactly when my perception of him changed and we started to hang out without Mags from time to time.  Sometimes you just want to go out with the boys without your best girlfriend tagging along.  And some of the bars we’d go to didn’t allow women in anyway.

When we first hooked up I thought for sure it was just going to be a one-time thing, as we were completely shitfaced at the time and we’re complete polar opposites.  He’s tall, blonde, muscular, very gregarious, and looks like he should be in an Italian underwear advert. Think David Beckham with a thicker chest and without the tattoos.  I’m just an average Joe with a bit of a belly, introverted, balding (I shave it so I don’t look like a monk), and average looking if you ask me.

But somehow it worked for a while.

We kept it from Mags for a bit, as we never wanted to get her hopes up.  When she first introduced us, she’d joked that we should name our first child after her, though she knew we both had different types in guys.

I think she was more shocked when we started dating than either of us were.

We did our best to not put her in the middle of any issues we had while we were together since she was friends with both of us.  The last thing either of us did was go to her with any problems we had with the other, that way she didn’t have to take any sides.

Though to be honest, there weren’t many issues between us.  It was more like having your best friend at home with you at the end of the day. beary breakfastQuite comfortable, but no real passion if you know what I mean.  Though the sex was a lot of fun.

Well, that’s all in the past now.  We’ve both moved on with our lives since then (was about 4 or 5 years ago), and we’ve both dated other people since.

The one thing that has never really changed through all of it was how close the three of us are.  When Daren and I ‘broke up’, it was like nothing had changed from before.  The three of us were like the musketeers and joined at the hip as usual.

Some people may find that odd, but it worked for us.  We don’t pretend it never happened, because that would imply it was a bad thing and it wasn’t.

My Name is X (Part 3)

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Click HERE for Part 2

The three of us didn’t stay at that gallery opening too long, though we did find it amusing that the ‘artist’ decided to show up wearing just a tumblr_ly027lwvQb1qj8ar7o1_500jock-strap and a leather harness.  It was amusing to watch the shocked reactions as he pranced around the gallery chatting to the patrons.

It takes all types I suppose.

Apparently there really was a new restaurant Mags wanted to go to close to the gallery opening, so off we went to enjoy some interesting combinations of curry and what we think was lamb or something like it.  The food was okay at best, but the ambiance was cosy and we enjoyed a couple bottles of wine and loads of laughs.  As always.

The three of us have been fast friends for ages now, way before Daren and I decided to play house for a couple years.  Mags and Daren grew up together as their families are pretty close, and there were hopes when they were children that they’d grow up and get married.

That obviously wasn’t going to happen.  Mags became his faghag fairly early on, way before he came out to the families, and they’ve been inseparable ever since.

Mags and I met back in 2003, close to 10 years ago, through a job I did for the publishing company she works at.  I was brought in to lead a restructure project for their customer services department, and she was the assistant of the department head I had to report into so we had to work quite closely together for the 9 months or so I was working there.

Surprisingly, it wasn’t until about a month before I was finishing up there that we went out for drinks together to celebratecoworker meme the project nearing a close.  Up until then we hadn’t really socialised together or really knew much about each other’s lives.

And she apparently had no clue I was gay, which surprised me.

I’m not one to hide who I am, and I don’t think I come across very masculine, but at the same time I don’t walk into a room with my hands on my hips, calling everything ‘Fabulous’.  I’m gay, but not that gay if you know what I mean.

Anyway, long story short, we became friends and kept in touch once my contract ended.  Which was great considering I’d only moved to London about a month or two before starting that job and I hadn’t made a lot of friends as of yet.  Through Mags I met a whole slew of people I never would have otherwise.

The thing about Mags is she’s such a social butterfly and seems to know everyone.  She’s got one of those personalities that everyone just seems to love, even if she can come across as someone snobbish at first.  It’s just part of who she is, and quite quickly you realise that it’s also just a façade for when she’s out and about.

Her social life is filled with so many events and parties that I’m not sure she’d know what to do if she wasn’t out and about all the time.  She’s definitely someone who lives life to the fullest and enjoys finding new places to go to.  Although she has never been that successful in the Cute-Low-Bodyfat-Tanned-Blond-Male-Modelromance department herself.

And obviously I met Daren through Mags, though we didn’t get along at first.

Thinking back on it, I thought he was completely pretentious and up his own arse when we first met, despite his rugged good looks and perfect smile.  That initial judgement on my part changed over time as I got to know him better.

My Name is X (Part 2)

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Click HERE to read Part 1

Don’t worry, it’s not about to get all catty in here.

Daren and I truly are on good terms, even falling into bed again every once in a while when we’re drunk.  We ended things after we both realised 2 men in bedit just wasn’t working.  It was still fun, but it was more friends with benefits than a relationship.  We both agree we’re just better as friends now.

It still doesn’t stop me from thinking he’s still as fuckable as hell, though I didn’t think so when we first met.

“Oh darling, there you are!”  Mags glided over to me dragging Daren behind her.  “We were wondering where you’d gone off to.  Last I saw you were chatting to some little ginger guy over by the still life portraits.”

That was the fucktard who couldn’t understand my name.  “Yeah, he’s a moron,” I told her.  “Why did you even introduce me to him in the first place?”

Being the drama queen we all know she loves to be, Mags pulled her best slightly shocked, but slightly mortified look she gives when she tries to pretend she doesn’t know what you’re talking about.

I’d call it her innocent look if it weren’t for the fact that she’s can lie through her fucking teeth.  And that’s a compliment.

“But darling, didn’t I tell you?” she asked insincerely.  “He’s the prince regent from some remote little island nation off the coast of Africa.  And here I was, trying to hook you up with royalty.”  She actually put her wrist against her forehead like she was going to faint of mortification, and kilt2[1]let out a little moan.

“Oh bitch please.  He’s fucking Scottish, and lives in East Hackney while he tries to find his inner muse and write his first novel.  He thinks he’s going to write the next Harry Potter or some shit like that.”

See.  I do pay attention when people talk shit to me, even if they don’t listen to me.

Mags pulled a pouty face.  “You mean he lied to me?  That bastard!”

Laughing I said, “Yeah right babes.  As if anyone would lie to you.”  I gave her a wink as I gave Daren a hug and kiss hello.  “So gorgeous, how’d Madame get you to agree to come to this atrocity of a showing?  You usually stay far away from these things.”

Daren rolled his eyes and shot Mags a dirty look.  “Basically she lied to me.  She told me she was taking me to some new Indian Fusion restaurant sexy arab-speedothat had the cutest waiters in town.”

I laughed at that.  That was Daren for you, always on the lookout for some cutie to play around with, though that wasn’t his normal type.  “And here I thought I was the one who liked Asian guys.”

He just shrugged.  “Sometimes you want something a bit more exotic.  Besides, I’ve always been curious to see what you see in those guys.”

To be honest, I wasn’t sure myself sometimes.

My Name is X (Part 1)

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Just a bit of fiction.. not based on any actual events or persons, real or otherwise. 😉

I immediately saw the confusion on his face as he tried to figure out what “Hi, my name is X,” meant.  It took him a couple moments before he replied.

“Oh, you mean your name is Xavier?” he asked somewhat confidently, still shaking my hand.

Yep, here we go as usual.

I shook my head.  “No, my name is X.  Just X.”

You could see the wheels turning slowly in his head because he just didn’t seem to understand that that was actually my name.

“But what does it stand for?”

Sigh.  Why is it every time I introduce myself to some fuckwit in a club or wherever I have to explain that it’s not an initial, it’s not a nickname (sort of).  That it’s just my name.

It just made me want to scream at these idiots that don’t seem to understand that when someone introduces themselves, regardless of their name, that the polite thing to do is to respond, “Oh, nice to meet you X.  Are you having a nice evening?”

Or something stupid like that.

Instead I’m supposed to smile like it’s no big deal that this idiotic twat can’t seem to understand that it is what I said it is, and that I don’t have to explain myself or let them in on some secret about the hidden meaning behind it.  It’s just none of their fucking business.

It just makes me want to scream and shout at these dummies, but I can’t, cause that isn’t the polite thing to do.

Instead to this guy I just said, “Um yeah, nice meeting you.  See you around” and then walked away to find someone with half a brain to talk to.

Obviously my parents weren’t that out there that they named me X when I was born.  My actual name is Alexander, but I don’t use it except when it comes to the government and paying my taxes.

When I was young, everyone used to call me Xander, including my parents.  I was never an ‘Alex’ thank Christ, especially when you grow up with ‘Family Ties’ and Alex P Keaton on the TV.  What a twit he was.

Then when I was probably around 15 or so, my friends and schoolmates started calling me ‘X’… And it’s just kind of stuck over the years.  Now I don’t answer to anything else.

There have been times when people have just assumed that I called myself ‘X’ to try to be cool or hip or some other bullshit.  Or like that fuckwit tonight, that they can guess what my real name is and then try to call me by it, as if they’re being superior to my supposed ‘coolness’.

Whatever these idiots do, they don’t do it for long or at least not around me because I don’t stand for it.  I usually walk away like I did tonight, but there have been times when I’ve gotten into it with a few people when they couldn’t wrap their tiny little pea-sized brains around the fact that my name is X, I want them to call me X, and I don’t want them to call me anything but X.

You’d think that be simple enough.

Anyway, my name is my name.  And if you don’t like it, then go ahead and fuck off.  Won’t bother me any.

Yeah in case you couldn’t tell, I’m a bit blunt.  It works for me.

Anyway, after getting away from the brainiac who couldn’t figure out my name, I went trolling around the party in search of someone somewhat interesting to talk to.

My friend Mags had brought me to yet another gallery opening in East London for some supposedly avant-garde new painter friend of hers she met at an organic coffee shop a couple weeks ago.  I’m not muchart gallery of an art fan, but she seems to eat it up faster than a fat kid with a box of Smarties.

I only come along for the free booze really… Ok and to maybe find some cutie to fuck afterwards.  Or during if I’m bored and drunk enough.  There was this one time in the cloak room…

After a few minutes of walking around, mouthing platitudes and murmuring (very) faint praise for the artist’s work, I found Mags standing in a corner hanging off the sexiest man in the room, running her fingers through his golden hair as she laughed at his witty repartee.

He also just happened to be my ex-boyfriend Daren.

Untitled Fiction

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Note:  This was a story I started a little while back, but couldn’t decide where I wanted it to go next… any ideas?  Leave me a comment!  🙂

“Will you hurry up already? I don’t want to stand here all night,” whispered Darel as he waited for me to pass him the coke.

It was just a typical Saturday night at the Big U. Darel and I were crammed together in one of the bathroom stalls doing bumps of coke as the electronic-laced dance music thumped in our ears.

To be frank, it’s all his fault. Darel was the one who first introduced me to the ‘magic white powder’ about a year ago. Now, whenever I go out, I usually have some with me. It’s almost a requirement these days just to get through the night, especially at this hole. Tragic, really, how I don’t remember the last time I went out without it.

“Hey, don’t snort the whole fucking bag, dumb-ass,” I hissed at him. “I didn’t say I was going to get you fucked up, just a little bit buzzed.” I snatched the little bag back from him and gave it a flick to see how much was left. The little bitch left me barely enough for another bump later if I needed it. What a fucking drug-whole he’s become.

Sometimes I truly wonder how the two of us even became friends in the first place. We’re absolutely nothing alike.

Darel started pouting as I put away my meager stash. “Aw, come on Sasha. I barely did any. You never share your drugs.” His whining was getting on my nerves as he opened up the stall door to leave.

Without a word, I closed the door in his face so I could take a leak.

This was typical Darel behavior. To him, the entire world was conspiring against him so he wouldn’t have a good time. Meanwhile, he never has enough money to pay his cover, let alone for drugs. As much as I love hanging out with the guy, he was starting to get way out of hand. I couldn’t keep paying for both of us.

Flushing, I zipped myself up as I left the stall, which was quickly snatched up by a couple of muscle queens. At the sinks, once I’d washed my hands (a rarity in bars somehow), I gave myself a quick once over while I wiped my nose to ensure there weren’t any stray flecks for all to see.

Not to toot my own horn, but I wasn’t looking too bad for a guy who just celebrated his 32nd birthday. I still had a full head of messy black hair, barely any wrinkles, and all those hours in the gym had finally given me that coveted ‘short-n-stocky’ build I’d always wanted for all those years I was overweight.

Hell, even I’d fuck me, if I weren’t such a bottom.

Looking around the bathroom, Darel was nowhere to be seen. Not a surprise. He was probably off to find someone to either buy him a beer or give him more drugs. Or both.

Just to catch everyone up to speed, Darel and I met through a blind date. One of his best friends was a co-worker of mine a few years back and thought the two of us would make a cute couple.

Admittedly, we did hit it off right off the bat and we spent the next few months screwing our brains out. But we were never exclusive. We eventually stopped sleeping together and decided just to be friends.

Sure, the sex was great and all, but I wasn’t looking for a fuck-friend at the time. I’d been in husband hunting mode.

“Shit,” I muttered under my breath. As usual, there weren’t any paper towels in the bathroom, so I walked back to the bar for some napkins to dry my hands off.

Tossing the crumpled napkin on the bar, I waved a ten spot at the barman to get another drink. As I glanced around at the crowd, I easily spotted Darel in one of the corners with his hands down some guy’s pants. Again, this was typical Darel. As coked up as he was, he probably wouldn’t even be able to get a hard on.

Leaving some change on the bar for a tip, I grabbed my drink and decided to take a tour of the club. Like every other Saturday night, it was packed with all the usual people. It has always amazed me how these people are so reluctant to do anything different on a weekly basis. As if this was the only club in Montreal.

Can you tell I’m bored with the place?

Walking around, I stopped briefly to say ‘hi’ to the few people I know. I wouldn’t call these people friends at all. They were just people I’d bump into from time to time, and it wouldn’t be anything more than a quick peck on the check and bland pleasantries. It’s not like you’re able to sustain a meaningful conversation with some drunken fool while the music echoed off the walls.

It’s a wonder we’re not all deaf already. Think about that.

This will definitely sound clichéd, but all I was trying to achieve in my tour of the place was to catch some cute guy’s eye, have a little flirtatious chat, maybe make-out a little, and hopefully take him home to fuck me silly all night long.

Was that really too much to ask? It’s not like I was looking for a husband for Christ’s sake. Well, maybe.

Anyway, I was swaying on the edge of the dance floor to the latest pop-princess remix when I spotted Darel again. He was being carried out of the bar by two security guards, completely passed out. Again. I don’t think this has happened in at least a month or so.

So, of course being the good friend that I am, I left my half-finished drink and ran after him to make sure he was alright. I caught up to all of them by the front door but Darel wasn’t passed out after all, he was just too out of it to walk on his own. Stupid jackass.

“Hey Sylvan,” I said to one of the bouncers, “guess he’s done it again, huh?”

Sylvan is this hunky, beefy straight guy that works security for the bar, and every guy I knew there would jump at the chance to get their hands on him. “Sash, how the fuck does he get so messy every time he comes here?” he asked in that gorgeous French-accented voice of his. “The boss is almost temped to ban his ass for good this time.”

“I don’t blame him, and sometimes I wonder why he doesn’t.” Sylvan helped me get Darel down the stairs to street level. “So, how long is he banned for this time?”

Making sure nobody could hear him, Sylvan whispered, “Actually, the boss was the one feeding him shooters and shoveling coke up his nose in the back office. When I went into the office, your buddy was in la-la land while the boss and his boyfriend were double fucking him.”

For fuck’s sake! What the hell had Darel gotten himself into this time? “His ass will definitely be sore tomorrow,” I joked.

“You could say that again.” Sylvan chuckled as he helped me get Darel into a cab and I gave the driver my address. “Take care of that idiot, will ya?”

“I will. And thanks for the help tonight.” I closed the cab door and off we went to my place.

At least this time Darel wasn’t puking his guts out. The last time something like this happened, the cabbie wouldn’t even let me put Darel in the cab. We had to walk to my place instead, and it wasn’t pleasant. I didn’t enjoy stopping every couple of blocks to wait for dumb-ass to finish puking and then listen to his whining about how it was all this person’s or that person’s fault that he was so messy that time. At one point, I got so sick of hearing it all that I kept walking despite his screams for help because he’d fallen down in a puddle of his own vomit. One of these days, I may actually leave him there.

Luckily, this time Darel just sat back with his eyes closed and didn’t say a word or move a muscle. If it wasn’t for the fact that I could hear him breathing, I might have thought him to be dead.

Copyright 2007 Martin P Wilson