By Alex Montgomery

I light another fag, and the fire just barely singes my mustache. I need to shave this damn thing.

WhatsHerFace is laying at the foot of the bed. Her body is mostly covered by the blanket. The bedroom is dimly lit, and the light from the cigarette occasionally fractures the darkness. But even then, only for a moment.

The fabric rustles, and I look over. WhatsHerFace is stirring.

Last night at the library, what I noticed first, and liked the most about her was that lightly speckled, slightly pale face. But thats only because I hadnt seen her sex hair. Its bright blonde, a bit too bright to be spun gold like how most people put blonde hair. I resist the urge to twirl a strand in my fingers.

I stand up from the bed and sit at the desk. Theres a pencil, a lamp thats unplugged, and a sheet of lined paper with an unfinished poem on it.

I dont feel like writing. I dont feel like fucking. I dont feel like sleeping.

I put out the cigarette on the bare wood of the desk, Im not gonna bother to find the ashtray.

Mmm.

I look over again, and WhatsHerFace has this tired, impish smile. I return the gesture.

Good Morning. I say.

Is it even morning?

I look over at the alarm clock near the bed. It reads 3:32.

Its about 3:30.

Oh, I should get going.

She gets up, and makes zero attempt to cover herself. I snap another mental picture of her tits and snatch.

Im getting hard, and by force of habit, I start playing with myself. Now shes the one looking over at me. She gives me a bemused smile.

Sorry, force of habit. That got a chuckle out of her, and she walks over, hips swaying. She wraps her hands around my cock. Theyre soft and mannish. 30 seconds later, her head is bobbing up and down my cock.

I swear, Ill never get used to this feeling. I guess that explains a lot.

By 3:45, shes out the door. Briefly, I contemplate making sure she got home safely, but it was too early in the morning for feigned chivalry. Besides, Ive had my fill of her.

I dont feel like sleeping, but I climb into bed anyway.

I blink and my alarm goes off at 7:00.

I roll out of bed, naked, and my thighs rub up against my balls. I pull on my Pac-Man pajamas.

The rooms brighter now. The ashtray was over by the bookshelf.

Before I head downstairs for breakfast, I go to the bathroom and sever that fucking rug from my upper lip.

By 7:45, Im out the door.

I take the bus to school.

Matts saving a seat for me. How nice of him.

Did you fuck Jessica? Hes obviously not in the mood for small talk.

Yeah.

What position did you use?

The same one I used with your mom.

So, anal?

No, you freak.

Then fucking tell me!

Keep your damn voice down, missionary. Happy, perv?

No.

This is why youre a virgin at 17.

Lots of people are virgins at 17.

How many of them jerk off in the school bathroom at lunch?

That was one time!

I give him a look. He starts to look sheepish.

Ok, twice.

Ok, 6 times, are you happy?!

We were turning heads now. That gave me a good laugh. He turned pink in the ears, and pouted for the rest of the ride.

First period is calculus. I sit behind this artist girl, Marie. She has dykey looking hair and a little button nose. I like her.

Hey, you lost the mustache.

Yeah, I couldnt even light one without burning the damn thing, so I lopped it off.

That makes sense. Hows Olivia?

Fine.

Just fine?

Yeah. Just fine. That happens to be a good thing, last time I checked.

Very true.

Fucked Ricky again?

Youre goddamn right.

Who came first?

Him, of course.

Liar.

The rest of the period, we shot the shit about how Mr. Lewis was probably in the closet, and which of our friends would die first.

In second period, I spent most of it trying to picture what my 26-year old Biology substitute would look like naked. Productive, isnt it? Not that it matters, Im pulling an A in this class, anyway.

The rest of my day could be summed up in that pattern: talking to people I know and mind-wanking. At lunch, I go to see Olivia. Shes sitting with her hipster friends at one of those red picnic tables schools have. I squeeze in and give her a quick kiss on the cheek.

Hey, you.

Her voice is high and familiar and sweet, and makes me feel nice.

Hows your day going?

Too soon to tell.

Yeah, same here.

Our conversations usually flicker and die out like this. I usually get this antsy and awkward around her.

The bell for 5th period rings and we exchange good-byes.

I run into Jessica WhatsHerFace on the way to 5th. Shes wearing this tight Rolling Stones t-shirt, and my cock stirs. My brain flashes the image of me licking her cooch and her moaning and grasping her tits in ecstasy. We just say hi.

She makes me sick. She really does.

In 5th period, theres this girl Rebecca, also blonde. I find myself staring at her more often than not for some reason.

Hey.

Ergh. Im not in the mood to chat. Not with her, at least.

Did you finish the poem for English?

Shit. Remember the unfinished poem? Yeah.

No.

Well, shit.

I know.

Cant you just whip one up right now?

I cant just whip up a poem.

Bullshit, youre always scribbling in that notebook of yours.

I probably could just rewrite and finish it right then and there, but seeing her frustrated just kills me.

Ugh, youre impossible.

Nobodys perfect.

Finally, she went away.

I swear, I cant stand girls (anybody really, but especially girls) that dont understand that most of the time, Id like them to fuck off. Stupid girls like that are the worst. Theres a nauseating irony in the fact that theyre also the most likely to spread their legs. Kind of like Jessica DaddyIssuesWhatsHerFace.

After 5th period is P.E. A big fucking joy, that is. Im not athletic at all anymore, although, thats implying I was at all athletic before I started smoking.

Usually, during P.E., I hang out with these gamer lads. Im not a fucktard like most people when it comes to video games, so I can usually understand what theyre saying.

P.E. Would be slightly more interesting if there were any mildly attractive girls for me to observe less dressed than they are most of the day. But all the worthwhile girls have gone.

Later that night was this choir concert that the marching band fellows had to help out with, like with handling the food stands and stuff. As if choir doesnt have theyre own legion of airheaded bitches for this kind of thing. I got stuck working the food stand with some flag-twirlers and this Tenor Sax player called Carol.

For some reason, Carols taken it upon herself to make me her friend. It may or may not be because: A. Socially, shes borderline retarded, so she doesnt have very many friends of her own (although, I dont see how thats my problem), B. Most everyone else in Band is boring and stupid, so shes naturally drawn to me, and C. She has a slim idea of how crazy I am, so she keeps trying to fix me.

The only reason I havent cut her off completely is the undeniable fact that she has nice tits. And my street cred, although high, certainly wouldnt hurt from a boost on Carols part.

Between customers, theres not a word between us. I have my nose buried in Game of Thrones, and she brought her 3DS.

In the past months, Id taken it upon myself to inwardly grit my teeth and pretend to be her friend. I dont have the energy today.

The concert was ending, we could tell, and we were packing up all the candy and soda.

Then she started crying.

My first instinct was to stealthily walk away, and bring along someone who cared to defuse the situation. However, my manly intuition was telling me that it was my fault she was crying, and that walking away would only exacerbate the situation.

Whats the matter with you?

I feel like that might have been a little harsh. The tone, that is.

W-Why dont you like me?!

I said nothing, but simply stared at her. It was getting dark, and I didnt have nearly enough time to answer the question in its entirety. Naturally, the wisest course of action was to lie.

Its not that I dont like you, Carol, its thatsometimes I dont really feel the need to talk to people

Goddamn, Im good. Shouldve joined drama. But hindsights 20/20.

I wasted the next 5 minutes comforting her. Then, like a ray of light on a dark autumn morning, she departed. Ugh. At least I dont have to deal with that for 2 days. T.G.I.F.

I grab my book and head out of the stand. Its cold as hell.

Still quite the Ladykiller, huh, Bobby?

I swore my heart turned to stone and crushed my stomach when I heard that voice. I turned around, and before me was the scandalously pretty, undeniably voluptuous, Beverly Crandall. Dykey hair and all.

Didnt expect to see you here.

My voice is faltering. Why is it doing that?

Yeah, well, Dave told me that you guys were handling this concert, so I thought Id swing by.

That voice makes me wanna curl up with her on the couch and play Final Fantasy and listen to Beck.

Hows college?

Astoundingly boring. I miss this place. I miss you.

I give up the fight trying not to smile and blush all at once.

Heh, well, uhI better get going.

No problem, message me on Facebook?

You got it. Be seeing you.

I should have hugged her. I should have hugged her. I should have hugged her.

Oh, hey, Bobby!

I turn around to face her.

I dig the clean shaven thing!

Thanks! Me too!

We both laugh. I walk off onto this street corner and fish in my pocket for my lighter and a cig. Moms not gonna be here for a while. I light another fag, and the fire briefly warms my fingers. Its cold as hell, and theres no one in sight.