Things That Are Supposed To Be Good Are Just Embarrassing

I don’t understand how all these older people get all stupid and glassy-eyed when they think about their so-called ‘glory days’ and call this shit the best times of their lives. Man, if that is true, then they are a bunch of sorry, sad-sack assholes. So much is going on that I hope I NEVER remember. If this is as good as it gets, fucking kill me.

So, my dad caught wind of my science grade dropping to a B- after Mr. Hanson screwed me ROYALLY last week. If you didn’t hear about it already, I told the whole retarded tale here: https://hellisforchildren.wordpress.com/2008/04/21/a-science-teacher-and-a-dick/. He started to come down hard on me, so I told him my side of things—about Hanson being a freaking scurvy douche bag just coaching a swim team to look at teenage boys with waxed chests—but he just looked at me like my head was a grapefruit or something. And then, to my overall AMAZEMENT, he says to me, “Would it kill you to get involved in something worthwhile like a swim team?” I was floored. I asked him if it would make him feel better to know I was shaving my legs and armpits like some kind of goddamned chick and wearing a mother-fucking SPEEDO of all things and being stared at by a mustached, crazy-eyed pedophile with a constant half-mast tent-pole rocking his Dockers, and my dad looks at me, right in the eye he looks at me, and without even smiling he says, “He doesn’t have crazy-eyes, Pendel.”

I wish I could have drop-kicked my brain at him.

I didn’t even bother to argue. I balled up my grade report and threw it in the fake fireplace and very handicappedly said that if it had been a REAL fireplace, the report card would be all gone—then I ran out of the house. I had nowhere to go, so I biked over to Camile’s house so HER dad could glare at me for a while.

As it turned out, they weren’t even there. No cars in the driveway. Awesome. She was alone watching TV and talking to her bitchy friend Patrice on the phone—Patrice drives me batshit but always rubs her butt on my dick at dances so I tolerate her well enough. I tell Camile through the screen door to get the fuck off the phone and let me in—didn’t she see my text that I was coming? She’s probably still pissed at me because of the whole church thing but I don’t care. The house is all kinds of dark except of the TV glow and I can see she’s just in her nightgown and it’s all giving me a boner. I bang on the door some more until she tells Patrice “see ya” and stomps over, pissed. “Why are you banging like that?” I tell her I’ll show her banging as soon as she opens the door, and that makes her blush and forget she’s ticked at me. The thing you have to remember with Camile is this: yes, she’s got some zits on her forehead. Yes, she’s kind of clumsy-looking around the eyes. But her ass is banging and her titties pop, and when I talk even the slightest bit sexy to her she gets all flustered and starts tugging at my belt.

So I get in the door and I’m like immediately tugging at HER. I want to get her into her room cause she still hasn’t let me tap that ass, and it’s all I’m really looking to do before I graduate and blow town. I ask her why she’s gotta leave me at the door like that when I NEED her like I do, and she’s like, “What do you want? I had Patrice on the phone.” And then she says, “She’s always rubbing against you. I know she likes you. I hate her.” I ask her what the hell she’s doing talking to Patrice on the phone then if that’s the way she feels—leaving me at the door that way—and she’s like, “Well, she’s nice.” Fucking chicks. I swear to god.

So she’s like why are you here, and I tell her the whole deal with my dad and Mr. Sleezeball Hanson and my grades and the fake fireplace and how she’s all I’ve got tonight (nice, yes?) and then she’s like, “Oh no, let me rub your back then.” And so I know I can at least get her shirt off tonight, and I’m hoping I can do more, but you never know. Camile has a tendency to get me to the verge of testicle meltdown, but then before I know it she’ll be halfway down the block, arms folded over her chest and acting all violated.

But hey, tonight it’s all good. She like, tells me to take off my shirt so she can rub my back better, and I’m like, oh you know it, and she just takes off hers, too! And just seeing her bra, which has like this lacy stuff on it like I’ve never seen her wear before, it totally kills me. The whole night rocks Mayhem style now that I can see just a touch of nipple, and I can’t get my eyes off of them, and it must show cause she totally blushes and smiles, and I’m so shocked at how easy it was to get her out of her shirt that I blurt out, “Why did you do that?” And she’s like, “I’ll put it back on if you want.” NOT BLOODY LIKELY. I hate the fact that she makes me turn over so she can, in freaking fact, rub my back, but I know that if I’m going to see more of her I’ve got to play it cool. I mean, she’s jerked me off tons of times, I think, or at least a few, and it’s all good, but I want IN THERE, YO. I have done my time, and now I want my PAYDAY. So I will be patient. I am the sex ninja, and I am poised for the kill, even if I must lurk in shadows all night.

It turns out I can only wait for like five minutes, and then I flip over so she can feel my boner on her, so she knows what she’s doing to me, and I don’t know why tonight is different, but it is, and the next thing you know we are both down to just about nothing, just our bottoms, and then THOSE are gone, and my brain is FRYING because to be honest, it’s not like I get this far every day. Then she’s jerking me again, and I’m like, let me get these boxers off, cause it will be easier, and she’s like, “Easier to what?” Fucking A. I get mine off, and while I do, she’s taking HER’S off, and I don’t even know what to make of it all, like I am totally going to blow my wad just watching her do it, cause I’ve fingered her plenty but I’ve never SEEN it, and now THERE IT IS, and it’s dark so I can’t see it plainly but I can sense it. And now she’s all like “I want to, I want to…” And I’m wondering what the fuck were she and Patrice talking about on the phone? And I’m wondering where the hell her asshole dad is, because he works down at the auto yard and he will fucking KILL me if he catches us, but she insists they are out for hours at the Do Drop In. But would I even care if they were coming up the driveway at that very moment? NOPE. So we assume what I assume is the position, and maybe I’m giving too much away here, but I’m not sure how to get it in her, I’m not HUGELY experienced, but I am COMPLETELY willing, and so I just go for it. No guts no glory, Major Woody.

Now Camile is like, “Kiss me, kiss me…” But hell man, I am trying to CONCENTRATE, you know? And I know she gets wetter than this, but I’m not sure I’m feeling it, and it all seems tighter than I would have expected, and I know Camile is a virgin, but COME ON. And she’s like, “I don’t think you’re in the spot, that’s not my spot.” And I’m like, spot? What spot?! And she’s like breathing and she’s saying, “You know, my spot…that’s not my hole.” And in my head, I’m like, what the fuck, how do I mess this up? My head is swimming, and shit is quickly building to an EVENT down there, and I look down, and I guess I’m basically, much to the chagrin of all involved, screwing her in the crease between her thigh and pelvis, and I realize she doesn’t even really have her legs open, but it’s too freaking late and I literally blow it.

What a mess.

Camile’s laughing, which pisses me off, and she’s like “Ha ha, oh Pendel, it’s ok.” And I’m just like oh great. Fuck THIS. I’m so embarrassed that I can’t even see straight, and I’m so disappointed in myself for being such a dimwit, such a wuss, so I just have to get out of there. I’m angry at Camile too, but who the hell knows why. Why didn’t she open her legs? Why didn’t she tell me sooner that I was screwing it all up? Fucking Mr. Hanson. That asshole has me all freaked out about being weird and messing with my ONLY good grade and has thrown EVERYTHING off. I will KILL him if I see him on the way home.

Camile is all crying because I’m angry during such a SPECIAL MOMENT and she doesn’t know why I’m angry, but then she must be dumber than I thought, because isn’t SHE angry? At me? For messing things up for HER? Oh well. Another rite of passage blown to shit. I feel a little bad about ditching Camile, but fuck it. If I would have stuck around I would have just been the ultimate dick anyway. In a couple of months I’ll graduate (I think) and disappear forever and she can get some other idiot to hang out with while she paints her stupid nails.

On the way home I saw her old man’s Ford Focus in the parking lot of the Do Drop In. Just looking at it pissed me off so bad that I threw a chunk of asphalt through the windshield. The alarm went off and it was fucking LOUD, and I ran all the way home. I was in bed when I remembered that I left my bike over at Camile’s. Just perfect.

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Tagged with: Camile, Dad, Mr. Hanson, Sex, Violence
Posted in Chicks, Misadventure