Doodling

Well, being gay didn't hurt Freddie Mercury's career or Rob Halford's career. Joan Jett hadn't suffered any back lash either. Of course, Freddie and Rob and Joan do have talent.

Scott Joliet apologized to me again. With a bro hug and a high five, I assured him nothing had changed between us. Then I made the obligatory noises about treating Sandra right. He promised me that he would treat her the way she deserved.

"No, you asshole, I said treat her right; not the way she deserves," I wanted to say.

So, by lunch time, Sandra quit harassing me. After all, she now had a new host to anchor her parasitical love to.

"You okay, Bert?" Francine or Francesca asked as I pulled my lunch out of my locker.

"Yeah," Francesca or Francine agreed. "God! Kind of sucks, huh?"

"Yeah, and I'm so sure he really appreciates you reminding him, Francie," Francine or Francesca snapped.

"Oh, shut up, Francie," Francesca or Francine said, actually holding onto my arm. "I'm just saying."

"And I'm just saying you a dumb ass," Francine or Francesca said, taking my other arm.

"You bring lunch?" Francesca or Francine asked Francine or Francesca as we entered the cafeteria.

"Shit! No. You?" her sister asked.

"Okay, guess we got get whatever they got," Francine or Francesca sighed. "Bert, want something?"

"Yeah, get me a water," I said, pulling out my wallet.

"We got it," Francine or Francesca assured me, pushing my wallet away.

I found a table and ignored Scott's attempt to wave me to where he and Sandra were seated. A moment later, the Thompson twins sat and one of them pushed a bottle of ice cold water to me.

"Know, them Spirograph shirts? Thought they was pretty cool," Francine or Francesca said, mouth full of food.

"God! Gross, Francie," her sister yelled. "Like we all want see you mouth all full of food like that?"

"Aahh!" Francine or Francesca said, showing her sister her mouth full of food.

"Arrgh! I hate you," her sister declared. "Bitch!"

"But that rhinestone? Kind of tacky," Francine or Francesca concluded, swallowing her mouthful of food.

"I concur wholeheartedly," I said.

"We're going into business," Francine or Francesca said.

"Oh? What kind of business?" I asked.

"No, no, that's going be our major. In college," Francesca or Francine said.

"I'm kind of leaning toward Graphic Design. Probably should think about minoring in business, though," I mused, more to myself than to the Thompson twins.

By the end of the first school day, I had twelve orders. Four were for rhinestone butterflies, one for a rhinestone unicorn, and seven for puffy paint designs. Madeline Grubbens, a girl heavily influenced by Death or Black Metal, asked me if I could do a black skull on a black tee shirt.

"You know, I mean, you're kind of looking at it, kind of looks like something's there, but you ain't really sure until you get up close and BAM! There it is, this bad ass skull, you know?" she said.

"I can try," I agreed.

Home again, I decided to do Madeline's shirt first; I was truly intrigued to see how I would do it. I had to drag two lamps into my room and remove the lamp shades to give a stronger contrast between the black tee shirt and the black fabric paint. Hank watched me from the door of my room. He just stood, silently watching as I did my work.

Finally, I finished. And the results were amazing. I had even detailed the skull's mouth with one tooth missing; an upper incisor. I used a small scalpel style blade to make indentations, separating the teeth, the joints for the grinning jaws.

"Not bad," Hank complimented as I stretched, back and shoulders stiff and knotted from the exertion.

"Thanks," I smiled. "That was a bitch and a half, hear?"

And again, Hank watched as I did a rhinestone butterfly. Since I already knew what I was doing, that one went fairly quickly. He said nothing, just watched.

"Know, need something, kind of keep all your stuff organized," Hank commented as I set that shirt aside. "Be right back."

I was already working on a Spirograph black Celtic cross on a white tee shirt when Hank returned. Again, he stood silently as I worked. When I indicated that I was done, he came in, holding out a bright red plastic box.

"What's this?" I asked, taking the long rectangle from his hands.

"Tackle box. Bought it, but just can't get rid of my old one; my old man gave it to me, you know?" Hank said.

I opened the lid. Inside were trays with small compartments, sections to store different sizes of rhinestones so I wouldn't have to dig in the bag, searching through to find the size I wanted? There were spaces to put my fabric paints, instead of just having them sitting on my desk.

"And see? Lift this up and..." Hank said, lifting the first tray, showing me that there was a second tray underneath, with more compartments for the tools of my trade.

And underneath the first and second trays was an area to store my forty seven various colored pens.

"Oh, wow!" I said, truly pleased. "This is, wow, Hank, how much I owe you for this?"

"Owe me? Owe me? Boy," Hank sneered. "Ain't no one ever give you a gift before?"

"Thank you," I said.

He gave me a one armed hug and stepped out of the room while I happily bent to the task of organizing my merchandise. A moment later, I could smell his glaucoma medicine seeping out from my mother's room.

"Hey," my mother said a moment later.

"Hey," I agreed.

"Uh, Hank said you broke up with that Sandra?" my mother asked.

"Yeah. She uh, found her in bed with Scott," I shrugged.

"God, Mother; where have you been? Broke up with her a whole week ago," I wanted to say.

"Shame. Seemed like a sweet girl," My mother said. "Hank here?"

"Really? You can't smell? I feel like I'm in an Amsterdam coffee house," I wanted to say.

"Think he's in your room," I said. "Hey, look. Look what he gave me."

"Oh. Okay. What is it?" My mother asked, looking at the tackle box.

"A tackle box. Keep my stuff in," I said. "Oh. And I put that candle in your bathroom."

"That peppermint one? Oh good. Light it next time we go to Pancho's," My mother joked.

"Please do," I said, pinching my nose.

"Oh, shut up," my mother laughed. "Hank? Sweetie? You here?"

Madeline was immensely pleased with the Skull tee shirt. I garnered a few more orders from people that admired Madeline's tee shirt and Hank bought me a halogen lamp from Home Depot. It wasn't much bigger than a flashlight and could swivel on its base, but boy could that thing put out some light. Using that, I had no trouble seeing the contrast between fabric and fabric paint.

He also talked with me. A lot. Granted, ninety nine point nine percent of what Hank wanted to talk about, I had absolutely zero interest in. Fishing, deer hunting, college basketball.

Hank Jeffries also listened to me. He asked me to explain why I was thinking about studying Graphic Design, what kind of job I would get with a degree in that field. Pointing out that I seemed to be very good at tutoring, why wasn't I thinking about going into education? Since I was doing very well with Tees By Bert, why wasn't I considering business as my major? Seeing that I was interested in the stock market, had I considered Finance as a field of study?

"I mean, hey man, not trying talk you into nothing," Hank said. "Just, you know, man, don't paint yourself into no corner, you know what I'm saying?"

Most of these talks took place when my mother wasn't around, so it wasn't Hank just trying to score brownie points with my mother. And, even when my mother was around, Hank made efforts to include me in their conversations.

It kind of hit me, sideways, in one of those rare quiet moments. Even though he was just eight years my senior, Hank Jeffries was trying to be a dad to me. At first, I laughed out loud at the absurdity of it all. This stoned, skinny, greasy haired unemployed waste of life was trying to be a father figure to me. Then, don't ask me why, I suddenly broke down and sobbed helplessly.

On Valentine's Day, Hank was still around. I don't know where he was living before he and my mother began fucking, but wherever it was, he had not returned, even to pick up some clean clothes.

That morning, right after my mother left for work, I slipped Hank three hundred dollars and told him he needed to do something really special for my mother. Even if my mother was loudly proclaiming he didn't need to do anything, he needed to do something. I got another one armed hug from him and a fervent promise that he would do something extra special for my mother.

I had several orders connected to Valentine's Day. It kind of hit me, as I was delivering tee shirts that this person's special someone had ordered for them, that I had no one to call my special someone.

At lunch time, as usual, Francine and Francesca Thompson sat with me. I went out on a limb and asked the nearest Thompson twin if she'd like to go out; there was a very nice seafood restaurant in Breaux Bridge. God knows I had enough money to afford a meal there.

"God, really?" Francine or Francesca said, cute face wrinkled.

"Yeah, was kind of hoping it wouldn't come to this," Francesca or Francine sighed.

I don't know how I'd missed it, but they both had boyfriends. Their boyfriends went to U. L. L. which is why I'd never seen them before. They explained that part of the reason they'd latched on to me was, it kept the other students away. If everyone thought they were with me, then they didn't need to be a bitch to the others.

"I mean, yeah, part of it is we really do like you," Francine or Francesca hastened to assure me.

"Yeah, as a friend," Francesca or Francine was quick to add.

That night, as I labored over my homework, Hank used my three hundred dollars and took my mother to Ruth's Chris Steak House. A bottle of wine with the meal wiped out all of the three hundred dollars right there; but that's why I gave it to him. And he proposed marriage to my mother. That, I had not even anticipated.

"And, hey Bert, want you be my best man, all right?" Hank asked, again giving me a one armed hug.

They decided on a simple ceremony in Gerrard Park. So, on a March Saturday, with the skies threatening rain, my mother and Henry Allen Jeffries married. I did double duty; walking my mother to where a barely sober Hank and a Lutheran pastor stood. Then, after delivering the line that I gave this woman to be wed, I ran around to stand next to Hank as his best man.

Miss Annie, our next door neighbor stood in as my mother's maid of honor. The K.C. Hall held all nine of us for what had to be the most pathetic reception in the history of marriage receptions.

As I stood, quietly observing the stagnant festivities and the stagnant people, I could not wait to make my escape. I felt as if I was choking in the fetid air. The pounding rainstorm overhead was the only reminder that this ordeal would come to pass. This day would be washed away.

And, finally, the day I'd been praying for, hoping for, living for finally arrived. Graduation. I would finally be free from the endless tedium. I would finally escape life under my mother's roof. Even though it had been almost nine months since his death, my father's presence still weighed heavily on me. I would finally push that crushing shadow off of my soul.

At first I was simply going to skip the ceremony, skip the few after-graduation parties. They could mail me my diploma as far as I was concerned.

"No, no man!" Hank cheerfully said. "You kidding, right? Man! This is your last chance to give them all the finger, tell them what you think of them. I'm a loser? Huh? I'll never amount to nothing? Well, fuck you! Yeah! Fuck you and that fat ass whore you're with man!"

Somehow I don't think Hank was talking about me. But he was right. There were one or two people I did want to give the finger to. There were two girls in particular I did want to say good-bye to, tell them that I truly appreciated our lunches together.

"Plus that," Hank now whispered. "Man! Some them girls? They going remember, hey, this might be the last time I'll ever see him, you know? And they'll come up and they'll be all drunk and all hanging all over you. Man! Lost my virginity at the after-graduation party when it was my turn man."

"What are you telling my son?" My mother demanded, laughing.

"Hey, hey, this is between a man and his step-son, all right? Man's business. Means you don't need worry 'bout it," Hank said, puffing up his bony chest.

"Oh, well, later on? When you all wanting fuck? Don't need worry 'bout it," my mother retorted. "You and that dick can just stay on your side the bed."

"I am right here. I have not left the room," I said. "Ya'll want talk about that? Go into any other room."

"And where you think you came from?" Hank laughed, again giving me his usual one armed hug.

So, I put on the stupid robe and mortarboard and marched across the stage and got my diploma. And I promised I'd go to Scott Joliet's party. After the ceremony, I looked around for Francine Bridgette Thompson and Francesca Roselyn Thompson but they were nowhere in sight.

The principal had insisted on using our full names as he called us up to receive our diplomas. So, now everyone in my school knew my full name was Bertrand Orville Lott the third. Thanks, asshole. Everyone knew that Scott's first name was Leslie, not Scott. That Sandra had no middle name.

Leslie Scott Joliet's parents weren't there. Scott's step-father is some kind of international business lawyer and was in Zurich. Scott's mother wanted to go to Switzerland, so took off with her husband, leaving Scott and his sister on their own. Never mind that it was her son's high school graduation.

Francine and Francesca weren't at Scott's party. No one knew where they were; there were no other parties being thrown.

Hank was right about one thing. Girls realized they may never see me again and did hang drunkenly on me. Madeline showed me her tongue piercing, then wanted to know if I could tell she had one as we made out.

Addison hugged me tightly, declaring she would have never graduated if it hadn't been for my help. Then, even though she was still dating Dylan, Babette's brother, Addison dragged me into an unoccupied bedroom.

The last time I had seen Addison's body, it had fueled dozens, okay, thousands of masturbation fantasies. Her body was still as perfect as ever. Small, hard breasts, large nipples, blonde bush covering her tight little pussy.

Addison's pussy had no taste or aroma, even though she was quite wet. I licked and sucked at her pussy until she finally let out a heavy sigh.

Then, she lay there, an almost vacant look on her face. She did not move as I labored to satisfy her. Her arms and legs lay limp as I grunted and groaned.

"Oh!" she sighed as I finally pumped my condom full of sperm. "Oh, that was great!"

"Yeah, yeah it was," I lied.

Truthfully, it had been horrible. My father used to laugh that there was no such thing as bad pussy. Lucky me; with my second woman, third if you wanted to count Percy Jacoby, I managed to find the one bad pussy out there.

"Bye, Bert," Addison smiled and kissed me.

"Bye Addison," I agreed, feeling hollow.

"Hey!" Sandra screamed drunkenly as I exited the bedroom. "There you are!"

She hugged me tightly, drunk and giggly. I returned her hug, nodding over her shoulder at Scott, who was smiling and shrugging in our direction.

"Thanks, Bertie," Sandra said. "Wasn't for you? I'd never made it, I swear!"

"You're a lot smarter than you give yourself credit for," I lied.

Seems I'm pretty good at lying. Sandra continued to hug me, grinding her large boobs into me. I did the Hank maneuver, the one armed hug, hoping Sandra would let go of me. With a drunken kiss to my lips, she did release me and I stood there, looking around.

There was laughter, happiness, jubilation, even relief all around me. I was in a room with almost thirty people, people I'd known for years. And I was alone.

I grabbed a cup and filled it with punch. I knew the punch had been spiked with Everclear. I knew it was extremely potent. And at that moment, I did not care.

"Give me some," Sandra demanded, stumbling against me.

I filled her cup, looking around for her boyfriend. Scott was also quite drunk. And, with Sandra otherwise occupied, he was putting the moves on Babette, who had declared for all to hear that Nicholas Paul Verdot was a tiny dick mother fucker.

The punch was awful. The cloying taste of the alcohol burned my esophagus and seemed to build up in my throat. I could not shake the acidic taste, so put the cup down and grabbed a can of coke instead.

"No what?" Sandra asked, leaning heavily against me as I drained my soda.

"What?" I asked, putting my empty can down.

"We ain' never dance, you n' me? We ain' never dance; you know how dance?" Sandra slurred, gulping more of her punch.

There was some music playing. I'm not sure who it was; probably Green Day. Scott was a big fan of Green Day, so I assume that was who was warbling about being on a street of broken dreams or some bullshit like that.

Scott had Babette pinned against a counter, hand up under her Tees By Bert tee shirt, and tongue down her throat. I held Sandra and we swayed to the music. Sandra was leaning very heavily against me, eyes closed.

Again, a wave of loneliness overwhelmed me. I felt a heavy bitterness well up inside of me. I pulled Sandra into the bedroom Addison and I had used a few minutes earlier.

Sandra was stumbling drunk by now. I pushed her onto the bed and she let out a wheeze.

"Oh," Sandra sighed happily as I slid myself into her.

I did not bother with foreplay. I simply pushed up the hem of Sandra's skirt, revealing that she had no panties on, pulled my dick out of my dress slacks and shoved myself in. She wrapped her arms and legs around me and thrust up against me. She tightened those muscular legs around my waist and screamed out in orgasm. Then she passed out.

I pulled my leaking dick from her sloppy pussy and realized, I'd not been the first one in her pussy that night. A blackness enveloped me; I had never felt such bitterness.

I roughly rolled Sandra over onto her belly. She offered no resistance as I spread her luscious buttocks.

"Augh!" Sandra grunted out quite loudly as I jammed my cock into her rectum.

She made no other sound as I thrust myself all the way into her. I pounded her ass, our flesh making loud slapping sounds as I sodomized her. I pumped and sweated and growled that she was a whore, all women were whores, all women were liars. All women just use men, just use us; they don't fucking care, they don't give one shit about us.

The rubbing of her pussy against the rough fabric of the bed's comforter actually caused Sandra to squeal in orgasm. Her anus clamped tightly around my cock and I screamed out as my semen shot, quite forcefully from my cock.

I collapsed on top of her. She let out a 'whoosh' and then began snoring.

"I'm sorry," I mumbled into her ear, then pulled out of her red, raw anus. "Jesus, I'm, I'm... Fuck!"

A dribble of my silvery semen trickled out of her reddened anus and dribbled over her puffy looking pussy lips. A low rumbling fart expelled more semen and that semen joined the first trickle.

I was extremely ashamed of myself as I pulled Sandra's absurdly short skirt down. With another mumbled apology, I left the bedroom, closing the door behind me.

Two days later, I hugged my mother, hugged my step-father, and left our trailer park, headed for Wilmington, North Carolina. I spent the night in Atlanta, Georgia. A motel room that stunk like someone had smoked an entire carton of cigarettes in it, with sheets that felt sandy cost me ninety seven dollars and sixty seven cents. I called down to the front desk and complained.