Goodbye, La La Land

The images of her face, her ponytail, and her smile flooded his mind. The smell of her body lingered in his nose. What would it be like to really be close to her? He wished he had T's confidence.

He nervously pulled off his t-shirt and jeans, and then let his briefs drop to the floor so he could step out of them. He opened the drawer in his bedside table and pulled out one of the pieces of material that he'd cut from the latest downy soft t-shirt that he'd bought for this specific purpose. He didn't know how to feel, allowing himself the hopeless luxury of fantasizing about a girl in 'Real Life', but his cock grew hard with his thoughts of ridiculous possibility.

He laid the material on the bed, smoothing it out with his hands. With a nervous sigh, he rested his body on his stomach so that his cock was pressed flat against the folded shirt scrap. He laid his head on his ear, his arms straight down his sides, and his hands squeezed under his hips to give his crotch leverage. His body started moving against the soft cock blanket, and his cock grew even more as the friction of the soft material massaged it. His mind was alive with beautiful, impossible images.

He ventured ideas of touching Kathleen's delicate arms. He wanted to know what it was like to feel the weight of her head laying on his chest. He imagined her allowing him to bury his nose in her hair and run his hand up her back. The thoughts made his body shiver involuntarily as he eased his crotch up and down against the bed.

His mind saw her face drawing nearer to his. He imagined what his breath would be like--heavy, shaky, uncontrollable. He longed to know what it would feel like to penetrate the wet boundary of her mouth with his tongue and touch her own. Chills shot up his spine, and a violent intake of breath filled his lungs. Drool was collecting at the bottom corner of his mouth. His cock was hard, but his body was far too overwhelmed with adrenaline to separate the excitement of the possibility with the sexual need between his legs. His body thrust unsteadily, firmly willing his quaking muscles to do his bidding rather than allowing them to convulse out of his control.

The thought of touching his mouth to hers seemed almost mythical. He had no frame of reference as to what that would feel like, what it would taste like. It was simply enough to imagine her willingness to kiss him, but he wanted more.

He raised his body off the bed and onto his knees--looking down at his engorged shaft. It seemed to be bigger now than he'd ever seen it before. He slowly wrapped his hands around the base of it, imagining what Kathleen's fingers might feel like. He wondered if she would be tentative and scared, or if she'd been with a man before and would laugh at his inexperience.

He slowly rubbed up and down, balancing the gentle friction with the pressure of his hand against the sensitive head. He tried to envision what Kathleen might look like naked, even as he felt he was somehow violating her privacy with his mind. It was vividly exciting. His hand gained speed, and he imagined sliding his cock into her pussy. Would it hurt her? Would she like it? He wanted to bury it in her and feel her tightness--to finally feel that place that was meant to take a man's cock. He longed to know how differently the sensation would compare to that of his awkward fist. He leaned his head down and allowed his spit to drip down across the tip of his cock. He wondered whether Kathleen's pussy would be wet. Would she enjoy the feelings she gave him? Would he make her feel just as good? God, he wanted to.

"Ooh." His trembling voice choked quietly into the room. His fist tightened, envisioning Kahtleen's tender pussy squeezing him inside her. Could girls. . . could women do that? His forehead flushed with guilty sweat, his legs tightened with effort. He wanted to feel the strain of her own legs underneath him--spread open, inviting his hard cock to push between her sweaty thighs and erupt its cum inside her. Fucking her. Filling her.

"Oh. Ohhh." His fist frantically pumped several powerful squirts of white cum out of his cock. His thighs were tightly spasming and his legs buckled weakly beneath him. He was filled with vivid pleasure, and his mind washed with isolated pictures--the curve of Kathleen's calves, the fantasy of her soft breasts and taut nipples, her bare belly button, and what it might feel like to hold her naked body so tightly to him that their hearts touched.

When it was over, leaving the fantasy behind and coming back to the dark loneliness of his bedroom, his eyes started to swell with tears. He felt so stupid. His hand and cock were slick and messy with the mixture of saliva and sperm. He shouldn't be thinking about her this way, it wasn't right. More than that, though, he was just torturing himself with false hopes. He unfolded his nearly cramped legs from underneath him, feeling the cool air wash against the sheen of sweat that formed in the crooks of his knees. He lay against the headboard, lifting his unsoiled hand to his face. His throat constricted with his effort to preempt his tears, and his mind had switched gears from the pleasure of freewheeling anticipation to the despair of reality.

"Stop it. Stop it. Every time you do this," he scolded himself. "Every fucking time." He wiped a wet tear away from his eye. This is exactly why he preferred the fantasies of 'La La Land', especially when he masturbated. Associating sexual thoughts with 'Real Life' girls like Kathleen was so much more exciting, but it always carried a painful reminder of how impossible it all seemed for him.

Deep down, rationally, he knew he was okay. He still harbored faith that it would all work out one day, somehow. He just wished he could enjoy what he had with her, and stop himself and his hopes from driving her away. After cleaning up his mess, Gary finally slipped off to sleep, wishing, just for once, that he could share with Kathleen those feelings that no one else seemed willing to accept from him.

- - - -

"What the fuck are you wearing, man?" T. announced himself, his sabre dangling noisily from his thick belt, and his larger-than-life leather boots flapping across his calves. He loafed out of his front door wearing an over-the-top buccaneer costume.

"It's my costume," Gary smirked with mock cynicism. He still wore his Nike T-shirt and blue-jeans from earlier in the day. It served T. right for the badgering him into coming.

"Jesus, man," he rolled his eyes--and his entire head went along with them. "It's a Halloween party. You're such a pain in the ass sometimes."

"That's me--"

"You know what would be nice!" yelled T. to the world--raising his voice skyward and lifting both his billowy shirt-sleeves in a grand gesture of hyperbole as he turned around in a circle.

Gary tilted his head and pursed his lips in a patient smile. There was no point in trying to shut him up.

T.'s red head-scarf flapped in the brisk October breeze as he continued his pirate's prayer. "I have a dream that Gary--freakazoid, pussy-ass loser that he is--would for just one night pretend like he's not Gary." He stopped in mid-circle and looked longingly skyward--finishing with a dramatic stage-whisper. "Is that too much to ask?"

"Are you finish--"

"Dude," T. snapped his head down and strode over to his friend--wrapping his flamboyant arm across Gary's shoulders and leading him inside. "Let me acquaint you with a little thing I like to call," he nodded silently and closed his eyes as if introducing a new concept, "Fun."

"T., will you--?"

"Sh. Sh. Believe it or not, I was expecting you to pull something like this. Just come on."

By the time the other guests started arriving, Gary was beginning to get used to his new costume. At least he didn't have to wear a mask. Even without it he didn't feel like himself. The loose button-up shirt, suit pants and trench coat from T.'s father's closet didn't fit him very well, but when he had looked in the mirror with the fedora hat on his head to complete the picture of an old style private eye character, he could almost imagine himself in another world--relaxed, confident, even charming. It was ridiculous, he knew, but maybe T. had a point.

Gary watched the growing parade of witches, vampires, winged fairies, and serving wenches, and for a while did his best to play the part. He participated in his own way by smiling at their light hearted, meaningless conversations. He watched them drink and laugh at themselves. He watched the French maid make good on the Spiderman's dare to unzip the Godfather's fly with her teeth while the mobster lifted up her tiny skirt with the barrel of his Tommy gun, and although his disbelieving cock wished fervently that he was the Godfather, his preoccupied heart knew that it was all just an illusion. The more he watched people the less he felt like he understood them. The wilder things got the more detached he felt from what was going on, and the more his mind kept drifting back to the only place he really wanted to be: in Chemistry lab talking to Kathleen. He finally found an empty couch corner to sit on and cursed himself for not having had the courage to invite her.

"Hey, wake up!" T. blurted as he kicked Gary's foot off of his knee. "What's the matter with you, man? This is supposed to be fun."

"Yeah, that's what they tell me." Gary smiled apologetically. "Sorry, man."

"I think Diane is warming up to me. Might be able to get her behind the bleachers yet," he winked with a smirk. "You look like you could use a drink, for Chris'ake. Keg's downstairs. You could at least pretend to. . . Hello."

Gary followed T.'s eyes and saw a girl who'd just come in from outside. She handed her coat over to the hands of Obi-Wan Kanobe, who had eagerly sheathed his plastic light saber to help her out. She was wearing a pink harem-girl costume with a veil that dutifully obscured her face, and low hipped, puffy pants that were cinched around her ankles, but slitted down the sides of her calves. Her belly was bare up to the small top that covered her breasts and shoulders.

"Whoa," said T. "Who the hell is that?"

Gary's heart pounded as if he had just jumped out of an airplane. He had practically memorized those arms and that playful dark hair. He smiled with giddy affection the minute she removed her shoes and stuffed them into her coat pocket before Obi-Wan took it away. Gary knew exactly who that was.

"'Scuze me." T. whipped his head around and bounded across the room to play the good host. Gary was paralyzed with a mixture of happy excitement and intimidated fear. Jesus, she looked gorgeous. Had T. invited her despite his objections? As he watched T. greet her in his usual, callously charming way, he was convinced that he hadn't. T. had a sense of honor, and would not be approaching her like that if he knew who she was. Gary could sense the smile behind the pink veil she wore, and he felt like a fidgety, useless little kid. She seemed more intent on conversing with Obi-Wan than with T., and eventually T. backed off. Gary watched all the attention she was receiving from the other guys--most of them discovering her for the first time, and his heart sunk with the knowledge that he could never compete with that.

After he'd lost sight of her when she went off down the hallway, he considered going home to end this ridiculous torture--hating himself for not having enough courage to face the risk of a "let's be friends" talk for the slight chance of something he didn't have the experience to imagine.

"So, are you just going to sit there all night?"

He couldn't get enough breath into his lungs. He turned around and there she was. Her dark ponytail, held up high by a gold embroidered hair tie that accentuated her delicate costume, flipped to the side of her head. He felt the breeze of her shampoo rushing into his nose and his filthy mind was grateful for the loose material of his suit-pants.

"Uhm." He couldn't think what to say. He forgot to pretend that he didn't know who she was. "Yeah, I guess."

Kathleen cocked her head at him. He couldn't see her expression behind her veil, but he was positive it was one of her disapproving smirks. As if simply to tease him, she plopped her body down next to him. He shifted on the couch in response to his uncomfortably growing cock. She was so close to it. The slit in her pants allowed the skin of her thigh to rub against his pant leg. His terrible excitement would not bow to his sense of decency.

"I like your costume." She touched the fabric of his trench coat and rubbed it between her fingers. Her eyes lazily wandered up and focused on his head, then on the hat in his hands that he had dejectedly removed earlier. "Why aren't you wearing your hat?"

Her bare toes absently flexed, grabbing at the material of his pants down at his ankles. God, did she realize she was doing that? He couldn't breathe. "I don't know. T. made me wear this. I actually was just going to wear jeans and a t-shirt."

"But it's a costume party." She shook her head with playful exasperation. "I met T. a little while ago, by the way. He actually seems," she blinked almost incredulously, "Nice."

"Oh, I don't know about that." Gary grinned in playful warning, instantly rediscovering that wonderful ease he'd had with her in class. "You mean he didn't try to hit on you?" Unbelievable! What was he, blind?

"Oh, he did." Her eyes squinted in what was no doubt one of her smiles. "It was fun--I don't think he knew who I was."

Gary laughed nervously. He just felt so out of his league. "Don't let him fool you with his act. He really isn't what he seems to be."

"Yeah," she nodded, thoughtfully. "I can see that. My sister's kinda like that, too."

"So, do you know someone here?"

"Yeah. I know you." Kathleen shrugged--her body language revealing that nervous optimism he was growing to savor.

Hearing her say that almost made him laugh with pure, breathless adrenaline. He was afraid to let his eyes linger on her, and he looked toward the crowds, trying to hide his red face. "I hate Halloween."

Her eyes flew skyward and she emitted a playful groan. "Okay." She folded her legs underneath her so that she sat on her knees facing him, leaning sideways against the couch. "Why?"

Gary felt strange talking to a veil, but started in on his practiced explanation. "Well, I have a hard enough time understanding people as it is. Then they add the costumes and the makeup and the drinking, and. . ." He sighed in mild frustration, and saw something in her soft eyes that made him stop. "I guess I'm just not one for pretending."

"Hm," she said. "I think it's kind of fun to pretend sometimes."

He didn't know what to say, he just wanted to see her pretty face. He snuck a peek of her bare knee poking out from the slit in her pants, and a shudder centered in his lower back. He shifted on the couch out of pure nervous anxiety. He didn't care about the consequences anymore. He just wanted to share a tiny bit of what he was feeling inside.

"I like your costume."

"Really?" he could practically hear her smile, and the relief in her voice. Had she worn it for him? "I don't know. I guess I look a little stupid."

"Oh, no." He shook his head with as much heartfelt earnestness as he could muster. He wanted so desperately to reach out and draw her veil back for her. He lifted his hand and caught himself just in time to pull back and rub his chin. "I just. . . Can I see your face?"

"Oh," she looked around with a nervous laugh. "Well, they might throw me out. I wasn't really invited."

Gary felt so guilty. He should have invited her. Damn it. "This is T.'s party. He won't throw you out. I promise." He looked at her apprehensive eyes and knew that she was trying to be someone else tonight. "How 'bout this. I'll make you a deal."

"Okay."

"I'll put on my hat, if you'll take off your veil."

"Hm."

Giddy anticipation pounded in Gary's heart--for the first time with a sense of true hope behind it. His anxious cock raged out of pure excitement.

"Lemme see first," she teased, snatching his fedora out of his hands and plopping it on top of his head.

He did his best to playfully pose the part for her, raising his chin and sitting up--whipping the flap of his trench coat over his torso.

Her eyes crinkled behind her mask.

"See, now you're just laughing at me, again."

She shook her head back and forth, slowly. "Nuh-uh." As if to prove it, she pulled her veil away and revealed that bashful smile he'd been longing to see all evening. He breathed an inaudible sigh as his heart jumped in his chest.

"So," said Gary, "I guess you like costume parties then?"

"Eh," she shrugged with a sweet smile of irony. Her eyes told him that she had a hard time pretending too.

"I'm really glad you came."

"Me too."

Just then, a smattering of voices from the direction of the front door interrupted them. They both turned to look and Gary saw a group of girls enter the house. He recognized one that stood out from crowd. She was wearing fishnet stockings, a black miniskirt and a green tank top that stretched tightly over her ample breasts. She looked to be dressed as an 80's hooker, complete with a collection of neon plastic bracelets blanketing her arms and her hair scrunchied into a curly, blonde handle on top of her head.

"Kelly!" T. announced the new arrival and motioned her to come over to the small family room bar where he was mixing drinks for some of the guys.

Kelly Granger looked over and gave T. a huge, beautiful smile. "Hi, baby!" She eagerly left her girlfriends to their own devices, and clicked her way over to the boys on her high heels. They cleared a seat for her at the bar and she looked more at home there than she had with the girls she came in with.

They both watched Kelly teasing T. as he drooled theatrically over her. She reached out and playfully covered his eyes with his head scarf.

"See what I mean?" said Kathleen with a kind of admiring smile.

Gary turned to look at Kathleen and the way her tiny ear curved out from the gentle line of her neck. Watching her watch Kelly, he couldn't help but see exactly what she meant. "Yeah."

"So, Mickey Spillane," Kathleen whipped her head around to look at him again. "Are you ever going to ask me to dance?"

Did she just say that? "Well." He panicked. "You know, Mickey Spillane was actually the author, Mike Hammer was the character."

She pursed her lips in a grin, sensing him avoiding the question.

"I. . . I really don't dance," he stuttered.

"Oh, come on," she groaned with amused disbelief.

"Well, dancing is just--"

"No, no." She wasn't hearing any of it. "It's part of the deal. Mickey! Come on." She grabbed his hand and stood up, pulling him to his feet. The trench coat draped around his torso, and the brim of his hat just curved down into his eye line. He could do this.

Her soft, insistent hands grasped his as she led him through the crowd. The density of the onlookers thickened and the slow ballad playing on the stereo swelled in volume; her fingers squeezed his reassuringly as she threaded him through the mass of disguised bodies dancing in the living room. Gary saw T. break off his conversation with Kelly for a moment--finally seeming to recognize Kathleen. T. raised his head in a nod of delicate encouragement to Gary--he always somehow knew when to back off, and just be Gary's friend. Gary was so terrified.

"No, I can't." Gary pulled away from her.

"Oh, please? Wait, I know." She guided him down the relatively empty hallway. "Where is. . .?" She looked through the doorways in the hall. "Where is your friend's room?"

Gary was in a daze. "It's right there, but Kathleen, wait."

"No, this way no one has to see." They both stepped into the room--the slow music washing in through the open door.