Chapter 19

Soft Boy Aesthetic

(Unedited)

The revelation of how Darth Vader tells Luke Skywalker that he is his father is exactly how the feeling of being caught by Dryden had felt. I hope he doesn't tell my parents about my sexual orientation, as the big cinematic reveals. The comparing line of how Obi-Wan Kenobi tells the soon to be Darth Vader, Anakin Skywalker, as he screams his agony of how Anakin had been the Chosen One plays over in my head.

Was this where I had been Obi-Wan and had the higher ground? In a moment like this, how could I even ponder desolate memories of when I watched Star Wars with Dryden as we often did when I was a kid?

"You should know he's a drug addict," Dryden tells me, not even bothering to take the time to wonder to who I had sent the message. It couldn't be true. From what I knew of addicts, which wasn't much, he had shown no signs. Addicts threw signs. As it was, Christian did nothing of the sort.

"How would you know that? Did he tell you that himself?" I ask Dryden fervently, as my uncontrolled anxiety reaches its peak of taking control of being in charge. If it were true, I'd want to hear it from Christian himself; as Luke Skywalker himself had heard the reveal that Darth Vader is his father. It's the silence that Dryden gives off that confirms my assumption.

The crimson accusation stings like a poignant knife stabbing through my veins as moments pass before either ‌of us speaks to another.

"Do I need to justify the obvious?" Dryden asks me sharply as I change the Star Wars scenario into my head. I couldn't compare myself to anyone or anything outside the real world. At the moment, I'm Luke Montgomery, a sinner to some religious societies, all mixed up with feelings, and just posted a clip on Instagram for everyone who followed the tags on Instagram that I had said yes to being Christian's boyfriend. There was no justifying the statement that Dryden had just been accused.

"Jesus Christ, Dryden, where did you get that idea?" I defend the dyed curly-haired boy I had finally figured out how I had run the obstacles of feelings with, as I now realise that I was too afraid to turn my phone back on.

"Either you believe me, or you don't, but I saw your boyfriend doing heroin in the bathroom," Dryden tells me, as I feel the veins and muscles do their jello magnetic feeling. The feeling of handicapped anxiety I hated most. How was I supposed to defend Christian if anxiety took over me every time we mentioned his name when he wasn't around?

"He's not my boyfriend!" I say; the words echoing inside my head as I feel what I had just said. Lying to someone who was supposed to be my childhood friend, though we were falling apart from each other. A simple reminder that in less than a year away, he'd be in separate colleges. Him in North Carolina, and I am in Boston.

"Right, you're into the soft boy aesthetic," Dryden tells me as his green eyes look in my direction. Somehow, his eyes seem different from what they had been earlier. Instead of a happy, grungy aesthetic Dryden, they showed a different Dryden.

"What is that supposed to mean?" I ask him sharply. Was Dryden jealous? Could that possibly be it? If so, he had absolutely nothing to be jealous of. Dryden has been my best friend through a lot of personal conflicts, as I had met Christian only a month and a half ago. Comparing the two; I had no interest, sexual or any crush wise desire to kiss Dryden. Whereas I had already done half that to Christian.

"Exactly what is supposed to sound like," Dryden tells me, as we can hear my parents enter the house downstairs, as they banter about the day or ‌possibly what's for dinner. Either way, my biggest confession is now being held together by Dryden and our years of complicated friendship as he sets the perfect setup for making it look like one of our middle school days of studying. A perfect plotline was set up for my parents, believing that's what we were talking about.

Only to leave a few moments later as I sit on the floor of my room, leaving the overthinking that stayed behind that he told my parents the truth as he left. Relief comes when neither one of my parents comes up to talk to me. The nauseating feeling that my anxiety places in my stomach doesn't help, as it lurks in every direction, telling me maybe I shouldn't have told Christian I was in.

Maybe being sick was a religious sign from one of the Gods that my parents prayed to, as just a little while ago I told a ceramic figure of a man in a robe that I had feelings for Christian. Maybe I wasn't supposed to be a homosexual male. I was just supposed to be Luke Montgomery, an average eighteen-year-old on the brink of graduating and waiting for my Massachusetts Institute of Technology application results and stick to the unorthodox nirvana or four walls and keep overthinking my life away.

***

The time on my phone shows two-thirty in the morning when I've finally gotten the periodic table memorised. I should've already had it memorised at this point. A required therapeutic paradigm that lead to all points of stress, as I couldn't get my brain to harmonise with the method. Instead, I couldn't get what Dryden had said about Christian.

A drug addict.

Instead, all my brain could picture were needles sticking out of his arm as he pushes me away. A tragic Shakespearean tragedy, as all I can do is watch as the boy I have felt comfortable with pushes me away.

Sleepless night with sexual fantasies of teenage sex as my brain messes with me telling me Christian's high, but I'd still want to have sex with him anyway and hope that no one finds out as my decade length as insecurities consume me.

I'd never had sex. Yet, my dream-like state takes control of the soft boy aesthetic that Dryden had labelled him as. Taking in every second of what I think sex should be. His hair was now dyed a different colour from the lavender than it was before. His V cut abs and stomach showed me more detail than what he had the few times I had seen it.

My mind takes in every detail as it leads up to where my mind knows this is going as we sit there on his bed watching the old Hollywood movies he's into, as I'm sure that Linda is downstairs. In dreams, though, everything is the opposite of what it seems.

Dreams make your thoughts and emotions of illusional dimensions, however, I found myself not wanting this dream to stop as dream Christian wraps his warm body around me. The version I had seen of myself tensed as I was sure I shivered from just his touch. The pornographic propaganda against him being a vampire leads up to this emotional desire.

"I will do nothing to you," he tells me. My dream self wanted him to do something for me. My nerves are screaming at me to do something. Touch him. Kiss him. Fuck him. Everything in my dream state self wanted to do all of that.

"Would. I mean. I," I tell him as I try to find the words and desires to say and I was sure that I could feel myself getting hard at the thought. Were you even supposed to feel yourself getting hard in sex dreams or thoughts? I had masturbated before, as any teenager has, but wasn't this different? I was sure I was supposed to wake up and carry on the fantasy where Christian fucks me for the first time as I give him the best (or possibly worse) blow job he'd ever received.

"I will not force you," Christian tells me as he unbuckles his belt, stopping before he goes any further. I wasn't even sure I wanted to do this. "It's totally up to you," he adds. Even in a sexually dreamlike fantasy, he was still Christian. Would my first time outside this dreamlike state be at all like this?

"I'm," I tell him as I slide closer to him. My skin touches his, as I lean in for the kiss; wrapping myself around his neck. My tongue wishes for entry as it slides over his lips. Wanting to escape this awkward moment in my state, I withdraw until he grants my tongue entry as his tongue impulses with mine as we crash backwards on the bed.

There was no turning back now.

In real life, dreams or teenage dramas, this was it. The hurrah before the big five minute -make out or sex scene doesn't meet real-life standards. In the morning, I'd be back in the real world and this gigantic fantasy kiss before sex with Christian would be just that, and I would be too embarrassed to tell him about it.

As the art of the dream continues, the background lyrics of being beautiful echo as his fingers trail down my body, easing my frail and flawed insecurities of having sexual desires with someone besides a girl. The frail illusion that I wouldn't have to tell my parents about.

Another kiss was the dreamlike version of myself wanting more. I was sure of it, but I wasn't sure I'd want to tell him. Was that even normal? I was lost, and I was sure of it. Wasn't this breaking every societal outlet that led to pop music lyrics and stereotypes?

"Have you ever done this before?" Christian asks as he jumps off the bed. I watch as he grabs a couple of condoms from a box that hid in the bedside drawer; then comes back to lie beside me. The answer remained in the balance as I stayed silent. My heart beats as the unopened wrapper dangles between my fingers. "No wonder you're so nervous," he adds before landing another kiss on my neck, leaving me wanting more than just a kiss.

Another drop in the ocean.

"I'm sure," I tell him as I open the condom with no regrets, as rain falls on the window in the bedroom as he lifts my polo shirt over my head, and then throws it into the corner of his room. If the poison was that even in the dream that his aunt would find us fucking, I was drinking wine of her finding out.

With that, he caresses my back as he slides his firm hands down my spine, relaxing my backside as he slides himself into me. An uncomfortable pressure as he eases himself in. A pleasure I wasn't sure I'd want outside of this fantasy as pop music that sounded like Ellie Goulding changes in the background as soft moans echo off his four walls.

I was most definitely never going to bring this part up next time I see Christian.

Which will be tomorrow and I wasn't in any shape or form ready to face a drug addict, a soft boy aesthetic known as Christian. Even that label wore me out. With this moment of sexual fantasy playing in my head, I would not tell him anything. I was sure if Christian had wanted sex, he'd say otherwise. Not the other way around.

"Christian," I tell him as the dream continues. This time, I'm the one taking the role as I thrust my fist into his hard phallus, easing it carefully, making a silent vow that I was doing this correctly. His gentle moans confirm I am before leading my mouth to head into a blowjob, another anchor of kisses before I can do so, then advancing to continue what I had every intention to do even in my dream.

Just as the dream had gotten better by fantasy definition; my alarm calls told me I had other plans. I did, and I was sure being hard and seeing Christian wouldn't be on top of the list. I was sure it screwed me if they were.