Page 26 of Strange Lad

“You are a terrible liar. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing is wrong.”

He studies the side of my face, the green orbs like fingers stroking down my cheek. God, why do I want to know what that’d feel like? Why am I broken? Something broke, I’m sure of it.

“Fine. Keep your secrets,” he teases, usingFrodo’sinfamous line against me.

I finally look at him, forcing my eyeballs to stay on his face, not the obscene outline in his sweats. That bulge is far more prominent in sweats. Skin-tight sweats. It shouldn’t even bother me. I shouldn’t even notice! Why am I noticing?

Someone kill me.

Just put me out to pasture.

“I need some water,” I blurt, rushing to stand and power walk to the kitchen.

I want to ask Phoenix about this. My fingertips burn with the need to text him instead of getting this water bottle. He’d know what is happening to me. He’d be able to tell me if I was just in a sex drought and desperate or if my dick broke. The thing is pointing away from its true north.

But if I tell him, he’ll want to knowwhomakes me crazy.Whois giving me awkward boners at the wrong times.

Like this morning when I was helping my aunt lift a sofa I thought about Oli’s strong arms being able to move furniture twice as fast and there it was. Saluting my sixty-five-year-old aunt Linda.

Maybe I could just tell Phoenix I watched gay porn again.

It’s not the first time I’ve done it accidentally. I've waited for the girls to show up, and they never do. Imighthave watched long enough to see a blowjob or seven. No biggie. Everyone gets curious. But I didn’t get hard watching. Didn’t fantasize about the twink’s lips wrapped around my dick.

Nope. Not me.

Pussy all the way over here.

I laugh hysterically, feeling dizzy.

This is Oli. Myfriend.My second best friend. The person I always want to hang out with because we just click.

We vibe.

Peanut butter and fucking jelly, my dude.

I can’t do this.

God, I can’t breathe either.

“Jorge,” Oli demands, hovering only a few feet away while I hyperventilate. My dick doesnotget the message. It wants to say hello and show off how it curves slightly to the right.

“I’m fine,” I say loudly, hitting my chest with my fist to clear my airpipe. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not. You’re acting weird as fuck right now. Is it because I showed up? I didn’t mean to cry.”

“No,” I wheeze. “Never feel bad about that. Crying is good for you. Everyone should cry. In fact, I’m going to right now.” The tears come on demand as my dick chubs up even more because he looks at me with something like sympathetic affection, and I’m so needy, so fucking needy for anyone to love me and pat my head that I just sob right there in my kitchen.

I hold my face while my shoulders tremble, needing something,anything.

I’m living with so much guilt and confusion. The urge to scream at the top of my lungs for relief is getting harder to bear. Won’t someone hold me? Tell me it will all be alright?

“Please stop crying,” Oli begs, voice guttural.

I slurp back my tears at his tone, willing every emotion inside me to screech to a halt. “I’m trying.” I scrub at my face, cleaning the tear streaks with my palm.

When I finally manage to look at Oli, I almost crack all over again.

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