Date: Mon, 19 Jun 2006 17:22:38 +0100
From: Matt Buck <matt_v_jellicle@hotmail.com>
Subject: Why oh Why oh Why

All comments, good or bad, are appreciated - email
matt_v_jellicle@hotmail.com

Other stories I've written can be found on my website, in the fiction
section http://mattbuck.sixwinter.com or on Nifty at
/nifty/authors.html#mattbuck

Usual disclaiming sort of stuff, I don't know McFly, I don't know their
sexualities, this story is not in any way based on real life events.


      Why.
      Why.
      Why?
      Why oh why oh why oh why oh why.

      Why not? Pull down my pants, waddle towards Dougie. Laugh at him
covering himself. Haha Dougie, I'm bigger than you! Creak on the stairs, a
camera peeks around the corner and flashes. I hear a giggle. TOM YOU
BROWN-HAIRED BASTARD! Dougie laughs, I trip over my trousers and fall flat
on my face.



      Why.
      Why.
      Why?
      Why oh why oh why oh why oh why.
      Because.
      Because... because.
      Because because because.
      Because... because oh god he's going to hate me.

      I hate Tom. He did this and now he's going to hate me over this. Not
Tom.  Tom was the one who thought it was funny to send the uncensored pic
to everyone he knew. I should probably be thankful to whoever it was spread
the censored version.  But that wasn't what Tom sent him. If I'd sent it,
it would be fine.  Probably. Getting it from Tom would be bad enough. But
what if he doesn't read his mail immediately?  What if some teenie sends
him the picture? I'm not a relationship expert but some twelve year old
you've never met sending you photos of your boyfriend's dick can't be a
good thing.



      Why.
      Why.
      Why.
      Why oh why oh why oh why oh why oh why.
      Oh why.
      Because...
      Because he hates me.
      Because I don't want him to hate me.
      Because I love him.

      I should call him. Apologise. Or to tell him not to read the email.
But I can't.  My fingers are shaking, I can't dial. I can't come up with
the words to tell him what he should know. About how it was just a stupid
prank, and that there were never meant to be any photos. Just a bit of fun.
      But would that really work? Right now, I'd be more likely to say I
spent the night with Dougie. I say stupid things when I'm nervous. I'd
email him not to read the earlier one, but I know he then just reads the
earlier one to find out what exactly he's meant to be ignoring. Maybe I
should just go to his place and apologise in person. If he's not there, I
can always just let myself in and delete the email. No.  That would be even
more stupid than sleeping with Dougie. If he's not there... I'll wait until
he is.



      Why.
      Why.
      Why oh why oh why.
      Because... he's my boyfriend, and it's the right thing to do.

      I sit in the car, about twenty yards from his doors. Feels like my
life's turning into a bad Son of Dork song. Have to do this. I get
out. It's quiet - the slam of the car door seems to echo forever off the
terraced houses. One foot in front of the other.  Even my footsteps seem to
echo ten times as loud. Left, right... an errant chocolate wrapper whipping
past my feet as a gust of wind whistles between the houses.  I look up and
down the street - not a soul to witness.
      I knock on the door.