Date: Tue, 29 Feb 2000 08:23:31 -0800 (PST) From: The Alienist <alienist_hk@yahoo.com> Subject: Holding On For Dear Life, Part 1 "Holding On For Dear Life" Part 1 By Alienist_hk@yahoo.com Disclaimer: This story is a work of erotic fiction involving teenage boys. All the usual rules apply. If you shouldn't be reading this, then please don't continue. You may go blind or something! Copyright Notice: This story is copyrighted by the author, who retains ALL rights. You may distribute or copy this story however you like. PROVIDED that this copyright notice remains intact, that the author is credited, and that the story is not changed in any way. You may NOT charge any fees to distribute or access this story. After all, I didn't charge you, did I? NOTE: All Thai words and phrases have been spelled to help the reader pronounce them correctly. Standard methods of transliteration may vary. ________________________________________________________________________ "Holding On For Dear Life" Part 1 Jimmy was shuffling home from school, absorbed in himself, as usual, thinking how unhappy he was. Well, that was a shitty day. Just like all the other days this year. Nope, maybe not quite as bad as usual. At least it was the last day of school. Jeez, only got to go through the formalities of "graduating" next weekend. That'll be a joke. Graduating. Me? Sure, I'm graduating. Going from being a nobody in ninth grade, the oldest year at the Grand and Illustrious Middleboro Junior High, to become an even more miniscule nobody in the youngest grade of nobodies at the High School across the parking lot. Hah, that's a good one. Maybe all the assholes in my class will find out what it's like being a nobody like me when they get to High School. That might be fun to watch. Jimmy looked around him a bit. Dorset Street, pretty major two laner, lots of traffic, but nobody he knew driving by. Sure thing, asshole. Brilliant observation. Like somebody will know you that's got a car! Even if another 15 year old like you could drive by himself, he wouldn't even back up and run you over, would he? Nobody that knows me likes me. Well, Ms. Hood the English teacher, I suppose, if a teacher counts. She even tried to remember to call me Jim this year. The big "Name Change Attempt", as Jimmy referred to it inside himself, had been designed to get him from Jimmy to Jim. He felt like maybe it would be more grown up, less like a little kid, maybe get him a friend or two. He'd tried to inform everybody very politely last fall when school started. Mom and Dad had agreed immediately, but they were the only ones who seemed to notice They were good about stuff like that. Dad said it was a good idea, since I was becoming a man. Said that I had already started getting taller a couple years ago. Not that anybody else had noticed. I'm still a runt. Dad hadn't even made fun of my voice last year, changing octaves every time I cleared my throat. He's very diplomatic. I suppose that's what makes him a good lawyer. And Mom trying to be polite about asking me what kind of deodorant I wanted to start using, since I was beginning to smell like a locker room. Maybe getting more hair all over me makes me smell different? Who knows? It just makes me have to take more showers, and that's a drag. Few of Jimmy's fellow students had taken much notice of the name thing. Some of them went along, and the newer kids didn't really know it was a change. That was really the problem. It wasn't that nobody liked him. It was more that nobody really knew he existed. If they don't know ya, they won't dislike ya. Right, bud? Yep, that's me, the invisible kid. Nobody notices me, I don't matter much. Jimmy lived pretty much inside his own head, if you hadn't noticed already. He was painfully visible to himself. He saw with crystal clarity all his faults and problems. He gave himself no credit for any possible strengths or good points. He "knew" that his feelings were twisted and that his body was gross. And he "knew" that he couldn't change either of them. His feelings had become what he saw as "the truth" about himself. He believed that he was unlikable, and so he believed that's what others would think, too. He would have been astonished if somebody told him that he was pretty normal, not all that different than anybody else was. Actually, his Mom and Dad had been trying to tell him that for years. He didn't believe them. If they really knew him, they'd change their tune pretty damn fast! So, he believed he was unlikable. And so he naturally started to practice his invisibility. Better invisible than exposed to view and ridiculed! Here he was, needing to be invisible to protect himself from certain disgust and rejection by others. Whether they actually would actually have been appalled or not was never an issue for him. It was a "fact". And then, wanting at the same time to be not so terribly alone. The contradiction didn't even feel like a barrier to him. He just felt frustration and anxiety about absolutely everything under the sun. Plus, of course, leave us not forget the simmering anger that his self-imposed invisibility gave him. He always kept a lid on that, but it was there for sure! It made him appear sullen sometimes. What, me angry? NOT! I'm much too worried to be pissed off... What he felt the most was lonely and very very shy. He couldn't imagine actually saying any of this to anybody. He wasn't all that clear about it inside himself. Which is why he was humming an old Meat Loaf song as he moved down the street, "Life is a lemon, and I want my money back..." Like the thing about my name. It was bad enough that hardly anybody noticed his shaky attempt to re-define himself. The ones who did notice seemed to live down to all his negative expectations about other people. You know, the ones who derided him about the attempt. "Oh, Jim is it? Not just little fat Jimmy now? Nah, come on, Jim-MEEE, get a life. We'll letcha know when you can change the name!" And so it had been most of this year, "Jim-MEEEE, how ya doin, Jim-MEEE?" That was just one of the things he hated about this year. Being fat is pathetic, too. I hate being fat. Mom and Dad say I'm not fat. Mom being the helpful nurse spouting statistics about obesity. Gross word, "obese". Mom says that I have to be way fatter than I am in order to be Officially Obese. Yeah, so what? Go tell that to the assholes at school. I don't even believe it myself. The `rents say that I'm stocky (yeah, that's really the word they used. Stocky. Oh, and sturdy, too.) Because of my French Canadian genes. Jimmy La Roq, that's my name. Good ole stocky and sturdy, that's me! I don't think I'll ever be a grown up Jim La Roq. Not destined for any other cool nicknames, either, pretty sure. One friend back in third grade called me "Rocky". That was the greatest. But he moved away, and the other guys started calling me "dumb as a rock" when I got left back in Fourth Grade. Which was certainly not progress in the name department! What IS this about my life history of unhappy names? "Life is a lemon, and I want my money back..." Yep, fat and dumb as a rock. Quite a reputation there to maintain, dude! Dad says that short and stocky (and let's not forget sturdy, asshole) can be a football linebacker. Yeah, in his dreams. Sure not in mine! I like football, goin' to the games is cool, but playing? Me actually playing? Hah! Totally impossible! Like they'd let me. Linebackers are muscle and determination. I'm lard and lazy. Yeah, I'd kinda like to play, at least try it out and see. But I'm sure I would suck pretty bad. So I'd better not think any more on that subject... Good idea, asshole. Give it up. Shut up!! Nope. Just remindin ya about the facts of life, here, bud. Oh, OK. Shutting up now about that. Jimmy wasn't all that lazy about some things. He did get quite a lot of exercise in one activity during the past few years. Yep, should have had quite well developed muscles from all that rubbing on that new (and only, dork!) best friend down below. Of course, I'm worried about that, too. He wouldn't really be Jimmy if he didn't think there was something wrong about this part of himself, now, would he? So you play with yourself too much. Three or four times a day seems like a lot don't it? The first time of the day, waking up with my "friend" nudging itself between my belly and the sheets as I lay on my stomach on the bed. Thank God that belly is good for something, right? You like to rub it on the mattress early in the morning, doncha? Yeah, that's the best time of the day. Mom and Dad thinking all this time that I like to sleep in. HAH! Little do they know... Rubbing my hard dick against the old pillow shoved down there for the purpose. That feels really good. Just about the best feeling ever in my life, is all. And I'm cumming a lot! Thank God for that old towel down there so Mom doesn't find the poor pillow all scummy and yucky. The second time in the day when he helped out his friend down there, as he referred to it, was when he got home from school. It was a good way to unwind and relax a bit from the tension he always felt at school, worried all day about what he'd do that was stupid or embarrassing, worried about what somebody else might say to him. So after school, it was cramming the handy old towel down inside his white jockey shorts and rubbing himself as he read a book (not a sexy book, he'd never dared to buy or steal one of those) or just daydreamed about something sexy. Then of course, stroking himself softly had become the regular routine to get him to sleep at night, otherwise he thought too much. And sometimes I wake up horny in the middle of the night, too. Funny, I don't do it the way I'm supposed to, at least I don't think so. It's not the kind of thing you take a poll about, is it there, bud? Sure thing I do it way too much, I bet nobody does it as much as me! But I think I'm doing it wrong, too. Everybody calls it jerking off, pulling the pud. I don't do that. I've tried it that way plenty of times. But pulling on it feels weird. Rubbing and squeezing on it, that's how I do it. Pathetic, isn't it? Yep, that's pretty pathetic, dude. But not as pathetic as what you're rubbin ON. Yeah, I know it's small, but what the fuck can I do about that? I can't stretch it, can I? Well, you haven't really tried that approach have you? Pecker looks just like you, too. Short and fat. Shut up. Nope, you know it's a pretty gruesome picture, doncha? Oh God... Stop thinking about this shit. If it doesn't get you all pissed off and shit, it'll sure getcha all horny again. We don't really need either of those options, do we?? But I love doin it. Warped, for sure, the polls are in. I'm definitely warped. Oh, good. I'll be home soon. Maybe if I get back to reading that book, "The Mists of Avalon". I'll stop thinkin about all this. I love King Arthur stories, all those knights charging around having adventures together. Not too many damsels in distress, either. That's cool. And the last chapter yesterday was maybe hinting that there was "something" going on between King Arthur and Sir Lancelot. Could it be that this woman author thinks they love each other? As in gay? That would be amazing. Maybe I can make up a sex story about that when I get home. That's a HOT idea... God I love reading. Thank Christ I have books. I must read two or three a week. But, asshole, notice another one of those twisted gay ideas there? Shut UP! I try to get away from sexy thinking by reading. Then something sexy comes up in the book. I can't be blamed for that, can I? It makes me all HOT. Of course, you can blame yourself for that, you faggot. But that's what's happening all the time in my head. I can't help it. "Sexy" turns into "sexy guys", every time. Yup, that's what makes you so feeble, faggot. But I try to think about sexy girls, I really do! That cheerleader Cheryl is pretty. But there ya go, sport. You think she's "pretty". But, doncha think Lancelot is HOT? That's quite a difference there, queer. Maybe it's a phase? Maybe I'm bisexual, and like, haven't had the girl thoughts develop yet? Uh, huh. This is yourself you're trying to fool, here, idiot. Have you got yourself convinced yet? Well, ummm, not really... That's right, I havta agree. You have never, not even one time, thought a female was HOT like that. That's it. I'm fated. So it's fat, dumb as a rock, no dick to speak about, and gay as a goose to boot. Hell of a combo to try and live with. And don't forget to worry about somebody else ever finding out all this shit about you. The news just keeps on getting better and better, Jimmy, old pal... Jimmy crossed the busy main road and turned onto a smaller side street, a residential neighborhood unfolding itself around him now. Which reminded him that there was another purpose for taking this particular route to get home. There were three other streets that he could have used to vary the scenery. But in the past month, he'd been following somebody home. Somebody new to the school, in all his classes. Somebody that lived a few blocks from his own house. Somebody HOT. A boy, of course. Jezz-US is he HOT! Taller than I am maybe 2 or 3 inches. He must be 5 foot 6 or 7 at least. Thin, but not geeky and gawky. I like the thin ones, yep, sure do. They're always on the top of the list. He seems quiet, maybe shy or something. I wonder why? He's got nothin to be shy about. God, look at that ass. Perfect round globes under those blue pants. And not jeans, either. Pretty classy! Jeez, I don't know anybody who's ever actually said "perfect round globes" like that. Perverted. I'm a pervert. But look at his hair, too! Super black, so it gleams in the sun. Super straight, it hangs so cool lookin down the sides of his face. It's so cute how he unconsciously pushes it back from his face when it hangs down. Definitely perv material. Cute hair? Girls don't even say that, do they? Thank God nobody looks at my hair. It's brown. Brown! Can you possibly get more boring than ordinary brown hair, too curly and bushy to ever do anything with? I ask you. Boring as ape-shit. It matches my stupid brown eyes. Brown and brown? Elsie the cow. Average. Bland. AAArrgh... His hands are beautiful. Such long slender fingers, sort of graceful. And he does NOT bite his nails. They're perfect, too. Not like these blunt instruments I've got dangling off the ends of my arms. And his face. His face, oh my God, his face! Light brown skin, looks kind of hairless and soft. Looks like he has that same smooth skin on his arms, too. And on the nape of his neck, where he's got that awesome V shape from the tendons running down to a point just where his shirt's top button is. Somehow or other he seems to glow. He glows?? Get that shit. He glows... And do you know any other guys in the entire history of Middleboro, or the entire State of New York that look at the nape of somebody's neck? Where did you even learn that word? I don't know where I learned it. Maybe it was on a vocab list I learned once. Yeah, in your dreams. "Nape" Noun. N---A---P---E. Nape. Thank you very much. I think the only other guys in the State that actually know that word all live together down in the city. In Greenwich Village, ya get it? Wink, wink, nudge, nudge. But he really does. Glow, I mean. And his nape is perfect!! Yeah, yeah. Whatever. Beautiful eyes, too... Oh God, are you going to go on and on with this shit?? Absolutely. Those eyes are perfect. They're slightly slanted, just like a cat. Beautiful black eyes, like pools of water shimmering at night, those eyes. God, I'm a poet and don't know it!! If I'm gonna just go on being warped, might as well be poetic about it. So warpo, what else about him is cute? Go ahead, lay it all out there fer yourself. You know you're gonna do it anyway. Go ahead; look at his back walking over there in front of ya. Remember the face? The one you've memorized from across the classrooms at school? You know you stare at him all the time. It's a wonder that everybody doesn't see you mooning and swooning all over the place. Oh shit. I'm really thinking about swooning here... Ummm... OK, why not continue the Cuteness Inventory. What the hell. Cute button nose, not like my beak sticking out to run into things. Perfect, absolutely perfect. I never thought of somebody from Asia as perfect before! Of course you haven't, asshole. How often have you ever seen somebody Asian at all? Except in a movie or a video or somethin.. None of them is swooning material. Wait a minute, bud. That Blues guy, Johnny Lang looks sorta Chinese. His music is cool. But he's way too old to be real Swooning Material. OK, be that way. OK, I will!! Michael Jackson. He looks sorta Asian. Come to think of it, he looks sorta white and sorta brownish too. Kind of non-specific, ya know? Asshole, he's like a total plastic surgery makeover. Doesn't count. But I still like to watch him grind his crotch, tho. I'd do that for him! And that one music video with his shirt off. Great chest, good ribs and nipples. Nipples? Now I'm thinking about nipples. How much worse is this gonna get? And Jesus Christ, can't you even concentrate on one fantasy at a time, the one right in front of you? Shut up. No! Pathetic. You're fighting with yourself inside your own head. Why not, asshole. Nobody else in here to talk with, is there?? Ya got me on that one, bud. True fact indeed... So where does Mr. Hot over on the other side of the street come from, I always forget. Taiwan? Someplace like that. Where the hell IS Taiwan anyway, must be near China. Where the fuck is China, asshole? Like, can you describe the way to get there? Yeah, smartass, I can! Just get on the fuckin plane. When you get off the plane, then you're there. DUH... Good evasion on that one dude. The judges will allow one pass like that. Uh, thanks, I think... I don't even remember his name. It's a hard one to say I think. Yes, THAT kind of hard, too, you perv. Shut up. No! Any-waaay, I couldn't possibly try saying his name out loud and getting it wrong. I'd crawl away and die, I swear. I know I would, because kids give him trouble about his name like they give me. It's sounds like "Sak" something or other. I remember the first part of it, `cause some of the guys call him "Sack of shit" when he avoids them. Like they're not the sacks of shit because they need to be avoided, fer Christ sake... Jeez, he's carrying a lot of books and stuff. Must be heavy. Looks like he's got every one of them, and all his notebooks and shit too. Why? It's summer now. Maybe he's got summer school or something. He just got here last month, and his English is pretty funny sounding. Maybe he's gonna study for that. People make fun of him about how he talks. But I think it's really cute how he phrases things to use the words he knows. Of course, you would think that was cute, jack-off! You think EVERYTHING about him is cute. Yeah! And he's so sexy. Screw thinking about Lancelot and King Arthur today, it'll be Mr. HOT over there again this afternoon. He'd be amazed about what he does sometimes in my head... Yeah, don't we all know that! But he'll never know, because I can't even work up enough nerve to talk to him, let alone about something like that. Maybe you should go over and introduce yourself and tell him we're neighbors and does he wanna hang out sometime, and maybe you can help him with some of those books... NOT. Oh yeah, asshole, go ahead and ask him if you can carry his books, like you wanted him for a girlfriend or something! Shit, shit, shit. I'm going nuts here, hard as a ROCK and can't do a damn thing about it. At least here, I can't. Get on home then. But I can't just leave him here. What if he wants to talk to me? Sure, like that's a big possibility. You're following him. HELLO??? You're behind him, asshole, he doesn't even know you're here, just like in school. End of "Holding On For Dear Life" Part 1 Part 2 Coming Soon Comments, questions, and constructive criticism GLADLY welcomed! Please email me at Alienist__hk@yahoo.com I answer ALL emails! All flames will automatically push flamers into the Pit of Darkness... "Alienist" was the first professional title used by psychiatrists and psychologists, beginning in the 1890's. These pioneer counselors and therapists were considered to be working with people who were "alienated" from themselves and others. That's still true today, isn't it?