Trevor Wants Out

Trevor missed the call. He’s just realizing it now. What an idiot. Another boy his age, maybe Charles or McPeck, or Rhilo are going to do the pickup and delivery. He only put his phone down for a minute. He only placed it delicately on the glass so that he could go to the toilet. And then he masterbated, which he is now circling in his brain like a job he applied for and lost, like an add in the fine print after the funnies in the paper. He sees the word in bold type, all caps: JERKOFF, circled in red. The rest of the words around it are blurry.

He’s not there and some other guy is. And he has this stupid scar from scratching a zit that will probably always be on his cheek now. His red cheeks, all flushed from cumming, while sitting on the toilet. This summer is gonna be a drag. Especially if he puts his fucking phone down to go have a session. Especially if he misses her opening the door. Probably in some sheer white nightgown, probably with her golden hair blowing in the cross breeze from the open kitchen window, which is housed in shadows because all the lights are always off inside when she opens the door.

"Trevor, you fucker," says Trevor to Trevor in the hallway mirror. He stares at his dilated pupils. He thinks about packing another bowl. He thinks about quitting the fucking delivery game. He thinks he could meet her in the market all the same, just run into her amongst all the salamis and cheeses, just stumble upon her with his cart, look up, and make eye contact and say something cool like, "let’s go." And she takes his hand. And they walk out of the market together.

Not today though. She ordered in. He wants to call her by her first name, can hear her whispering his name in his ear. The thought of Rhilo rolling up to her house is driving him crazy. He just rolls up casual and gets out of his dad’s car and slides the pie to her and she asks him to come in and then she places her hand against the seam that runs over the zipper of his pants and she pulls him in like that, by his crotch, and she closes the door.

Trevor gets hard again thinking about it, thinking about Beverly, about Beverly Johnson, and he finds himself back in the bathroom and she’s whispering his name in his ear, and he’s cupping her boobs and he remembers not to call them boobs, never boobs, she’s older, dummy.

He’s squeezing her breasts, Beverly Johnson’s breasts, and then he hears his phone vibrating against the glass in the foyer - he left it again - and his pants are in a ball on the shower rug to avoid a mess, and he’s saying, "no, no, no" as he finishes because he hears his mom pulling into the driveway and he very badly wants to get the fuck out of this crummy town already.