7 January, 2010

An old digital clock in the far corner of Tristan's small, rickety desk displayed '00:54'. Tristan himself was bent over a paper, finishing up the final few paragraphs of his assignment. He hadn't had the time to do it before, as his mum had told him to cook and clean. But even though he rushed it, he was still quite proud of what he had written. It wouldn't be perfect, but he'd get a good grade.

With a deep yawn, he leant backwards against his chair. His knee hit the desk, which really was meant for someone a size smaller than him, and caused a haphazard stack of books to fall over. He flinched as they hit the floor with several loud thumps.

The loudest hit came from his heavy reference book for English, after which followed his books for Latin and Greek, several notes and loose papers, and a worn out Marks and Spencer catalogue. Rapidly he dove after his books, afraid that he had woken up his mother.

Several loud footsteps up the stairs, and angry swear-laden mumbling told him as much. Not wanting her to see it, he hastily kicked the department store catalogue underneath his bed. He tried to stack the rest of his books back on the desk, when his mother came up the stairs.

It seemed she hadn't been asleep yet, as she still wore a short dress and heels. Her dry hair had been done, but poked out regardless. The anger made her eyes dark, not helped by the dim light of the attic.

"Why are you up?" She barked, and he nearly dropped the books again as her loud voice startled him.

"Finishing homework." He answered quickly, glancing up only to avert his eyes so she wouldn't get upset. "I had to write a paper for English." He clarified, as he noticed her glaring at him from the corner of his eye. An angry huff escaped her, followed by a deep, unpleasant chuckle as if she'd made a clever insult in her mind. He shrank down, so she wouldn't find any excuse to punish him.

"Get the fock to bed."

Immediately he nodded his head, staring down at the desk the entire time.

"I will. I'm sorry." He stammered, knowing that she'd get mad if he didn't answer her. The fear made it difficult to speak, but he tried not to let her hear.

Rather than stick around, she stomped back down the stairs. The light flicked off, telling him she truly was leaving. A few moments later, he heard the front door rattle and slam shut.

He breathed a sigh of relief, and laid his head down on the desk. His heart pounded in his throat, and if he had been tired before, the adrenaline pumping through his body served to wake him up. At least she was gone, and he knew she probably wouldn't be back soon.

He fished the catalogue out from under the bed. The front cover had been crumpled and folded over, but it was mostly intact aside from creases. He held it in his hands, biting his lip as he contemplated what to do.

On a first glance the book wasn't anything special, and that was why he kept it: so she wouldn't figure out what he used it for. In part it also was so he wouldn't feel so bad about it himself, since it wasn't anything obscene like porn.

Even when he knew she was gone, and that it would make him feel better, he was still hesitant. It wasn't good to do such a thing, not for his conscience nor his soul. He didn't want to risk doing something sinful and things getting worse, but he was already getting punished. If he just prayed more, and behaved better, then he could atone for it.

He turned off the lights and undressed himself to go to sleep, leaving on only his underwear and shirt. As he got into his bed, he flipped through the pages of the catalogue to a familiar section. He hoped that because it was dark, and he had only outlines to go on by it would be less vulgar – but even then he felt a bit guilty just for thinking in such a way.

He was well aware that each time he'd do this, a bit of his soul would be forfeited. That giving in to such desire meant his heart was a little less committed to his eternal afterlife. But that was so far away, and earthly ideas were right there for him to act on.  

I'm sorry. He hoped that God would understand his apology was true. I don't want to do something bad… I just,- don't want to feel bad. If there was another way, he'd do so, but nothing was as readily available as his own body.

Slowly he reached down, inching his hand down his stomach as he looked up at the dark silhouette of the underwear model. She wasn't really that attractive, but the image was enough to get his mind going – it was enough to make him stop thinking about religion, and that was a relief on its own.

He closed his eyes, and made up a girl he did like: one that would like him in return. Someone that would kiss his lips, and whisper that she loved him while she toyed with him. He imagined she'd be confident, and comfortable, and sweet. That she would be so much kinder to him than he really deserved.

He wanted to run his fingers through her hair and kiss her back. To love someone the way he wanted to be loved, even while what they were doing wasn't okay. Even in his mind he felt embarrassed before her, but she'd reassure him and tell him it was alright. A part of him knew that it wasn't all that bad, but he wanted her to take charge so he wouldn't have to think about it in the first place.

But like all things, he managed to corrupt his dreams with bad desires too. As he ran his hand up and down faster, he imagined she got rougher with him. She'd hold him down and keep him there, taunted with bites, lust and harsh squeezes. He wanted her fingers to grip his shoulders as she moved over, and took from him whatever she liked. She'd grab him, move harder, and he wouldn't be able to deny.

A jolt of shame and disgust ran through his mind, as he suddenly became aware how wrong the things he wanted were. With a deep sigh he opened his eyes again, biting his lips harshly as he didn't want his thoughts to wander that far. He felt bad imagining the way he truly wanted to be used and taken. It was already bad in that he wasn't even in charge.

Frustrated he looked further through the pages, and although he was still aroused, the bland images never spurred the divine desire to procreate he had been told men were given mandate for by God. Even when he forced himself to think of being on top, he found it difficult to think of what to do – other than perhaps a listless back and forth.

He turned another page, and was met with a male model as the women's section had ended. Although he knew he definitely shouldn't, his eyes did linger on the image. Even in the dark he could discern quite a bit of muscle. For just a second the idea of being pushed down by a man stronger than him flashed in his mind. That aroused him too. Startled, he shut the book and his eyes.

I'm not like that. He wasn't,- couldn't be like that since women excited him too. It was just the idea of being held down. To prove to himself that was it, he imagined a girl doing the same. It worked, and he felt a bit of relief. Enough relief to make him feel better about dreaming about it.

He kept his eyes closed, and made sure to think of a woman. To think of her shape; of her breasts and hips and how soft she'd be, which all did excite him. Feeling confident that there was nothing wrong, he rewarded himself by enjoying it. Or rather, let the girl in his dreams reward him.