Et tu, ...
And keeping up with the false memories, I saw you a few days ago. You are a little bit older, a little bit heavier, and as loud and look-at-me as always. Spiky blond hair with blue ends? Cute. But if you wouldn't have been speaking with that person (boy? girl?) at the top of your lungs, I wouldn't have even seen you. You would have been just another face in the sea of faces that the library is in the mornings. But you were speaking loudly, I don't remember you being so loud. So I looked over the direction of the guy with the loud voice when I was on my way out. And there was you. I have to admit the first thing I saw was the hair. Very punk rock. Very cool. Then your eyes. I think I recognized you there and I didn't know it. I couldn't place you. But you were looking at me. That was clear. But who were you?
So I thought "was he in my class?" the question I usually ask myself when I cannot decide if I do know the person or not. Then you wouldn't register with my class lists. So it was something else. I guess I had that 'hmmmm.... hello?' look on my face. Then it hit me. It was you. You know what I remember first? That dick. That thick, long, hard, beautiful dick of yours. Then your mouth. Then that you are ... you. And then I looked away and went my way. I think I didn't recognize at you at first because you're looking slightly different. The same haphazard array of clothes you usually wear, like you picked them up from your room's floor (which may have happened) but you're heavier, thicker, more.. jaded? You are beginning to look the way I thought you'd look: the down payment for a daddy even you're everything but that right now. You have never looked your age, but now it's even more apparent.
I guess youth will not stay with you for long and you'll soon mingle seamlessly with the men in that bar you took me to that first time after homecoming. That bar full of middle-aged men who lust after twinks and put dollar bills in their underwear and sit around the bar without talking to anyone, nursing their drinks and looking forlorn. Aloof, detached, Machiavellian plot in mind, not needing anyone and desperately and silently calling for everybody's attention. I imagine it is your slightly bitter and fake blase attitude, or it may be that hidden sadness that fills your emptiness, or that detachment that follows you wherever you go, no matter who is accompanying you. It may be all that or just that I never really knew you and every time I see you, you look like somebody who's everybody and nobody at the same time. But I remembered you differently: fresh, sweet, effervescent, that clean smell coming off your body after you took that shower. I remember your legs in the air, your smile, your mouth saying my name over and over while I licked you all over. That was you in my memory. I know. I sometimes lie to myself.
For a second there I thought I was going to say hello. But then decided not to. Why waste my words? It's never good to cast pearls before swine.