I always wondered what heaven was like.
I heard that, in the Bible, they described it as a paradise paved with golden roads and there was no hunger or sickness. It sounded so perfect and unrealistic; I always thought Christians were just morons who thought that they'd rather live life thinking when they die, they'd end up in this 'paradise'—this heaven—after they die. I don't think that you'd end up in a place like that after death. We're humans; humans suck and they'd never deserve such an awesome place. We rot under the ground and that's it. There's nothing after life.
But, maybe heaven wasn't so far-fetched; I actually began to think that after I met Clyde Donovan. Clyde was the kind of guy girls wanted to date and guys wanted to be; he was the cool guy who always had a girl on his arm. As cliché and generic as that sounded, that was definitely Clyde. He was the epitome of popular.
I always thought that, if I were to ever meet him, he'd be a total douche and I'd hate him. But I was so, so wrong. I met him on a gross, grey rainy Tuesday afternoon as I sat against the dumpster at the back of the school, smoking a cigarette I had managed to beat out of one of the gay Goth kids.
I had been experiencing a crappy day; I got sent to the principal's office three times that day, got an F on my math test, and was slapped by Bebe after she found out I called her a whore. (Well, she was a whore. She'd slept with everyone in the school, even me—of course, that was in middle school, but whatever, she still did.) All in all, I was not a very happy camper.
As I sucked in as much smoke as possible, I heard foot steps to my right, the heavy back door slamming shut. I thought it was a teacher so I pulled the cigarette from my lips and smashed it against the ground, tilting my face up to glare at whatever teacher it was. To my surprise, I saw Clyde. Clyde Donovan.
"Hey Craig," he greeted casually, as if he hung out back here with me all the time.
"Um," I said, furrowing my brows wearily, "hi?"
"I heard from Tweekers that you usually lurk out back here during class," he explained, sitting on the steps next to me. "During lunch too," he added unnecessarily.
"Alright," I said cautiously. "And? Your point is…?"
"I was looking for you," he said as if it was obvious. He leaned against the wall, his arms crossing over each other to rest on his lap. I eyed him cautiously, not used to anybody as popular as Clyde was to be talking to me. I wasn't exactly sure of how to react. "I wanted to ask you something."
I picked up my burned-out cigarette and flicked it as far away from me as possible. Without looking at him I said, "What?"
He looked around as if someone would actually be there, and leaned a little closer to me. "Is it true that you blow guys for cash?"
My eyebrows shot up faster than any part of my body has ever moved before. I had been aware of the absurd rumor for a while now; I don't know who spread it, but it had spread faster than wild fire. Even though the kids thought I was a gay man-whore, they were still scared of me, so I never really minded or addressed it. I had never expected anyone to actually confront me about it.
Much less Clyde Donovan, of all people.
"Why do you want to know?" I asked, both disgusted and entertained at the question. Clyde shifted awkwardly, looking—dare I say—sheepish. I had never seen Clyde Donovan sheepish before.
"I was just wonderin', man," he muttered, looking at me directly in the eyes. Despite his timid air, he seemed very bold in the way he gazed at me directly like that. "Do you?"
"Why? Do you want to try?" I smirked, being the douche bag I am.
He actually seemed flustered, but he kept his composure and just stared at me. He opened then shut his mouth; he looked genuinely confused.
"Just answer the question."
I snorted, grinning in amusement. "Dude, you are so gay."
He frowned. "I'm not gay! I was just—I heard the girls talking about it, and I got mad at them about talking about rumors, so I wanted to make sure it wasn't true—I mean, not that I think it's true, but…" he stopped. "God, I sound like a complete moron."
"You do," I agreed. I had never, in my three years of high school, thought that Clyde Donovan would "stick up" for me. "And actually, it is just a rumor. I've never touched another guy's penis."
Clyde blinked at me, as if he didn't get it. "Oh, that's good," he sighed. "I knew it had to be a rumor. I've always watched to talk to you."
"Are you sure you're not gay?" I asked in repulsion, leaning away slightly. Clyde frowned and shook his head.
"I'm not, I swear. I just meant…we were friends in elementary, right? Then we kind of drifted apart. I've been wanting to, you know, hang out again."
Let me just say I don't remember anything about my elementary years. Clyde claims we were friends, but I have no clue if we really were close or not. I can barely even remember the names of my worst enemy(s) in elementary. (I think it was…I don't even remember. They moved away a long time ago, anyway.)
But I didn't say this. I just shrugged.
"So, you wanna maybe hang out this weekend?" he suggested. I stared at him, eyebrow quirked. He laughed. "What? Is it so weird that I wanna hang out?"
He laughed. "I'm having a small get-together on Friday. Here's my address," he said as he jotted down an address on a ripped-out piece of notebook paper. He folded it and slid it into my coat pocket with another blinding smile. "Come over around six. It'll be great, I swear. By the way…" he rummaged with his book bag then let out a tiny "aha!" as he pulled out a single cigarette. He handed it to me and nodded toward my empty hand. "I see you ran out."
Stunned, I said, "Thanks."
"No problem. I hope you make it Friday!" he lifted his hand in a small wave and lopped off.
And that was when I thought I might have caught a whiff of heaven. As stupid and gay that sounded, it seriously felt like I might have found a map to some sort of paradise. I didn't know why I felt that way, but watching Clyde's retreating back and holding his cigarette in my hand, I felt that maybe this day wasn't so bad after all.
Most of the week was average; I spent my days lounging around the house, skipping classes, smoking and drinking in my past time (though not as much as I make it sound—I'm not an alcoholic or anything) and avoiding any interactions with anybody outside of my little clique that never even showed up at school like I did.
On Friday afternoon as I sat out back, smoking as usual (this time I had a full box of cigarettes) I was startled when Token appeared. Token had been my friend since forever; I can honestly say that I can't remember when we met or our childhood years, but it's like…one day I just looked over and hey, there he is, my childhood friend. Weird.
But he seriously never came to school; he was home-schooled, and I only saw him sometimes on the weekend. But, he would pop up at school sometimes to hang out with us since he was booked with outside lessons during the week and weekend and rarely had time to hang out with us.
But I hadn't seen him in months, so his sudden appearance made my eyebrows rise and eyes widen a little for emphasis.
"Dude, hey," I said, offering him a cigarette, which he refused. "What the hell you doin' here?"
He shrugged. "Nothing much," he said, leaning against the wall. Token looked so different from the rest of our crappy town of South Park; unlike me (skinny and pale with shaggy black hair always hidden by my hat) he was tall, fit, black, and had firm meanly features. Compared to skinny awkward me, Token was like….a generic football-playing teenage boy. Funny thing is he doesn't even play football.
"Don't you have home school classes?" I asked.
"Yeah, but my mom had to leave for a family emergency and my dads out of town, so I had the rest of the day to myself. I couldn't find Butters, so I came here. I knew you'd be here. You always are."
I took a drag of my cigarette and gave him an apathetic look. "Okay."
He eyed me. "I heard the rumors, man. That's fucked up."
I shrugged. "People are morons. They'll believe anything. Trust me, I do not suck dick."
"I believe you," Token said with a chuckle. "But I meant the other rumor."
At this, I sat up a bit, my back leaving the hard safety of the building wall. "What other rumor?" The only rumor I was aware of was the whoring one.
"You don't know it?" Token asked in concern. "Oh, well, it's big—I heard it a couple times in the hallway on my way here. They're saying that Clyde Donovan is targeting you for a free blow job or something. Apparently he invites girls over to his 'small get-together' to bring them up to his room and…you know. Apparently he's doing it to humiliate you."
I bit into my cigarette slightly then coughed it up, disgusted at the taste as well as Clyde Donovan. "What? Shit, you're fucking with me. They said that?"
"Hey man, it's a rumor," Token said with a shrug. "I'm only telling you what I heard."
"But he did invite me to a small get-together on Friday."
Token's eyebrow rose. "Aren't popular guys repulsed by gays? I mean, if the rumors true—which we can't be sure of—won't Clyde be the humiliated one if he actually enjoys it and like, I don't know, becomes your bitch or something?"
I chortled. "What the hell, man?"
Token also laughed. "I don't know, I was trying to help, I guess. Some help. I just told you to go suck him off so he'd be the one getting his ass judged."
I stopped laughing and crushed my cigarette on the ground. "Not a half bad idea. If the jack ass is trying to humiliate me, I'll beat him to it."
"What? Seriously? You'd suck him off just to ruin his reputation?" Token asked in caution. "That's pretty bad ass."
I shrugged casually and tossed my burnt cigarette. "He tries to fuck with me, I'll do it first. He better not think he can walk all over me and get out scotch-free, does he? Fuck him."
To be honest, I felt betrayed. Even if I don't remember Clyde, I felt like I deserved more from him than being screwed over. It was stupid how much it actually offended me, but it did, and I couldn't really control it. I just felt pissed.
"Well, I can already tell that poor kid is gonna get fucked," Token said in amusement. "I kind of feel bad for him, though. Shouldn't you think over it a little before you jump to conclusions? I mean, it's only a rumor…"
I didn't listen to Token. I was too busy lighting another cigarette and thinking about how much I hated Clyde Donovan and heaven.
On Friday night I found myself sitting on the couch wedged between Clyde and Bebe (she didn't seem too pleased to discover I had been invited). The only other people there were Kenny and his long-time girlfriend Anna, who were busy sucking face on the small armchair on the other side of the living room. I had expected the 'small get together' to actually be a huge party but, lo and behold, it was really a small get together.
It had been a bit awkward after Kenny and Anna began to make out. Bebe and Clyde weren't together, so all three of us sort of talked awkwardly. Well, most of the conversation was me and Clyde, since Bebe seemed to be pouting about whatever it is she's upset over. God, she is such a drama queen.
Eventually Clyde, who seemed to be getting annoyed and Bebe's presence, leaned over her (her face got all flushed when he did this, since she got a whiff of whatever shampoo he used) and asked me if I wanted to hang out upstairs. I numbly nodded and he smiled at Bebe, making up an excuse before leading me up the stairs. I glanced over my shoulder and smirked at her while she glared daggers at my back.
Once we got to Clyde's room we sat on his bed and Clyde, who had his back turned to me as he leaned over the edge of his bed looking through DVDs, asked me, "What do you wanna watch?"
"I don't care," I said. I watched him as he scanned the DVDs mumbling thoughtfully, and as he innocently tried to find something to watch, I got angry at how casual he was acting.
I knew it was too good to be true; it was obvious that Token was right. Those rumors—no, not rumors—the truth….it was so obvious to me. Of course the only reason Clyde would pay any attention to me would be to humiliate me. I don't know why he'd bother with a nobody like me, but it didn't matter. The motive was too obvious.
So, when he sat up after popping in some action movie into the DVD player and turned to me, I stared into his eyes as intensely as I possibly could.
"What?" he laughed awkwardly, startled at my seriousness.
"Why did you invite here?" I asked.
"What? I told you. I want to be friends again. Y'know, re-connect."
Bull shit. "Right," I said, shuffling closer to him, gaze still locked on his. He looked uncomfortable but I still moved closer, stopping when my hands rested in front of his knees, and despite the way he was looking at me (a mixture of concern and discomfort) he didn't move.
Encouraged, my hands moved toward his crotch. At this, he moved his legs, but they didn't close—he just shifted, his face panicked but red, and I wasn't sure if he wanted me to go on or to stop.
I just continued to move; I un-buckled his belt, unzipped his jeans then tugged them down. To my surprise Clyde actually lifted his hips up to help, staring down at me with that same expression of panic and embarrassment. I hesitated, unsure of why I was even doing this. I wasn't gay, but it wasn't like I was homophobic—besides, somehow, I looked forward to touching Clyde. Did that make me gay? I think it might, I dunno how this works. All I knew was that I was already pulling down his boxers and was too scared to look at his face again.
I had never sucked anyone off before, so I didn't know how to start. I just kind of stared at his dick, which just hung there limply, waiting. Nervously, I looked behind me, as if worried Bebe would come crashing through the door. But she didn't. All I heard was quiet, and the sound of my heart beat and Clyde's heavy breathing.
Then, with a hasty thought of "here goes nothing", I dove forward and gulped it down. Let me tell you, it tasted horrible. I mean, I've had girls suck me off before, but I kind of had this new respect for them. They made it seem like they enjoyed it, but how could they? It tasted like dirty skin that hadn't been washed all day. Despite this I began to imitate what I've had done to me, sucking and bobbing my head, eyes screwed shut. I felt like gagging but I felt his dick grow wet so I knew I was doing something right. I just continued doing what I was doing. I was satisfied to hear his gasps and groans of pleasure soon after. My hands moved to grip his thighs, pushing the jeans further down and away from my mouth. I grew more enthusiastic, brushing my teeth on the skin and using tongue.
It didn't take long for him to explode in my mouth with a sharp cry of "FUCK!" I pulled away and coughed, white dripping from my lips. Like hell I'd swallow that shit. That was just gross. I wiped my mouth with my shirt and finally looked at Clyde, who looked at me in horror, his face flushed and breathing very, very heavy. He looked so pathetic, sitting there leaning back, his jeans down to his knees with his wet dick sticking out.
Then why did I feel so guilty?
Why did I feel so—happy?
This wasn't right. I almost forgot what I came here for, but in a moment I was gripping my cell phone in my hand, resting limply on the bed behind my back, my eyes still locked with his. None of us moved.
Then I raised my phone and took a picture.
Dazed, he blinked at me in confusion. "What?" he asked in a hoarse voice. I shoved my phone in my pocket, disturbed to feel my own dick begin to respond to the whole situation. It was just fucked up and I had to get out of there.
"Craig—wait—what…" Clyde sputtered, seeming to snap out of his shocked dazed state. He moved forward and tried to pull his pants up and collect himself. I refused to look at him as I jumped off the bed, grabbing my hat (which had fallen off during the—er…event) and adjusted it back on my head.
"Craig," he said again, breathless. "Craig, what the fuck—"
But I was gone.
That moment, no matter how dirty it was, felt like heaven. I think those Christians really had something there. Heaven—the kind I felt—it was like paradise. Even if it tasted bad and I felt gross and stupid after it was over, somehow, my body felt otherwise. It was like my mind wasn't taken there but my body was; my skin was hot and tingly, and I felt like I was light-headed. I could barely hold the wheel as I drove home. I was scared I might crash.
Heaven was dangerous.
But, I didn't know what I was going to do with the picture. It was like a defense mechanism; I was scared Clyde would go around talking trash and, if anything happened—God I don't even know what I expected to happen—but, if it happened, I'd have this. The soiled, aroused Clyde that withered under the touch of another man.
But I couldn't bear to touch my phone, because whenever I even looked at it I felt sick and guilty. I didn't understand why, but I felt horrible about what happened—pushing myself on him, betraying his attempt at reaching out to me, taking a picture after humiliating him.
Was I the one who deserved punishment instead of Clyde? It felt like I was the bad guy, not him, and I felt like it was making me sick. I couldn't do anything except mull over it and remember the feeling of heaven I felt after leaving his house. I couldn't forget the look of hurt on his face as I ran from his room, leaving him alone after doing such a horrible thing to him.
What was I for doing that?
On Monday, I was scared of facing him. I walked around clutching my cell phone, worried about Clyde appearing and…I don't even know what I expected him to do. But I was scared, nonetheless, of just seeing his face.
On Monday I managed to avoid him, but Tuesday morning Clyde stood behind the school as I stepped outside to skip Spanish class. I didn't notice him at first; I was too busy lighting my cigarette anxiously as I stepped outside and let the door shut behind me. Before I could lift the cigarette to my lips Clyde as on me, slammed me against the wall roughly, refusing to loosen his iron-hard grip.
My lighter and cigarette fell to the ground with a soft clatter, and my back began to ache as it pressed hard against the uneven wall. I lifted my face and my eyes met his, and I swear I felt a little bit of what I felt Friday night begin to rise in my chest. Then it was gone and Clyde was hitting me, and my face hurt, and my cell phone was suddenly in his hands.
"Why?" he cried, kicking me as I slumped to the ground. "Why the fuck would you do that!"
I groaned. "I don't know," I admitted quietly. "I don't know."
"Shit!" he barked as he angrily messed with my phone, scowling. "And I fucking fell for it. I thought you maybe…" he trailed off into soft curses, eyes lighting up when he reached the photo he was looking for. I heard the 'beep' and knew he deleted it, and he threw it at me. I grimaced as it smashed against my stomach and landed painfully on the ground.
I stared at him and he stared back, breathing heavily, heavier than he did that night.
"Did you show anyone?" he asked me coldly. I shook my head. "Did you tell anyone?" Again, I shook my head. His anger began to shift to confusion. "Why the fuck not? Didn't you come just to get black mail on me?"
I licked my lips and shifted, forcing my body to move upwards slightly so I was sitting up correctly. I gazed at him in what I hoped was an honest way.
"I thought you were using me to get something on me. So I decided to beat you to it."
He stared at me. "What? What the fuck?" he barked out, his voice rising again. "What made you think that?"
"I heard people…" I swallowed, realizing just then how stupid it all was. How stupid I was for believing it. "I was an idiot. I never did it out of spite, I swear, I was just pissed off thinking you just invited me to humiliate me. But I realize I overreacted and…"
"You believed stupid rumors?" Clyde asked. "You thought I'd do something like that?"
I couldn't reply.
"So…all that…was just…" he choked on his next words and shook his head. "You know what, Craig? Fuck you. All I wanted was to talk. To be friends again. And you'd rather black mail me based on stupid teenage rumors. I misjudged you."
He glared at me and headed for the door. I didn't know why but I grew scared, panicked, as I watched his back retreat through those heavy doors. Without thinking I reached out and grabbed his jeans leg, my whole body leaning forward, stomach pressed on the hot cement. My legs screamed in pain and my face hurt again, but I merely clutched tighter and stared at him desperately.
"I'm sorry," I said. "When I did that—I know I was an ass hole. But after it, I felt like maybe you could bring me somewhere good. You know…" I wanted to say 'heaven', but how gay would that sound? "I just thought you were good. Warm. Different. I do want to be friends with you Clyde, and I know I fucked up. I'm sorry, man, and I'll let you hit me as much as you want until you feel better. I just want another chance."
He looked down at me and, for a moment, I thought I saw a flash of affection in his eyes. But then he just looked at me with this unreadable look on his face and, very slowly, he turned to me and kneeled down. I released my grip on his pants leg and he reached out to help me into a sitting position.
His big, warm hand reached out and gently touched my face. I hissed, biting back a curse as pain pulsated throughout my cheek. Clyde's expression softened.
"I fucked up your face pretty bad," he muttered.
"Yeah, obviously," I said. "But I deserved it."
He smiled and shook his head. "No," he said, staring at my injured face. "No. I'm sorry." His thumb brushed along my cheek and, though he touched a forming bruise, I felt a weird tingle go up my spine. I wanted him to keep touching me.
"Don't apologize," I found myself whispering. We both stared at each other and Clyde's hand slowly retreated.
"Let me take you to the nurse," he finally said, standing up and offering his hand. I hesitated but took it and let him help me to my feet, though I had to use my free hand to steady myself on the wall. He laughed awkwardly and apologized again, then I apologized and we both admitted we were both pretty bad ass holes, then we laughed again. It felt tense, but it was better. A lot better.
And, in the spur of a moment, as Clyde reached out to open the door and return inside the school I reached out and put my hand over his, stopping him. Confused, he turned to look at me, mouth open to ask what I was doing, and I pressed my lips to his. God, it hurt, my lips were tender from his knuckles punching them earlier, but his soft perfectly-wet lips soothed the pain, and it was nice. I felt that light feeling of heaven again, and I liked it.
When I pulled back he had the same face he had on Friday night.
"Sorry," I mumbled. "I just like touching you."
"It feels like heaven," he agreed lightly as he opened the door and dragged me inside. As we headed to the nurses I tried not to laugh. I wanted to just tell him I wanted him to take me to heaven tonight, as many times as he wants, but that sounded so gay. So I just tried to slip my hand against his, wishing he wouldn't notice my desperate attempt at his touch, hoping I could feel heaven one more time.
Xtra: I am a Christian, so I would just like to say that my religious mentions in this story don't reflect my own opinions. Try not to take offence. I just imagine Clyde being a cyncial guy when it comes to stuff like religion, you know? XD