Indigo: Sometimes I wonder what I'm doing. When I was writing this story, thoughts like that were frighteningly frequent. And hurrah for first-person!

Disclaimer: I don't own Kingdom Hearts or sex-hotlines…

o.O.o

CHAPTER 1: JUST FAKE IT

o.O.o

My life is a series of misunderstandings and overblown situations.

Think that's an exaggeration?

Okay.

I'm going to tell you about my crazy older brother - who looks just like me.

Then I'm going to tell you about his awkward, but drop dead gorgeous, boyfriend - who babysits me.

And don't forget about that random, stalker, creepy caller guy - who I get paid to talk to.

But oh, I haven't even told you about my job yet, now have I?

Here's a sneak peak:

"Oh god, don't s-stop…"

"Well I don't plan on stopping anytime soon, baby."

"Please, please….ohhh."

"Nhh, I hope you know what you're asking for, Destiny…Mhhhh, because you're about to get it."

"Ohhhhh!"

That's right. I get paid to moan in a microphone all day. I'm a sex-hotline worker. I sit in a recording booth, put the headphones on, turn the mic up, and just start faking it.

Usually the sex-talk starters get a script of generic things to say like:

"Ohhh god, give it to me h-harder!"

But I've been doing this for a few weeks now so I'm pretty set on improvisation. I know when to turn the volume up and when to start panting like I haven't drank anything but the other guy's pathetic lies all day.

Hey, it beats being a receptionist. That was my last job.

It's not really a big transition though. Instead of picking up the phone and asking them who they'd like to talk to, I'm asking them who they like to do.

Is it the boy next door that just moved in? A student asking his teacher for some afterschool help, maybe some sex-tra credit? Or how about that guy who sits behind you in chemistry class? If you give me his traits and personality, I bet I can imitate him for you. Would his moan sound like this – ooooohh – or like this – oooohhhhhhh – just tell me. I can do it. And then you can do him.

But you're never going to do Roxas Stunderton.

The actual guy on the other line. The one who's paycheck depends on how well he licks that microphone for you. And one of these days he's gonna accidently electrocute himself like that.

Roxas Stunderton.

That's me.

But when I'm in this booth with my heart on the phone line and my dignity in the gutter, I'm just "Destiny." Or host number 13. Take your pick. Do you want me to be a name or a number? Just don't ask me to be a person.

And you know the front of my teeth is getting a bit chipped because all these guys with bite fetishes keep calling in. And against my pearly whites - this microphone is a tough customer.

Oh hey, this guy is about to come. Hold on a second okay?

"Ohhhhh, god! Ooohhhhh!"

"Destiny….you're so good at this, baby…"

"Fuck, I'm coming!"

"Then come for me baby, I wanna hear you scream for me…"

"Ahhhhh!"

Okay fine, so I came first. But you know what? A lot of guys out there are pretty macho about this whole orgasming business. It's like they feel all threatened about their masculinity if the receiver doesn't come first or something. Like I'm supposed to be getting so much more pleasure out of this than I'm giving them. Well fuck that.

Or me.

But if it's the latter you're gonna have to pay a fee.

That rhymed. I could be poet. Or a singer. Or a goddamn receptionist. Because really, the only reason I got that last job was because they liked my voice. I guess that's the only reason why I got this job, too.

Because you wanna know a secret?

I'm actually a virgin.

But I've done it enough times on the phone that I know what people want, and I know what to give them. And I know what you're thinking. This is sick. You're sick. Your entire life is sham because you sleep with guys for a living, and you claim you're still a virgin, and by the way you're gay, so you're gonna burn in hell anyway.

Haha, see that? More rhymes.

And here's another secret.

I'm. Not. Gay.

I know. You probably want to stop reading now. You're like, fuck this shit! And fuck you too, but you're not worth the pay! But hold on there for a second, I'm not being completely honest.

But then again, what more do you expect from a guy who makes a living by lying to people?

Here's the truth: I'm bi-sexual.

Or maybe I'm buy-sexual. Buy my time, and I'll get sexual. Get it? Maybe I'll add stand-up comedian to my list of potential jobs. But for that I'll need both my voice and looks. And my humor's getting kinda jaded by now anyways….

Okay, last surprise of the day. Wanna guess how old I am? How old is this sex god with a receiver? Who exactly is this prepubescent sounding boy on the line? Is he really even a boy – or is he really just a very, very butch girl?

Nah, I'm just playing. I'm totally a boy.

It'd be a lot harder to get off during calls if I wasn't.

Just saying.

But now you're probably curious about my age. You probably think I'm in my mid-twenties. A guy who got laid off and now he's resorting to some dirty adult industry entertainment. This sad, single, bachelor has found a way to get his kicks and his paycheck at the same time. Oh, what has society done to you?

Or maybe you think I'm like…twelve. Because that's how old most guys think I am. They're all like, man I didn't ask for a twelve year old. This isn't breaking some legal rule is it? I mean you're not really twelve right? I can still fuck you?

Trust me, I only sound like a twelve year old girl on the phone.

But in reality, I am actually an eighteen year old boy.

Yeah, eighteen.

As in, I just finished high school. And now I'm going to go to college and I've got my own apartment. Oh, and did I mention I have to pay my own rent, utilities, tuition, and a bunch of textbooks I bet I won't even open?

Well actually that's because I don't really need to pay for all that. My parents are paying for half of my tuition and half of my rent. The other half? I've got to work for it. It's always been this way. I've got an older brother, and between the two of us, my parents always paid for half of everything we did. They always figured we'd be able to come up with the rest on our own – or at least help each other out on it.

Goddammit, I'm rambling. But you know what? They were right, to an extent.

Because that extent was ruined when Sora decided to not spend his sophomore year at PauPu University anymore. The same college that I was going to be enrolled in this fall. The same academic institution that I was always complaining about and saying how I wasn't looking forward to sharing it with Sora - because as brothers who are only one year apart - we're almost always in the same school together.

So then when Sora decided to study abroad…I mean I guess it wasn't just out of the blue.

He had been talking about it a lot. I mean becoming an astronaut was something he always talked about. (Although back in the day we called it becoming a space ranger.) But I never really thought he'd up and…you know…apply for a space pre-program one year in some foreign country that only NASA knows about to learn about whatever god-knows-rocket-science….

I mean if Lance Bass couldn't become an astronaut, what made my brother think he could?

Except…he could.

Sora could always do the things he wanted to do.

And I would always just…you know, sit in his shadow all day. I guess I always have been.

It's like we're both outside and I'm sitting down in the grass and he's standing above me and covering me with his shadow. And then he's puffing his chest out and saying to not look at the sun because it'll hurt and he's the big brother so it's his job to protect me and blah blah blah. I'm trying to get up but he's pushing me back down.

And I'm complaining. Sora, how can I grow if you're always holding me down? How will I know what I can or can't do if you won't let me look straight ahead? How will I know if I never get burned?

But Sora never listens to me.

So to this day I'm still sitting on the ground, pulling up pieces of grass and throwing them into lit patches of land. Staring at the sun-blessed places that I can't go to, but apparently broken blades of grass can.

Hey, at least all these customers are listening to me.

Not that I really want them to. Not that I really have a choice.

Huh, and now I'm ranting. Look at what you made me do.

I'm eighteen and I'm living in my brother's unused apartment while he's off in space camp. I'm a teenage boy but I sound like a preteen girl. I'm a former receptionist, a current sex-talker, and maybe one day a future singer.

I'm just a guy sitting in this recording booth purring into a microphone and asking you if you're hard yet.

I'm Roxas Stunderton.

And it's time you've met Destiny.

o.O.o

Indigo: What am I doing.

I feel like that should be a statement by now instead of a question, after so many times of asking myself. Haha, I have other stories to update but here I go and…

Anyways, wow, first time I tried doing first person! That was exciting. Should I keep going? If you say yes, I'll set myself straight and work on plot and stuff. But if you say no, it won't be the first time I've hit a dead end.

Review?