The book - bit by bit

[lukas989]

He poured the recently boiled water slowly into his cup, meticulously aiming the flow at the granules, attempting to ensure the fusion was even. He then stirred the black liquid vigorously, making absolutely sure dissolution had occurred. Nothing worse than tipping back the dregs of a cup, and experiencing the instant bitterness of granule sludge. The sudden opening of the door startled him; in walked a tall skinny guy with a skinhead - the threatening nature of which was lessened somewhat, by a pair of small thin gold-rimmed spectacles. The guy stared round at him, acknowledging his presence with a smile, then a purposeful stride up to him, hand out for a shake. 'Alright mate, I'm Gavin,' he announced, in a thick Glasgow drawl. He took his hand and shook it, returning with confirmation of his own name, accompanied by a returning smile. 'Cool shirt,' continued Gavin, pointing at his chest. He was wearing a Fear Factory short sleeved shirt; finally after years of dedicated donning, someone had noticed. The simple appraisal immediately sent up the hairs on the back of his neck...so simple sometimes were the path to adrenaline rushes. He replied 'I know,' and immediately regretted it, feeling his face flush. In his head he was answering 'Fear Factory are great'. 'Control yourself' he thought; 'Don't fuck up this opportunity'. Gavin laughed however - whether it was at his beaming face, or in response to his faux arrogance he couldn't quite tell...but there was worse reaction he could have garnered. He took the opportunity to continue the conversation, asking what sort of stuff Gavin was into. Gavin rattled off a bunch of bands he held in his collection of CD's; the shots of joyous tinglings' ran up and down his spine; he hadn't prepared for how exciting this sort of moment would be. He controlled the excitement with short sharp answers and nodded affirmatives'; he was worried about going completely overboard with long-winded replies. He peppered the chat with nods to bands that hadn't been mentioned; some Gavin had heard of, some not - he immediately offered a loan of those Gavin hadn't, who responded with a warm 'Thanks'. He found himself fighting the urge to wander round the table and hug Gavin; which immediately had him concerned for potential situations he might find himself in. Maybe his instinct was a little fucked up...could get him into trouble. Gavin snapped his attention back 'My maw saw you from the car in the entrance way - pointed out your shirt.' He nodded. 'Aye was driving up here man...was shittin' masel there wouldn't be any folks I'd get alang wi', ken?' He smiled. He knew alright.

[lukas989]

Meeting Gavin had an incredibly soothing effect on him; people he could relate to did exist - it wasn't a case of just hoping any more. The very first person he met was on his wavelength...a reward perhaps for his patience. He was sat on his bed, back against the wall, staring blankly at the TV supping his cup of coffee. The encounter had got his mind buzzing about who else would arrive, what types of characters. He had heard scuffles of bags, doors noisily slamming shut, as more newcomers arrived over the course of the last half an hour. He had made a conscious choice to not make any moves to go and meet them, he would instead wait until the customary hours of dinner time, to once again venture forth into the communal areas. He wanted to relax and enjoy the good feeling - the satisfaction he felt from meeting a person who enforced his hope. It would only take one cunt to smash that illusion - and although he fully expected to encounter a cunt or two, he maintained a desire to revel in the ignorance to their potential existence. He took comfort in the fact that at this stage of life, you could meet a cunt or two, but that would be it - its not like he'd be bullied by them or anything...he'd just be bummed out by their presence; the lack of a decent person existing in their place. He'd heard it often said that school days were the best days of certain folks lives - not his. It had been a combo of humiliation, isolation and desperation. A touch dramatic perhaps - but the young mind has a tendency to do that. Not to mention have no perception of the effects caused by inflicting such things. At this stage of life, he trusted in the fact that, even if there was a fuckhead who still preyed upon others in the early school life way, the general crowd would suppress the behaviour. Being  'weird' would actually be embraced by others rather than used as an excuse to victimise. That got him wondering if he was that weird...in all honesty his isolation was more owing to a lack of common ground growing up rather than being particularly weird. He would possibly be downright boring compared to the zany artistic, musical or comedic types at large in the big bad world. At the same time though, the isolation perhaps also dampened the potential he might possess; devoid of any muse to flourish or kind words from which to be inspired. He liked to think he had many things to say and do and make and write and whatever else; but the long and short of it was that, he didn't and hadn't. Maybe he'd been snobbish in the face of being ignored...I'm better than these people - I've got more to offer. At that time it helped him through. Now over the course of the next year, he needed to deliver.

[downtownpony]

mods, please lock this thread

[lukas989]

In spite of the act of nothing other than sitting thinking, the time was passing quickly; the anticipation of meeting the others was sucking time away...he was admittedly, extremely nervous. He place a lot of importance in first impressions, and given that his people skills were raw at best, he feared that there had to be at least one instance of making a complete fool of himself. He wished he could be at ease with this; someone thought he was a prick...so what? It was amplified when it was so early on - yet to give a proper account of himself, he was already labelled an arsehole, and on occasion a target for mockery...all based on a couple of minutes exchange. Others surely thought this way too...maybe the reaction of disregard itself was a nervous thing, whereby they struggled to respond effectively, and instead reached for the insult/scoff shelf. He liked to think this type of reaction was owing to stupidity, but didn't possess nearly enough faith in his fighting ability to test the waters. Neither the thought of being pummelled, or for that matter, pummelling someone gave him a nice feeling. The chaos theory of engaging in a physical confrontation always had him thinking of the most absolute - namely the fight continues to rage on until some form of extreme damage is required to end it, causing extended hospitalization or even death. As shit as things had sometime gotten, he didn't want to die. At least not at the hands of some fuck he had no respect for...if he was to depart it was to be by his own hand. Not wrist-slitting - that freaked him out. An overdose maybe. A hose in through the car window was out - he couldn't drive. Maybe throw himself off a cliff; if it wasn't for the serious amount of balls required to do the initial jump. On the flipside, he had no desire to kill someone - sure maybe the cocksucker would deserve it - in fact no doubt if he had been forced to take it to such lengths. It was just the aftermath of having done such a thing - court case, conviction, jail....getting routinely beaten and raped, things stolen, and destroyed...all for the simple act of ridding the world of a cunt. there was too many cunts in the world to know for sure the right one had been picked, certainly to make this level of sacrifice for. The cunt population was like anything - take out the kingpin, and the level of worldly cuntiness would dilute...until a new kingpin was found, and the recovery process would begin. Bottom line though - no fights.

[lukas989]

He felt nervous. Nervous to prepare himself dinner. Nothing to do with his lack of culinary skills - in fact he had developed into quite the self-provider over the years; he teen years had primarily been spent, being stranded a distance from civilization, too punishing to walk with any sort of regularity. Thus he became learned in a handful of survival recipes that filled a hole more satisfactorily than a dry cracker, or his mothers mundane taste in breakfast cereals. Either way, his mother had prepped him with a couple of ready meals for these first complicated days...at least meal time wouldn't be. He took a pronounced breath, scoffing at himself for the drama. Potentially this was the moment where things would be spoiled. He recognised the earlier encounter with fat cunt down the stairs wasn't exactly easing himself in - but he wasn't nearly as concerned with befriending her as he was with those sharing this floor with him. He wandered through to the kitchen, glancing in through the window on the way. The back of someone was visible, sat at the table, eating. He strode in, deliberately paying the person no heed - preferring instead to let them initiate. He heard a garbled 'hi', spoken through a mouthful of food; he swung round in mock surprise, which as it turned out, didn't require his best acting performance, given the nerves pulsing through him. The result of these nerves was no audible sound, instead holding his hand in a steady 'hello' position, much like a retarded indian. Embarrassment coursed through him -too late to rescue it now - retarded indian it was. The guy at the table returned to eating, seemingly recognising the awkwardness lingering in the air. He welcomed the break from proceedings the meal prep afforded him; remove sleeve, pierce film lid, zap for a few minutes...a good chance to regroup and attempt to redress the initial missed opportunity. He crouched in front of the fridge, eyes fixated on the position where once the two ready meals once lay. In their place, one remained...shepherds pie to be precise. He enjoyed a good shepherds pie - of this there was no doubt; but he had mentally prepared himself for the consumption of a tasty admirals pie. Gone. His knees ached under the strain of the crouched position. That cunt over there...he searched frantically for the way to play this. He needed confirmation - he couldn't very well go in all guns a blazing, free of the evidence required. He silently and slowly raised up, bringing his eye-line just above the counter top, peering in the fucks direction. And there it was - remnants of all the major admiral pie components - mashed potato, white sauce, and lump of succulent fish, smeared across the cunts plate, another forkful being shoved down the cunts fat stealing face. He lowered back down again quickly. what to do, what to do. He couldn't stab him certainly. Could he? 

[lukas989]

One of the big things college potentially opened the door for was sex. He had had sex once, not but nine months previously, whilst on holiday. It wasn't fantastic jaw-dropping sex by any means; the volume of alcohol he had in his system saw to that. The importance though, was in the fact that a girl had been willing to have sex with him a mere eight days after having met him. Sure, the potency of this was diluted somewhat by the holiday environment, but that in turn was eradicated by the fact he was a virgin. Not just any virgin either - he hadn't even engaged in even a smooch with a girl up that point. The girl on the holiday had been hot however. The kind of girl who most would be proud of being able to say 'I did her'. there wasn't many ladies growing up - available ones anyway - who he personally could say the same for. Many a time in fact he would observe upon the almost ritualistic dance, of someone opting to say 'fuck it', do the deed with one of these 'not so pleasant on the eye' girls, and routinely be completely torn apart by his peers. During one of his few wanderings out amongst the social scene, he found himself sat in the rear of Colins windowless peugeot van, with four others; one a girl named Susan. She was sat on Colins lap in the drivers seat, who was asleep. It was a strange scene...he and the others sat silently gazing off in different directions, as Susan poked and prodded at Colins face, enquiring if he was really in fact asleep, or was just acting the cunt. He watched this unfold out of the corner of his eye, avoiding drawing attention to himself. He wasn't particularly close with Susan - but in that moment he felt terribly for her...he was well aware of the pending mockery she would be subject to, once she left. A few more minutes went by, the air thick with awkwardness, until finally she gave up, sighed deeply, and clambered out. Colins eyes opened at the loud bang of the door shutting, a grin slowly growing across his face. 'Battle of wills boys, battle of wills!' He exclaimed triumphantly. Everyone laughed - he too, but in a fake strained way. He hadn't enjoyed it. 'That's the merry-go-round started again,' Colin continued. the 'merry-go-round' as it turned out, was the continuous swapping of guys Susan was doing the wild thing with. Colin had elected himself as the starting point of this - ergo once back to him, round they'd go again. Another guy in the van - Wesley - asked ,'Who hasn't she fucked at this stage?' Instinctively he answered 'I haven't', raising his hand at the same time, as if to cement the satisfaction. Wesley looked round at him, face screwed up, replying, 'Aye, but you don't really count though do you.' He remembered little else about what went on in the van after that; he became consumed in what that meant. Should he have just said 'fuck it' and made efforts to thrust himself into the position of fucking an ugly? The disdain he was apparently held in suggested he should have...but he did think of these guys as fuckwits - so what did it matter really? Not to mention just the mere fact that he had thought the term ' fuck an ugly' in his head, made him feel bad for the girl or girls who in this current social scene, fit that description. The very act of fucking them would be using them in the most degrading of fashions. The next thing he recalled about that night, was climbing out the back of the van, and setting off up the road, with a guy called Andrew shouting, 'Where the fuck are you going?' after him. He was roughly three miles from home, a stretch of A-road between him and there. It was roughly one in the morning, and thus, impossibly dark to realistically attempt walking it. He decided therefore to sleep outside; choosing the soft grass of a makeshift putting green, in front of a hotel. He woke once to get up and vomit, then slept brokenly for the remaining two or three hours, eventually being forced up by the moisture of the morning dew, turning his makeshift mattress into a sopping cold nightmare. He set off, exhausted, mouth sour with the acrid taste of stomach acid, up the road, now aided by the light gloom of early morning. He made it about a mile along, before a truck driver stopped and took him the rest of the way. It proved to be his last dalliance with socializing pre-college.

[lukas989]

It went without saying therefore, that he was as unprepared as he could be for the thrust forth into the big bad world. One drunken sexual act, and not a single social experience for a solid year or so. He was, as it turned out completely ill-equipped to deal with practically any scenario adeptly; he was 98-99% sure to fuck things up...or at the very least make a complete tit of himself. But of course, he needed to. He didn't have the defense of being too young to fall back on any more; he was allowed by law, to do pretty much anything he wanted: smoke, drink, fuck (less anal intercourse alas...not that he even really viewed that as a viable option yet), drive, see filth-filled, expletive-laden movies...he was a proper adult. The pressure to get the first kiss as a pre-pubescent child, seemed like a walk in the park to all this. People would be a lot less patient with him now as well...he had to jump on the horse and learn to ride quickly. He spent the first few weeks of college, surveying closely; learning who the viable options were, amongst the available girls. It was a pretty small pool to be honest...when you discarded the ones who were way the fuck out of his league, the ones he just couldn't see as an object of desire regardless, the unavailable ones, the ones who were complete arseholes...it left maybe three. And upon following their paths closely for a bit, that number dwindled to one: a girl named Kim. she won by default really - the other two were quite a lot more attractive than Kim, but they clearly had no interest in him. In fairness, he would struggle to be interested in him either; his attempts at conversating with them was entirely laughable..which wasn't helped by their complete lack of interest in giving him anything to feed off of. Kim on the other hand, did all of the talking all of the time...all he had to do was nod and smile, mixed with a bit of nodding and looking sympathetic. The pressure was further lessened by the fact her friend became interested in the guy who stayed right next door to him - an overly-energetic bloke named Kenny. Kims friend was named Shona; of the two the clearly more attractive one. He and Kenny would spend most nights sat with them; which pretty much were filled with he and the two girls observing upon Kenny acting the excitable idiot. He would play the fool Kenny mocked - the girls laughing at the put downs, which he would theatrically oversell to indicate he was in on it. It seemed to work wonders on Kim; who like him was the far more quiet and shy member of the respective double acts. Eventually the group dynamics reduced down to them pairing off, each retiring to rooms to continue the ritualistic dance of finally 'getting some'. It perhaps went on for a few nights too many - to the point where he thought he had missed his chance...it was tough he found to interrupt the 'tragic' life story Kim droned on about on a nightly basis...'I got my heart broken when I was fourteen' type bollocks over and over again, to such the repetitive nature he found the urge to audibly sigh increasingly difficult to avoid. In the end he practically pounced on her - spring a smooch on her from nowhere...no invite, no awkward pause - actually interrupting her train of chat with a swift move forward locking onto her lips. The dry humping lasted an eternity...three and a half hours to be exact. The length of time thus caused a lack of progress; his insanely stiff erection remained locked within the confines of his jeans. The late hour necessitated the need to return to his own room - she insisted on it. His testicles ached at the lack of being emptied...he audibly cried out as he climbed the stairs. It had been a frustrating evening to say the least...and left him questioning the point of pursuit any further. The next night however it did happen; albeit in perhaps the most unromantic of circumstances - the heavy petting finally turned into something more - again at his behest - when he slid his had, over-eagerly down the front of her jeans, and began awkwardly stroking the nest of soft pubic hair he discovered. A shiver of thrilled excitement ran through him, as he became aware of her undoing his button and lowering his zip...to which he responded with his own fumbling button and zip unfastening. Such was the lack of sexual experience in the room, that the jeans were lowered only enough to ensure penis could enter vagina. He had managed to slide a condom on, whilst continuing the kissing - something he was immediately aware he needed to improve on...Kim asked if he was alright when he lips froze at the effort of fitting the aging prophylactic. He reddened at the question, immediately becoming a bit angry at the enquiry...who did she think she was, a fucking expert? The sex was beyond crap...the rhythm was off, the jeans an obstacle, the attraction to each other nowhere near suffice...he finally came after switching his thoughts to his favourite pornographic images, used many a time for successful masturbation sessions. As he wandered back upstairs to his room, he was already thinking 'OK...how does one best get out of this situation?'