5 comments/ 6687 views/ 14 favorites Perfect Imperfections By: walec This is a problem that has been weighing down my mind for the past four years or so. It is a strange problem because it used to prick at my conscience, though no longer. It is still a "problem", because it is a situation that I cannot solve. Which is in itself a troubling prospect. We come from an elite all-boys school known for churning out students who go on to Oxbridge and the Ivies. A member of the elite-to-be, you can say. I was a fencer and he, a soccer player. We met innocently enough. I was rushing into the cafeteria one morning to look for Jasper, my best friend. To this day, I still do not know why. To hector him for a piece of homework possibly. I found him easily enough. He was talking to Brandon from the football team. I know they were great friends but I have never had the chance to say hi. Until that morning anyway. I did not really know much about him. He was not particularly good-looking. He was just normal, like you and me. His smile and that firm handshake though. I wondered idly who in the world at our age introduce themselves to their schoolmates with a handshake? That night, I was reading Jared Diamond's analysis of how the Easter Island society that gave us moais imploded when I felt my phone buzz with an incoming message. "Alec, Brandon here. Jas said you're a god when it comes to geography. I was wondering if you want to come over to my place and we can work on a set of notes for our upcoming geography test? The textbook and readings are useless. No pressures though yeah" I was intrigued. He is quite intelligent. While I topped the level in geography, he topped the level in history. He was perfectly capable of working on a set of geography notes. Jasper was practicing with the school band and could not join us the next afternoon after school. We walked to his home. His room was hopelessly cluttered. "I'm sorry, I just cannot bring myself to declutter this place" he mumbled before flashing a wide smile. Quite unlike your typical football player. "It's okay. Let's do it." I pulled out my laptop and we compared notes. Yes, I am a nerd and a sportsman. I am proud of that. We worked through the afternoon and night, punctuated with mundane chatter and whines like most boys our age. We finished at 11pm and he insisted that he walk back with me because it would be a lonely and dangerous fifteen minutes' walk otherwise. "I wouldn't get mugged y'know. I am pretty nifty with a pointy stick. " "Manners manners. I know you're good with your stick but still." And he gave me that smirk. I swallowed. The darkness suddenly felt really stifling. I darted into my room when I got home and sat down on the floor in the dark. What could he have meant by that? A myriad of possibilities started chasing after themselves in my mind. I slapped them down before retiring for the night. God knows I have tried really hard not to think about that comment and that encounter. It would have been possible if not for Providence. Predictably, Jasper, Brandon and I aced our test. I found myself hanging out with Brandon increasingly after school. We spent more and more time studying together on days when we do not have any practice, which happened to be the days Jasper had band practice. We hung out in the library, at his place, at my place, at Starbucks, anywhere and everywhere, but mainly his room. In hindsight, those innocent touches and slaps here and there which I dismissed at the time as casual displays of brotherly affection (extremely common in my all-boys school),were hardly innocent at all. We became a lot more comfortable with each other and best buddies. We shared almost every single detail of our lives with each other including our sexual exploits and fantasies. And it happened. That afternoon after school, we were just lying around in his room, me reading my novel and him leafing through a magazine. "Do guys with circumcised cocks need lube to jack off?" He wondered aloud randomly. "Don't be retarded, of course not Bran" I replied casually while still concentrating on Charles Ryder's adventures at Brideshead - quite fitting given the circumstances don't you think? "How do you know?" He shot back. "Cos I'm circumcised, dumbass" I countered while reading though I could not concentrate on my book any longer. "I have never seen one. Show me" he whispered while lying down next to me on the floor. I felt this strange feeling overtake my rationality, a strange and pulsing irrationality fogging up my mind. Lust, probably. Brandon can be very persuasive and charming. We disagreed on many things, but I have always found it difficult to mount a rebuttal with him as my opponent. His smile and looks were disarming. He is not strikingly handsome, everything about him is above-average, just like me, except our minds. But he radiates trust. One chat with him, and you feel like you can rely on him. And we both knew that. But I love his smile, his full unguarded grin that just seems to light up his face. His fringe which flops into his eyes makes him seem younger than he really is. I felt his hand snake across my thighs before sliding itself into position over my crotch. By this time, there was an unmistakable bulge. As he continued stroking my crotch and my thighs with his hands, I heard myself gasp at the pleasure that registered in my mind. I could not think and I did not. I found myself reaching over to feel his bulge and heard his intake of breath. We stood and shed our pants. It must have been a really strange sight - two eighteen years-olds in their white school shirts and underwear standing and looking at each other shyly. He reached over and begin cupping my erection and balls through my tight grey boxer briefs with one hand. The other he held onto my shoulder. I did the same. We were both exploring tentatively, neither wanting to make the next step while yet reveling in the pleasure this brought. He made the next step. He pulled down my underwear and freed my cock which was harder than I could ever imagine. He started to stroke my dick and I could see the drop of pre-cum at the tip of my cock. It felt amazing. He started slowly before whispering into my ear, "Does it feel good?" "Of course." I whispered back. As though I would lose that pleasurable connection if I raised my voice. "Your hand is amazing" he said it so softly that I nearly missed it. By now, his underwear had joined mine by our ankles. We did not exchange any more words as stroke each other to a crescendo. Our moans and intakes of breath told us all we needed to know about each other's state of arousal. We remained in that strange position, facing each other with one hand on each other's shoulder for stability and the other stroking each other's cock. We were thrusting into each other's hands. Stroke met thrust. I felt my orgasm building and apparently his too as he started tensing. We could feel it. "Don't stop" was all he said before he came like a fountain. His cock erupted and his jizz was everywhere all over my hand, that hot sticky fluid. It was surprisingly arousing to see Brandon come apart under my ministrations and it did nothing but expedite my own arrival at the edge. "I'm going to cum you know" I told him in between gasps as he leaned his head on my shoulder and continued to stroke me. Without warning, he knelt down and took my dick in his mouth. He licked and sucked on my overly sensitive head while still stroking me. The wet warmth of his mouth and the suction he applied were all too much to bear. I came apart in his mouth and all I could say was "Brandon!" Stupid of me, I know. But it was the only thing my sex-crazed mind could think of at that moment. It was erotic; him kneeling down and taking my dick in his mouth, milking me for all I was worth. When the throes of my orgasm were over, I was in shock. I found myself cleaning my hands with some wet tissues Brandon provided me with. We were silent as we dressed. "Alec, that was" he started but I cut him off. "I am not gay. I am not a fag. I am going." That was what I said. I was being a complete ass to my bud. I knew that but I could not bring myself to face what we have done. All my life, my parents and the church have taught me that homosexuality is a sin. It is an abomination. I will go to hell for this. We both will. I could not miss the shock and hurt in Brandon's face. It was as if someone had punched him. I threw everything into my backpack and ran out the front door with my shirt tucked out. But I did not care. I could not care. "ALEC!!" I could hear him shouting from behind me as he followed me down the stairs. I continued running along the pavement not knowing where I was going. In my mind, all I could think of was "No. No. No." Yet, I felt a strong sense of guilt - like I have committed great sins in a short span of time, to myself, to Brandon and to God. Perfect Imperfections Ch. 02 Hi guys, this is my first stab at writing erotica so please bear with me if I take a while or make some mistakes. All comments are highly appreciated. This is a very personal story to me. This chapter is used to build up the character of Alec. ***** Let us call that fateful day, D. Humans are a unique bunch – probably the only creatures on earth who can remember events with detailed temporal and spatial information only to mentally and consciously re-experience them. Some feel "fresher" while others feel as tenuous as dust accumulated on a surface, waiting to be blown away and some like a cake batter with eggs and flour mixed together. A sort of non-linear mental time travel as Tulving posited in 1972. D-5. I am in a classroom. No, not in school, but in church. This used to be an underground carpark until it was converted into classrooms for Sunday school. I realized wryly that its fundamental utility as a space has hardly changed – a temporary holding area where people (and things) come and go, to better places presumably. "Good afternoon, Wesley," A voice shook me out of my reverie. "Ah good afternoon Elder Andrew," I replied. "Let us start with a prayer before proceeding with the interview for your Confirmation. A formality, no doubt, given your record of service in church. But still, rules must be followed. Shall we?" Elder Andrew said softly with a smile. Thirty minutes later, we were done. "Well done. I think you are more than prepared for a spiritual life in Christ. See you next week then, God bless." With that, Elder Andrew left the room. Just another interview, I thought in my mind. Honestly, those were questions I was taught how to answer since I started Sunday school. Preachers have a habit of rehashing the same message in different guises all the time. I met Edith on my way out of the basement, a friend of mine from church. "How was it? You must have aced it. It's a test with a 100% pass rate!" She laughed before running off to fellowship held in one of the classrooms underground. A test is an instrument designed to ascertain one's ability against a pre-determined benchmark. If everyone scores above it, then does it mean that the benchmark is set too low? But if the purpose of the test is to raise standards across the level as well, then surely it must sift out those who are flagging, no? I shook off my thoughts and plastered a smile on my face as I met my parents and sister who were waiting for me. We were smiling as we said our goodbyes to church friends as we left the compound and went home. D+2. "I now pronounce you member of the Church. Please turn around to face the congregation." Intoned Pastor John. A huge round of applause rang out across the pews as cameras flashed. We all smiled for the cameras, a little uncertain which to face. It is over. I am finally Confirmed. Cameras were done snapping and we were shaking hands. I felt a tingling feeling, like some electrical current is coursing through my body while I smiled as brightly as I could, scanning the crowds for no one in particular. "Finally man! After all that delay," I heard James' drawl as he clapped me on my shoulder from the back. I always thought James stood too closely to me. "I have a title to defend you know." I muttered to James as I continued shaking hands with the tsunami of elders and deacons who have surged forward to congratulate us. Geography Challenge, the pillar of my academic life in school. It is a grueling competition held annually over three months which pushed me academically and physically. My school has won the title for the past two consecutive years and this is my second and final year representing my school. I will not be the one who loses it to our rivals. We won it again, making it our third. We would go on to hold the title for another four years. I finally got a moment to myself after ten minutes of congratulatory messages, hand shaking and photo taking. I was in a toilet behind the organ that rarely anyone uses. My hands were slick with soap suds when the door opened and I heard an all-too familiar voice. "Congratulations. You look stunning by the way." I looked up and there was Brandon leaning against the door casually. No, too casually. He was wearing a tight-fitting blue short-sleeved shirt which showed off his pecs and biceps. A watch with a red face and black leather strap. Skinny jeans which showed off his thighs and calves. And boots which we picked out together last week at a sale. Fuck. We stared at each other. It could have been a fraction of a second. It could have been a minute. I honestly could not tell the time with him around. Time seems to acquire a degree of elasticity with him around. D 11.13.15.19.25.Right.18.26.32.Left.41.43 The numbers on the mailboxes flew past as I ran. I only registered them subconsciously. Nothing else mattered in my mind other than what Brandon and I just did. I slowed down to a jog and I found myself just a block from home. When I reached home, I went straight into the shower, only bothering to empty my pockets on my bed. My uniform, originally drenched in sweat and sex, was now soaking wet with freezing ice-cold water. What the fuck did I just do, I wondered. It took me half an hour to shower. Honestly. I normally take ten to fifteen minutes. My arms were heavy. And I felt dirty. Polluted. Corrupted. Like there is a cancerous cell multiplying exponentially somewhere inside me. At that time, United States v. Windsor, which led to the repeal of DOMA, was making its way through the courts. Dinner conversation that night revolved around DOMA. My parents were conservative Christians, to whom homosexuality is a sin. I muttered some platitudes. I have always supported same-sex marriage, albeit quietly and secretly. It seems reckless to pick a battle I cannot win. I left the dinner table determined to bury the afternoon and dinner conversation away. But I could not. Brandon kept texting me. "Did you get home?" "Are you okay?" "I'm sorry. I should not have done that." "Reply me, pleaseee" "Hey? I'm sorry. Just say somethinggg" "Ehhhh I'm sorry, really." He called me. At least ten times. And I just chucked my phone in my backpack and let it buzz and buzz and buzz away. God knows I really tried to focus on Bronte's Jane Eyre that night. But I kept reading and re-reading the same paragraph. Jane recognized that the hills surrounding Lowood were imprisoning her and sought liberty. I could not even see the hills then. D+1 I woke up from a dream. I dreamt of yesterday afternoon. I reached down and my pants were slick and sticky. Fuck. Who still get wet dreams at eighteen? Me, apparently. It's only six-thirty in the morning. I felt this burst of restlessness that would plague me for the rest of the day. I changed into a singlet and a pair of running shorts. I looked at myself in the mirror and let my narcissistic tendencies take over. I smiled. Brandon would have smirked. He has always said that I looked sexed up in this outfit which emphasized my lean figure and toned muscles. I groaned inwardly at the somewhat unwelcome thought of Brandon's words. Not now, please. I just want to forget. I ran through around the suburb which I lived in which is built on a little hill. I reached a little playground which I used to frequent with my father when I was a toddler. It was still a little dark and the trees certainly did not help. That was when I saw someone on the seesaw. A guy my size, sitting there. His back profile looks familiar, perhaps someone from school. But definitely not Brandon, he never wakes before nine on weekends, I thought. As I walked towards him, I heard him sniffing and crying. His phone buzzed with an incoming message. I froze and gasped. That Doraemon message tone can only be... As if on cue, he turned around. It is Brandon alright and his cheeks seemed puffy. If it was brighter, I would have seen his bloodshot eyes. But even in the low-light environment, I could not have missed those tears on his cheeks. He began to stand. My heart contracted and I felt this sharp pain in my chest that made me gasp. I wanted to go over and sit next to him. Heck, I wanted to go over and give him a hug. I wanted to say "It's okay". I wanted to say "I'm the ass. Forgive me please." But I could not. I do not know why. Instead, all I could say was a garbled "Not now." And I ran home, like an asshole. Like a coward. It was only when I reached home then I realized that the sweat on my face were actually tears. I have not cried in ages. The rest of the day passed by in a blur. All I could think of were Brandon's tear-streaked face in the morning and the hurt from the day before. D+2 Even now, all I could think of is his face. He broke the silence first. "I get it. I get it, you know." He said it so softly that I could barely hear him. He seemed to straighten up by a bit and continued, "Lunch date with Jason. Gotta go. Have a nice day." He paused, bit the inside of his cheek and gave a me wide smile which sent a current through me. And he left, just like that. Date. Jason. Did he seriously just say date? Jason is a friend of his. Brandon knows that I think Jason is a little ambiguous and appears to be interested in him. And, "Have a nice day". He never ever said that to me before. The only time I heard him say that phrase was to an idiot in school whom he had just obliterated in a debate. So now I am just another idiot? God. I was shaking so hard that I had to grip the edge of the sink. It hurt. That really hurt. Karma is a bloody bitch.