Deep, Dark Secrets
Summary: Ravi is a 16-yr-old with a passion for sex . . . with anyone: male or female. Phil likewise has a passion much the same, but once he tastes how sweet Ravi is, that's all he ever wants. Pity that the boy isn't willing to cooperate. But what if Phil doesn't take no for an answer?
Recap: Chapter Two: Dirty Little Secrets Part Uno: I really wanted to play with him again, but I was too damn tired. So, I just watched him as he took drag after drag on his cigarette, inhaling the smoke and barely blowing any back out that I could see. He seemed to be watching me, too, smiling at me as we watched each other. A moment later, he moved his cigarette off to the side and leaned down to bite at my jaw line, followed by my lips. We kissed again that moment, and it was the first time I'd kissed someone after sex.
"When I walk out of here, do I have to admit that I didn't get to have sex with you?" he asked, smiling. He took another drag on the black cigarette.
"I think that was more than sex," I said sleepily. "Just tell them you made me your bitch, and that's all they need to know. Plus, it's exactly what happened." I paused. "I need a shower, but I'm too tired to move."
"Get your ass up, bitch," Phil said. I would have been angry, but I detected the joking tone he used and only got mildly pissy about it.
"Oh, you're going to have to work a lot harder than that for me to obey every command you give," I replied in that snobbish tone. "Just because I did when we were fooling around doesn't mean--"
He kissed me, cutting me off. "Shh! You're ruining my fun. Come on, let's go get a shower."
Chapter Three: Dirty Little Secrets Part Dos
I woke up to the sound of the phone ringing in mid afternoon. By what my alarm clock told me, it was about three o'clock, and that meant that my mom and her hot boyfriend would be home from work in about an hour. I shrugged at the thought and cuddled myself deeper into the covers, closing my eyes and all but purring at the nice feel of the Egyptian cotton sheets covering my body.
But the alarm clock sure as hell wasn't going to shut itself off. I had it set for ten in the afternoon. My alarm clock had been going off for almost five hours! Holy fuck! I must have gotten plastered or something to be able to ignore that annoyingly loud beeping noise. Every morning I got up to that thing, I wanted to throw it out of the fucking window. But it was the only alarm clock that I got up to . . . so that would be a bad thing for me to do.
Sitting up slowly, I stretched my tired and slightly sore limbs, somewhat apprehensive and shocked at the feeling. A moment later, I remembered; remembered him in all his naked, playful, dominating glory. Naked. Above me. Demanding. Submitting.
I felt like I had bruises everywhere . . . which basically meant that I'd be wearing a long sleeved shirt like a little school girl and praying my mom wouldn't notice my strange choice of attire on so warm a day.
And then it hit me.
"FUCK!" I screamed, jumping out of bed and overall just completely ignoring the discomfort in my battered limbs. I prayed, prayed, prayed that maybe just maybe our housekeeper had taken the day off to herself . . . Not that I had any reason to; not that she ever had . . .
But one can dream, right?
Taking a deep, shaky breath, I began to dart around my room; grabbed miscellaneous clothing articles that would suffice for the time being (a pair of boxers, sweat pants, and a t-shirt), and ran my cute little ass down into the foyer and right into our housekeeper.
I immediately stumbled backward and gave her an awkward, wary smile. She knew. And she could tell I knew that she knew by the way I smiled at her. Damn. This wasn't going to be half as easy as I thought.
My mom was going to find out about this . . .
And I was going to be one dead little fucker.
"I told your mother," she said to me, sneering. She held up one of the many empty beer cans that must have littered the place like the leaves do in the fall, covering the grounds so fully that the underlying grass goes completely unnoticed.
I stood there quietly, shocked and hurt and scared and all of the other things that accompany getting caught throwing a party at your house while your mom is away on business with the full understanding that she would mercilessly break every bone in your body for doing so.
"That's not mine," I said thickly. I felt like I couldn't speak, and so of course, sputtered the first absolutely tactless thing that came into my mind.
"I bet it's not." She continued to sneer, laughing coldly as my frustration built. I felt like I was going to cry, especially when I heard her mutter "coke whore" after me as I retreated back up the stairs and into my room.
I took another shower, saddened that I hadn't taken the time to truly enjoy the rush of steamy, hot water pouring over ever inch of my naked, vulnerable-feeling body. Usually the feel of the heat around me sent little jolts of pleasure through my body like the ones I got when people rubbed massage lotion on me or anything like that. But not today. I was upset today. I was dead today.
But that was okay . . .
. . . I could fix it.
I got out of the shower and wrapped a towel around me before walking back into my room and taking a seat on the edge of my bed. I looked around my room, finding it to be the most disturbing thing that I had ever seen in my life. For one moment, everything felt so wrong. I felt so incredibly stupid . . .
Why am I doing this to my self?
Why am I doing this?
But the moment was gone as soon as it came, and I stood up and walked over to my nightstand dresser, glancing at my alarm clock as I did so. It was past four, which meant that dinner would be soon. And when dinner came . . .
. . . so did the yelling.
Only this time it would be worse. And there was nothing he could do about it, even if he tried.
Shrugging to myself, I pulled a few items out of my nightstand drawer after pulling the key to it from under my mattress. Always best to keep things you don't want found locked up, if you ask me. My mom always tried to search my room, as did that evil bitch housekeeper.
I should have gotten up when I intended to. Shit. Why hadn't I just woken up when I had set my alarm clock to and cleaned everything before she got here? Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
It didn't matter, I kept trying to reassure myself.
This will make it all go away . . .
I wiped at my nose uncomfortably, nervously, and grabbed a CD case off the nightstand drawer. It would have to do. After that, I dumped a teensy bit of white powder out of a plastic bag, separated it into as much as I would need for the next half hour of yelling with a razor blade, and scraped the rest back into the bag.
I hated that my only choice was to snort the drug, but I just didn't feel comfortable injecting it . . . And smoking it, hell, that was beyond out of the question. I would get caught!
I shuddered as I shoved the little plastic bag, the razor, and the CD into my nightstand, shut it hastily, and locked it. I wiped at the outside of my nose compulsively for a couple of minutes, as my body absorbed the drug. I'd keep doing it until it wore in.
Not long afterward, when the effect wore in, I bustled around my room singing to myself as I gathered up some clothes that would be considered okay for an informal dinner with my mother and her boyfriend. Smiling, I slipped on a pair of plain white boxers, yet another pair of my oh-so-sexy Hollister ® jeans (Honestly guys, did you expect anything less?), and a tight, too-small white button down shirt that was near see-through. There. Now I was eye candy.
Smiling, I looked into the mirror across my room, loving the sight of my own reflection. Damn, I was so mother effing gorgeous, and I loved it. I blew myself a kiss and laughed before spinning in a circle and falling backward onto my bed. Ah, what a life.
Nothing could touch me now.
Not even the buzz of the intercom in my room, which indicated that someone on the other side was about to order me to dinner; not even the voice of the person who had turned me in so mercilessly; not even the fact that I'd have to get up and go face my mother.
Nothing could touch me right now.
I got up and all but skipped down the stairs, smiling at my mother as she stared at me with the air of complete disbelief. She was standing in the foyer with her boyfriend next to her, watching me apprehensively; I was coming down the stairs. I saw the slight smile he gave at my fearlessness.
That got her goat. But I laughed even more at her blatant hate-filled glare.
"Faggot," she spat in a low voice when I got to the bottom of the stairs and walked past her, my cute little ass headed toward the formal dining room. I heard her steps after me and giggled like a little kid. She was pissed.
But that didn't bother me. I simply went into the room and stood by my chair, waiting for the two of them to come into the room and sit down so that I could sit too. Not that I really had an appetite . . . but that was a side effect of the drug. I could go probably three days without eating after a small dose of that stuff. Unfortunately for the drug, I wasn't a super-model; didn't need to go that long without eating.
He pulled out the chair at the head of the table for her and then took the one to her right. I took the one to her left and waited for her to start screaming. His presence seemed to be holding her back. Well . . . I'd fix that.
I winked at him playfully and gave him an all too suggestive grin.
He downright laughed and then waved his hand in dismissal of the gesture. I smiled in return and rolled my eyes, briefly letting them rest upon my mother. Well, hello darling. Don't you look exceptionally murderous tonight?
"Ravi," she said. Her voice was heated with an edge. But unfortunately for her, the cooks chose that moment to come out and set the first course in front of us. I laughed like it was a game and picked up the wrong fork – something that was sure to annoy her.
"THE FIRST ONE, RAVI, FOR GOD'S SAKE!" she screamed throatily.
I set down my fork and picked up the right one. Doesn't it ever occur to you that I just don't give a flying fuck? Obviously not . . .
I glared over at her, my eyes drifting to her toy, who shifted uncomfortably. I smiled reassuringly at him, loving how he smiled back. He liked me. No matter what he might think of my mother after their relationship ended, me, he liked. Good.
"Would you please just get on with it?" I asked in a bored tone. I wasn't bored, more like anxious for her to yell at me and then send me to my room right after informing that I was "grounded."
"If you hurry up," I continued, "you and your friend," – he blushed – "can have a nice dinner to yourselves without your annoying worthless son around to bother you." I eyed her and smiled happily. "Or were you going to pretend that we're a happy family and that you don't hate my guts and tell me I'm worthless every chance you get? I think you're forgetting that he's been around long enough to figure it all out."
His eyes bulged. He looked over at her. She didn't look back. I laughed again, and this time he looked over at me, as if there was something seriously wrong with me. And then he started to really study me; had that look in his eye. He suspected that I was high.
Time for me to go, go, go! Don't want to even make my mother consider suspecting me of drug use or I really would be in trouble, because she wouldn't stop searching this house until she found something to give to the police. Bitch.
"You know what?" I said kindly, "I'll save you the trouble. I'm not sorry that I had a party here; in fact, I have one every time you leave. I'm a bit of an alcoholic, too. Not to mention the biggest slut in this town, which is saying something, considering just how many of us there are in this place. Hell, if I charged, I'd have more money that you."
I got up happily and turned to leave, but not before catching the expression of her boy toy, an expression that would haunt me later. He looked so . . . worried, maybe even caring, and not to mention shocked as shit. But I was too high to care . . .
I walked into a bookstore because I thought it was funny: All those books on all those shelves, arranged so neatly by the workers . . . so carefully. I literally laughed just thinking about it. I don't know why I thought it funny, just that I did. I thought I should go in and get some coffee from the attached café while I was at it, because that would make me even more wired than I was. Oh what fun.
I walked in happily, all smiles and flirted shamelessly with anyone who walked by me. The girl at the register giggled and blushed as I told her that I wished guys could wear their hair in the sort of dyke spike things that she did, just because they looked that cool. And because she made them look so good, of course. She laughed and told me all I'd have to do is "spike up" the back of my hair and I'd be set. Besides, her guy friend Josiah across the room had the same hairstyle . . .
At which point . . .
. . . I remembered that . . .
"I forgot to do my hair!" I exclaimed, my mouth dropping. Getting high . . . can make you forget things . . . "Oh no! How am I out in public? This is sin, downright sin. Does it look okay?"
She was laughing hysterically, along with quite a few other people around the place. Some stared at me with contempt, but I was still so happy . . . I just smiled and giggled a little, too.
"It looks great," she reassured me. The word "really" was added when she noticed that I looked slightly incredulous.
I took my coffee and scurried away to find a place to sit, my eyes spotting someone I'd seen last night, right before I dragged Phil off to my bed . . . the pink haired boy. Cute little submissive homosexual . . . And he was watching me, basically to the point where he was worshiping the ground that I walked on.
Ah, I love worship. Love it, love it, love it.
I walked right over to him and took a seat next to him, getting eyed warily by a few people from my school who thought I was way "too good" to talk to "trash like him." What did I care? He was cute, and I'd talk to whomever I damn well pleased. They could fuck off and I'd still be here smiling.
I giggled as I sat down next to him and saw his cheeks blush under that dark tan. He looked a little nervous albeit pleased. I practically downed my coffee, waiting for him to say something. I kept laughing between drinks and just staring at him. He bit his lip in that kinky way that I always did, though unlike me, he had a reason. He was hor~ny.
"Aren't you at least going to say 'Hello'?" I pouted.
"I am not a sub," I heard him say huskily in return. His response to me asking him what it felt like to get fucked by a guy the other night . . .
I laughed; got real close to his face; whispered, "Prove it, baby," into his ear; got up; threw the coffee away; silently beckoned for him to follow; he did.
I walked toward the single-person bathroom in the bookstore portion of the place, casually glancing around me and seeing his puzzled yet totally turned on expression, fantasizing about me making him prove his manliness to me in the small bookstore restroom.
Well, baby, I'm going to make that particular fantasy come true!
I opened the door and started to walk in, stopping to stand in the open doorway while he debated with himself over whether or not this was truly happening.
Yes, baby. Now get your cute little body in here before I change my mind.
He took an unsure step forward, as if confused by my actions. So I walked over to him, grabbed him, and pulled him inside with me, making sure that the moment the door closed, my body was as close as it could possibly get without actually touching it. He was already half hard. I grinned and promptly placed my hand between his legs, squeezing.
He let out a moan and a yelp of surprise; stood there staring at me like I was crazy . . . I rolled my eyes. "I thought you said you weren't sub," I goaded. I knew he'd respond; he had that flicker of a temper beneath a layer of dulled emotions.
I found myself slammed into the wall with his mouth smothering mine, his tongue demanding entrance, forcing it when his demand wasn't met. His hands slid skillfully up and down my sides and I squirmed like a cat in heat, trying to rub myself against him . . anything for friction. But he pushed me back and held me at length, a pissed off look in his eyes.
I reached a hand up and placed it on his cheek, watching with relief as his expression softened and he came back at me with an equally hard, passion filled kiss. His body pressed so hard against mine, rubbing all the right places. Good God, I was about to beg . . .
"Take me?" I asked after he broke the kiss for some much needed air.
He raised his eyebrows; I started undoing his pants. He pushed my hands away and looked saddened. "Look, I'd love to pleasure you, Rave, but . ."
Rave . . .
"We can't go too far . . ."
I nodded, noting the wariness in his eyes, and he reached for my jeans, undoing and pulled them down just as far as they needed to go. I groaned in annoyance when he started to do that "finger thing" and stopped complaining the moment he hit something that send jolts through my body. Ah . . . if only words could describe that feeling. I wanted to feel it again and again and again.
I kissed his lips, his neck . . . lost in the sensation until someone so rudely interrupted us by knocking on the bathroom door. And when we realized that the person on the other side was very persistent, we gave up and opened the door, not caring that someone knew that two teenage boys had just gone into the bathroom together.
But we weren't really prepared for exactly who was on the other side.
I didn't care.
The pink-haired boy looked about to cry.
"Josiah." Phil's voice was venomous, but there was a touch of fear in his eyes as he looked at me. "God, Josie, tell me you didn't fuck. . . . I thought I knew you better than to do this to someone."
That got my attention. "What's it to you who he has sex with?" My tone was a little hot, but the words were spoken with somewhat of a civil tone.
"Ravi, he has AIDS."
Like I said, the pink-haired boy looked about to cry.
Neko: And now we have the stats of the pretty pink-haired boy below.
This one kind of makes me sad . . . the part about him getting high to avoid his mom's yelling ripping him up inside . . . But what makes it sadder is the fact that this is based off a real person. (He's better now, though!)
Preview: Phil's pissed beyond words, and Josiah is just a tad bit scared. Here's where the arguments about Phil's and Ravi's "relationship" begin, and end! (Or so they think!) It's quite hard to get away from the person you've been or have just started to lust for so badly that no other person can even catch your interest.
Ravi's got a solution for that: Drugs and sex.
And Phil? Well, let's just thank God that he understands the effects of the drug Ravi's taking!
Side Note From the Author: Drugs are bad for you 'Nuff said. And if you must have sex: wear a condom. Just do it.
Hair Colour: Bright Pink (but he dyes his hair all the time, so who knows what color it'll be next)
Eye Colour: black coffee colored
Hair Style: think dyke spikes (aka spiked in the back, with the front straight and tucked behind the ears
Height: 5 foot 6 ½ inches
Weight: 138 pounds
Body Type: thin but not muscular
Pants Size (Just for fun): 31 inches (waist) by 32 inches(length)
Shirt Size (Just for fun): Medium in boys, Large if he wears girl's shirts
Sun Sign: Aquarius
Birth Date: February 14, 1986
Blood Type: B
Face: think of a porcelain doll with big eyes mixed with a covergirl model's perfect complexion and eyebrows
Nicknames: Joey or Josie by his friends, sometimes the "popular" kids call him Josie to make fun of him for his sexuality, and other than that there are all those mean names like Faggot, Homo, etc.
Deep Dark Secret(s): in love with Ravi . . . and Phil, has AIDS
Personality Features (that you ought to know): faithful and supportive in the right relationship, stubborn, strong need to preserve privacy and independence, lively, inventive, original, happy, eccentric, helpful to anyone, makes an effort to keep promises, detached at times, tactless, oblivious