Author's Note: READ THIS BEFORE WANDERING AHEAD! This story is a boyxboy story. The main character is a stereoypical uke and in no way reflects my opinion of homosexuals in general. He is how he is from a cliche yaoi standpoint. If you can't read smutty randomness like this then I would suggest my story 'The City Boy' which is of an entirely different genre and style. There will be EXTREMELY graphic content ahead so please, if you are under the age of 18, GET OUT NOW! Thank you and enjoy ^-^!

Disclaimer: Mine. All mine.

Please review. Flames will be scoffed at. READ ^

BOYxBOY

Ch.l

C is for 'Calculating' the prices of only the most posh and lavish clothing and accessories. Of course, I can afford them, or rather my 'boyfriends' can.

A is for 'Apparently' melodramatic. This is added for OBVIOUS reasons. Anyone who knows me knows I am a total drama-queen. Period.

I is for Intelligent. You need to be intelligent to know exactly how to make the 'nerd herd' scream and never get caught. Planting scorpions in their bologna sandwiches requires a great bit of genius. Not to mention, I get extra 'smart points' for getting the pet store staff to spray-paint the scorpions hot pink.

L is for Lusted. Every 'curvy' (not straight) guy in school has sought after me. I have a harem of admirers and four massive louts that march beside me like bodyguards (sadly, they were arrested).

E is for Egotistical. I am, after all, the most popular kid in school. No-duh, I would be a little high-and-mighty.

A (again) is for Asshole. Enough said. It is also for Angelic…but only in appearance.

N is for Narcissist. Yeah…-big word. I actually went on !

Add it all together and it equals the perfect name: CAILEAN.

And so concludes my Bio-Name-Project-Thing-Whatever for this goddamn, gay-ass class that I SOMEHOW got stuck in.

"O. M. G., Cailean. Are you, like, serious?" Lana, the most popular (and stupid) girl in school, gasped, leaning over her my shoulder to pear at my Bio poem. Her eyes narrowed under a thick fan of mascara-blackened lashes and her plump lips pursed in concentration. She flipped back a loose strand of her long blonde hair as a bemused sigh escaped her lips. Obviously, from what I knew of her, she was quite amused. Somehow ,we had both managed to land ourselves in the most gruesome and despicable class in all of Carlton High School-- Creative writing!

The class-- a jumble of losers, freaks, mishaps, and Goths-- consequently managed to mysteriously materialize on our schedules. No doubt, we gave our guidance counselors AND even the principal an earful over this. However, Mr. Whiskers blatantly refused to change our agendas. We determined the cause of this was his extreme racist-ness towards blondes. However, the more logical reason could also simply be that elective classes were not SUPPOSED to be changed. But seriously, shouldn't the most popular kids in school get special treatment?

Mr. Whiskers was a stout chubby little man. Under his round bulbous nose, bulged a giant tuft of long black hair that jiggled when he wiggled his nose. The mustache-- course and black-- gave him the appearance of exactly what he was-- a tiny Italian man. Can anyone say MARIO? Never the less, just like Mario he had an oddly gorgeous girlfriend (a little Princess Peach). Or, at least, he claimed to. Lana was certain that the picture of the gorgeous woman on his desk was probably found on photo-bucket or something because it looked as if it had been printed on plain, white, computer paper. Suspicious? Totally. His real name: Mr. Snarefeld (which was not much better).

Ever since freshman year, Mr. Whisker has always gotten on my case. He even went so far as to suggest I stop skipping school and hire a tutor to help me with my grades, which were perfectly good Ds and Cs. Still passing.

I grinned snidely and hissed through gritted teeth, "When am I ever not serious?" I knew I had mischief glinting in my eyes, like roaring red embers dancing in a sea of blue.

"Cail, we've been in this class for, like, how many months? We should really start taking it seriously." She fake-scolded, trying her best to sound totally innocent and responsible but failing miserably. It only, once again, managed to make her sound like a Catholic-Schoolgirl slut. Amazing. It reminded me of why I was friends with her. We were both devious sluts.

"Well, I can't very-well handle much more of this unless I vent. Being the loveliest person in this entire classroom is exhausting. Especially when everyone else is ugly, weird, or female. There are no prospective suitors in this class." I pouted, sighing dramatically as if my life were a soap opera. "I need a vacation!"

"Okay. One: You are not the hottest person in this class; I am. Two: Hello? We are going on a cruise for spring break in, like, a couple months. I think you will find PLENTY of hot guys when we sail to Hawaii! And three: Don't look now but I think dark and brooding is checking you out." she whispered the last part.

"Which one?" I piped quietly.

"The one with the shaved head, three cartilage piercings in each ear, snake bites, and a studded choker." Her face contorted in disgust. This in itself told me she was not joking. Our friendship was deep like that, and dire situations such as these were nothing to joke about. "Pity. He has a nice body and a handsome face. However, the black leather jacket and white wife beater under it remind me of something from that movie 'Grease'."

"How do you know he's not staring at you and your huge boobs? Which, by the way, are touching my back. Eww, much?"

"Cause' he's looking at your butt."

"I'm sitting!"

"Not the point."

"I haven't had some dick in a while. I should go for it." I mused, knowing this statement would undoubtedly get a hilarious reaction. I tried to look thoughtful, as if considering it.

"You wouldn't!" She screeched, dumbfounded. The whole class went eerily silent and stared at us momentarily before resuming their work. They were used to our loudness.

"I totally would."

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Searing kisses scorched my heated skin. They were sloppy and wet, leaving a messy trail of warm slobber down my neck and collarbone. Momentarily, I was disgusted by this thought. Eww. Slobber. Those thin lips and sharp teeth, taunting and nipping at my already-flushed skin, sent jolts of pleasure through my-- dare I say it-- heated body. Shirt open, pants unzipped, and lips parted in the shallowest of repetitive pants-- I was sex personified. Well, what can one expect after such a thorough snogging episode? Had I known this freak of nature would be such an expert kisser I would have partaken in this activity sooner. His long skeletal fingers, bejeweled with numerous gaudy black anarchistic rings, squeezed my ass, grinding our hips together-- groins rubbing through the fabric. I tried to stifle a moan of ecstasy at the tingles of bliss shooting straight to my nether regions, but did not succeed. Luckily, his mouth was quick to swallow my moans and rescue me from further embarrassment. I mean really, how embarrassing would it be if I started whining and moaning like a common whore? Wait…

"I want your ass." He groaned out in a husky voice that I neither favored nor understood. It was heavy with lust and sick sadism. I don't think I really got the message until he hooked his fingers in my belt loops and jerked them to the bathroom floor. No. No. No!

"Those are $110 jeans you're soiling! They're, like, designer jeans!" I whined in a high-pitched desperate voice, struggling to keep my expensive jeans from touching the filthy boys' bathroom floor. "These are my thirteenth FAVORITE jeans. There is no WAY we are letting these touch anything in here! Fun Over!" I announced, confident even though I had just revealed myself to a freak as someone who apparently goes commando on rare occasions.

The guy from creative writing, whose name I did not know at all, merely cocked his head to one side and arched a thin pierced eyebrow at me. Let's call him 'Grease'. After much struggling and bitching on my part, Grease then proceed to push me into one of the DISGUSTING stalls, closing the door behind us.

"You can't be serious?"

"And why not?"

"In here?" My voice, I regret to say, went up eight octaves. I considered repeating myself because there was no way that my voice was still in the sound frequency for humans to be able to hear. Apparently this guy was half dog (should have known) and understood it all because he nodded. Have you ever realized something you were doing was extremely wrong and at that point, it was way too late to fix it? Yeah… that was my dilemma. Not only was I just starting to REALLY notice the creepy piercing, bald head, and odd clothes-- but also the odd twinkle in his eye. This was not, I repeat, WAS NOT an Albus Dumbledore twinkle of merriment but rather an 'I'm-going-to-rape-you-up-the-butt-and-then-eat-you' twinkle. "What if someone comes in?" I tried, trying to sound rational but ending up sounding pitiful and weak.

"They'll walk out when they hear you screaming my name and see a puddle of your delicious crimson blood pooling on the ground beneath us." he purred.

Okay.

Weirdest statement of the day?

Definitely.

"Um… how bout' not?" I started, backing up into the stall wall. He copied each step, pinning me. No escape. Toilet? Too small. Door? Locked. At that moment, I truly understood the dire extremity of my situation. Fear-- clenching like a knot inside my chest. I felt ill.

Without any sense of self-control or hesitation, the freak practically devoured my face. You get the picture. It could not even be considered real kissing because all he did was lick, suck, and bite at my lips. My first thought was that he really WAS trying to eat me. However, I dismissed such a gruesome notion when his big hand slithered downwards to caress my apparently masochistic throbbing crotch and tongue slipped between my bruising sore lips. This guy was just full of big body parts. Big tongue. Big hands. Big stature (not fat, though. Just tall). Momentarily, I wondered if this held true to all-important appendages. Once again, I quickly dismissed the thought. This guy wanted to fuck me raw until I bled everywhere! No sex. Not happening. Freak.

"You're so pretty," he grumbled into my ear, lapping at the soft pale lobe with his BIG tongue. EW. "I could just… EAT YOU UP." I whimpered in distaste. This guy was such a freak. Can anyone say Marilyn Manson?

Okay. Let me get this straight: Me + Freak + Dirty pants = Major Cailean PMS mode. I could not stop myself from screaming in outrage or kneeing the creep in the groin. In fact, if I would have known the result of such an action, I would have remained stock-still. The reason being: he chuckled. No, he did NOT double over in pain. He did not even twitch. He chuckled. He chuckled and pinned my wrists above my head in a ruthless grip… and it hurt.

With my jeans pulled at my ankles, his one hand kneading my balls, and the other squeezing my wrists-- I felt TOTALLY helpless. The hand pinching and rubbing my testicles between a thumb and middle finger soon grew bored of the action when it failed to make me do more than moan and whimper. No. He wanted me to scream.

Grease smirked into our kiss, tongues dancing as one of his large lecherous fingers peeped between the crack of my throbbing buttocks. His finger circled the rim of my anus carelessly, occasionally piercing past the rubbery ring of the moist red pucker. The soft mewls escaping my lips sounded foreign even to me as he paid special attention to each round globe, pinching them harshly until they both burned red.

"Your tight little hole is trembling-- all wet and needy. You want me, don't you? You want me to put my cock up your ass. You want me to fuck you till' you bleed like a fucking virgin pussy." His words sent shivers straight down to my pulsating member, which stood rigid and ready to play. It dripped with a glistening wet substance, resembling teardrops as it beaded at the slit and streamed down the length in small rivulets. Pre-cum. My cock was nearly purple and it throbbed so bad I wanted to scream. "That's right. Moan for me bitch. You're my little cunt, aren't you?"

"O-oh! Stop! Ah ahh!" I sobbed, tears resembling those glistening pears of pre-cum as they streamed down my flushed cheeks. Two fingers rammed into my prostate violently. With each harsh thrust a loud mewl escaped my lips. I felt his fingers scissor inside me, curling and scraping against the inner walls of my tight passage. I pleaded for him to stop-- begged between yelps and cries-- but he refused to cease those horrid actions.

Without hesitation, he added another finger gradually. "Damn, you're tight for such a slut." he grunted. "I can't wait to fist your tight little ass."

Okay.

No.

Never.

"Ow! Take them out!" He chuckled at this, a sinister grin twitching at the corners of his thin pale lips. Without further preparation, he hoisted me up against the bathroom wall, twining my legs around his waist. Where my pants went, I was not sure. All I knew was that there was no turning back now.

Zip.

He snickered at my gasp of shock as he pulled out what resembled a long thick UNCIRCUMSIZED cock. Ew. How dirty. I whimpered as the tip of his cock prodded against my quivering anus. The lack of fingers inside me made me feel hollow and empty. My hole was quite willing to devour that big ugly dick… but my mind was not.

"NO!"

"How sweet." he purred, voice dripping with false kindness and deception. "No need to be afraid, little one. It won't hurt THAT much." With those soft lies, he stabbed me (metaphorically speaking). He stabbed me and nearly ripped me in two. I clenched my ass around his manhood, screaming and clutching onto his broad shoulders, burying my face into the crook of his pasty neck. It hurt so bad-- like being shredded apart from the inside. I wanted to cry -- I did. I sobbed into his neck as he rapidly thrust into my abused frail body in a quick harsh rhythm. Each thrust had me rocking my hips downwards to meet him. This wasn't making love. It wasn't sex. THIS was fucking-- pure relentless fucking.

Even when he brushed my prostate over and over, causing me to see stars-- I still cried. I cried like a little girl. I cried until my cries became screams. "Ah ahh ahhhhhhh!"

Blood seeped down the backs of my thighs, streaming down in small torrents. That ruby essence acted as a makeshift lubricant but it didn't ease the pain at all. The black/red blood tickled down my thighs, swirled on my buttocks, and dripped to the ground, forming tiny puddles of red.

Out of the blue, the bathroom door swung open with a loud crash as a hoard of jocks rushed in. They were laughing loudly, jeering, and talking. I nearly screamed for help but his words were muffled by a severe warning kiss from 'Grease'. His eyes narrowed in warning as he lovingly resumed his thrusts- slow and languid. I moaned, toes curling. The bathroom went silent. He smirked.

"I know those moans anywhere." A familiar voice finally broke the silence and pounded his fist on our stall door. "Cailean, if you're going to fuck some random guy, don't do it in the boy's bathroom. I think you've officially nauseated half of the straight homophobic guys on this team. We'll leave you to your business, cause' apparently you're getting it rough today."

A big hand over my mouth kept me from responding as the jocks-- most of which were close aquantences of mine through Lana-- hurriedly left the bathroom. Some of them pretended to gag while others 'called' my ass next.

The second the door shut those thrusts gained speed again. Grease was pummeling into my body. His nimble fingers tweaked my pink rosy buds, pinching and rolling each between his thumbs and index fingers. I arched my back and groaned loudly as he tugged at those soar nipples. The second he devoured one and rolled it between his teeth, I came with a scream, spurting my white essence between our flushed sweat-slicked bodies. Apparently, the clenching of my inner walls was too much for him to handle because he shot his load inside of me, milking out every last drop with my aching ass.

"Y-you came inside me!" I shrieked, outraged. THAT was disgusting. " How DARE you! What gives you THAT right? TAKE IT OUT NOW!" I hissed.

"Hmm… I prefer you moaning and writhing beneath me to this bitchy stuck-up attitude." he growled, pulling his limp length out of my ass which was oozing blood and cum from the ruby red burning pucker. It hurt. My legs felt like jelly as a swayed slightly, pain shooting up my back, hips, thighs, and ass.

The boy's bathroom door opened and shut. I ignored it, incensed.

"That was, like, PRACTICALLY rape!" I blubbered, tears streaming down my flushed shining face. "I told you no! I TOLD you no!"

Grease shrugged.

"Whatever."

With those final words, he actually had the NERVE to walk out, leaving the stall door wide open. I didn't care that the weird foreign exchange student was gawking at me. All I cared about was finding my pants which were precariously hanging over the toilet bowl. Ew. That would have sucked.

"A-are y-y-you o-okay--?" A timid voice called.

I ignored the foreigner and his slight Italian accent. He was kind of gawky-looking with HUGE oval glasses that reflected everything. He was the type of guy that my friends and I picked on constantly-- awkward in his posture and tall height. It did not matter to me that he was only being kind-- if not slightly worried. Just because I was currently in a degrading position did not mean I would degrade myself into talking to such a lowlife. Aren't Italians supposed to be short anyway?

"…"

"…"

"It's none of your goddamn business!" I snapped, finally speaking to him after a few awkward moments. After all, I needed someone to bitch at. Why not him? It was not as if he would say anything against me. He didn't seem the type to defend himself.

"I-I-I'm sorry. It's just… your bleeding and… I thought--"

"You wanted to play Prince Charming, didn't you? Well, guess what? I'm fine! Just peachy, in fact. So if you would, please do fuck off so I can, like, sulk in peace!"

The bespectacled boy was silent for several moments before approaching me gingerly-- cautiously. Have you ever had one of those really strange eerily silent moments where, if for only a moment, everything just felt… right? You know, just comfortable? Foreign guy said not a word as he scooped my pants, nudged me into the bathroom stall to clean myself up in peace, and blocked the door. One can only clean themselves up so much with scratchy toilet paper and a charred ego. I was in desperate need of long lukewarm bubble bath (Plus bath salts and those colorful scented soaps).

"Thanks."

The moment the words escaped my lips even I was shocked! Hello? Anyone would be. Cailean Amadeus never says 'thanks'.

"You'll b-be all r-r-right?" He stuttered awkwardly, averting his bespectacled gaze as I exited the stall, adjusting my clothes.

"Yeah." I felt kind of bad for being a bitch to him. It wasn't every day that someone treated me this decent without wanting something. Truthfully, he was probably genuinely a nice guy. Poor ugly soul. "I've been through worse. Hell, that's not nearly the hardest I've ever been fucked." I laughed, soon realizing he wasn't laughing with me. 'Oh well,' I thought. 'Probably just another damn homophobe.'

He looked down at me. I mean, REALLY looked at me. Even through those huge spectacles, I knew his eyes narrowed and darkened, as if peering into my soul. It nearly shook me up. No one had ever looked at me like that-- like they could read me.

"No," Was all he said.

Another comforting silence followed.

I had nothing to say to that. Hell, he was right! I was just fucking raped! Of course I was not 'ok'! I soon resolved that it did not matter. I might as well move on. After all, I had brought this tragedy upon myself. It was my own fault. It's just…

"Do you…" he started, but his words seemed to die on his tongue.

Yes. I needed a hug. I REALLY needed a hug.

I was not as shocked as I should have been when he pulled me into his arms. In fact, I had expected it somewhat and, for some reason, I broke down. Seriously, since when does Cailean Amadeus sob like a baby?

Oh. Wait.

All the time.

Still, that's not the point! This was different. I bawled into his chest, muffling my cries with his shirt. The odd thing was, he did not even twitch. He just held me there, stroking my back with one hand while the other cradled the back of my neck.

And he…

Was so…

Warm.

When I was younger, the world seemed so much vaster. The skies were bluer, the trees were higher, and everything seemed grander. A child's words are never knotted-- never strung together for fear of a slip of the tongue. A child says what he thinks without fearing the consequences. In a way, my views were idealistic as a child.

I saw.

I claimed.

I conquered.

I was the school bully-- the tough man on campus. No one would dare cross me. If they did, they would be feeling it the next morning. I gave away black eyes and bloody noses like a catholic priest gives away redemption. I pushed and shoved my fellow students, barked orders left and right, and kept my nose in the air all the while.

Alas, every prince falls eventually. I was no exception. When I began losing weight and ceased growing, I went from bully to dork, and then from dork to prep.

I preferred my station in life now.

Princess.

As a princess, didn't I deserve to have anything and everything I wanted without question? What I wanted at that moment was merely a little comfort. The foreign guy whispered some weird words in an unfamiliar language. Italian? The hushed phrases tickled the outer shell of my ear but the only words I caught were, "Tu sarai bene". I felt as if I was hearing some deeply guarded secret-- something I was not supposed to know. Moments later, he pried my clinging fingers off of him, lifting my chin to gaze up at my own reflection, mirrored back at me by his sunglasses. He might have kissed me at that moment, had reality not yet sunk in.

I bolted.

I ran from him, ignoring the sharp pain shooting up my ass and the icy feel of those eyes on my back. Somehow, I knew I would meet him again.

Author's Note: I hope that wasn't too painful. If your eyes are burning then *hands wet wash cloth* please don't continue. I've already written three chapters of this story. Whether or not a post them is my readers' choice. Please, if you did enjoy th story then review. I'll always comment back.