by Trisky
"To dress you like the man you're supposed be turning into today. Say goodbye to the Garanimals Justin and hello to Osh Kosh B'Gosh," he cackles, loudly.
He's a prick, my prick to be certain, but a prick nonetheless. I knew two days of genuine concern wouldn't last beyond the time it took me to maneuver myself out of the bed on my own. I should get sick more often.
"Please tell me you didn't come up with the idea for this party Brian. There's only so much torture I can take and dignity I have left." Oddly 21 doesn't really feel all that much different than 20 did, then again it could be the dehydration talking, everything feels a little off.
"Wasn't my idea, the munchers thought you deserved a celebration. Imagine that! Two lesbians turning a twink into a man. Just don't go exploring any boxes that aren't on the gift table."
I catch his eye in the rearview mirror as he stifles a laugh at the heat rising to my cheeks, turning them bright red. He's a pig and a prick, but when he's chewing the inside of his lip in amusement, he's about the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. I let him think he's funny. I let him think a lot of things.
"Are you going to behave yourself at this thing? Or do we have to have that discussion about treating people with respect again?" He hates it when I bring that up, H.A.T.E.S it, it makes him see red, reminds him how utterly powerless he is when I have a point to make, so I bring it up as often as possible.
"I'd have to check my penal code, but I'm pretty sure killing overbearing brats is still justifiable homicide in certain parts of Pennsylvania."
"Penal code?" I mock with disdain, channeling my inner Beavis. "The only penal code you follow leads straight to my ass."
"It won't be leading anywhere if you don't start acting like a good little grown up," he cocks an eyebrow in my direction. It's his warning signal before the gage springs into full blown lecture mode.
"I'm only taking lessons from the master."
I can't help it, I'm in one of those moods. Maybe it's because I'm just getting over being sick, or because it's my birthday and I'm not yet in the mood to enjoy it. He certainly didn't help matters with his rude awakening this morning, so I'll just torture him all day, because he's such an easy target and nobody else would put up with it. He never *really* gets mad, he only pretends he is to save face. That's how we've gotten as far as we have, we pretend our way through the tough parts. I pretend like he's in control, it makes him feel better, and he pretends he's still the same guy I met almost four years ago, which also makes him feel better. I pretend to be a brat to get my way and force him to react, which makes me feel better. Okay maybe there's not a whole lot of pretending there. The fact that we both know it's all total bullshit is what saves us time and again, and what nobody else understands. Truth be told, I know I have him wrapped around my finger, he won't ever admit it, but he knows. He likes to delude himself into believing he has some kind of upperhand. I just laugh and laugh about that, he has no friggin clue that I know every one of his cues and tricks. After all, I learned them the hard way. The thought makes me grin to myself, a situation he finds unbearable.
"What's so funny," he asks.
"Nothing, I was just thinking about how I spent my first legal birthday." Remind him of some particularly memorable sex and he's amused for at least a few minutes.
"We blew up the colored condoms and tied them to your balls! I didn't think that red dye would ever come off. Shit, kinda makes you wonder what your ass looks like when you're finished using one of those things. "
"As Em always says, It's not a party without blowing up some balloons."
"Among other things..."
We laugh, the quiet laugh that I love, about things that only we'd find funny, and he does that thing that makes my heart feel like it's dripping into every extremity, where he grabs my head and kisses me on the crown, through my hair and all, and rubs under my chin with his long fingers. I love it even more, because I know how hard it is for something like that to come naturally to him, and it's enough now, that he at least makes the effort. I know it's incredibly schmoopy, but it's my birthday, I'm allowed to be sentimental. And I'm still sort of sick, so I can just write it off to being medicated. That's how we'll pretend this never happened for future reference. Somehow it works for us.
"You're not going to give me an argument if I pick out a shirt for you, are you?"
"Brian I don't care what I buy, how long have you known me? Have I ever cared about what I was wearing? I can just wear a shirt and some khakis." I think I can see his heart lunge into his throat every time I use that word. Oh the pain I cause my prickish, piggy little man. I am his payback for being such an elitist label freak. I rule the world, and the rest of the sheep and I will conquer it and cover it over with khaki and white sheets someday. We'll be like the China Wall, the only other man made construct visible from outer space.
He clutches his chest in utter despair, I just wound him over and over.
"Brriiiaaann, do we have to go shopping? I could use another couple hours of sleep." I'm not above begging.
"You can sleep when we're done. I'm *not* going to this party with you in kha... those pants. I'm turning you out to the world today, you have to look presentable."
"I'm pretty sure I was naked at my worldwide debut."
"See what scary surprises those boxes produce, bodily fluids included? I warned you."
"Brian! You are so disgusting." Ugh. I don't want to think about my mother's box. I am *not* thinking about my mother's box. I shove his traveling hand away from me.
"Stick with me, I'll have you all cleaned up and ready for the world in no time."
"If you haven't made me lose my lunch all over whatever expensive outfit you pick out, by then. And what is this becoming a man, ready for the world shit? Are you planning on evicting me tonight?" He's been awfully secretive lately. I figured it had something to do with my birthday when I came home and found he'd marked it as D-Day in big red letters in his day planner. The scary thing is he actually seems pleased with himself over whatever he's planning, which creeps me out even more than all these cryptic hints.
"Quite the contrary." He puts on his indifferent face, I'll get nothing else out of him, which never stops me.
"What are you planning Brian?" I need a plan of response, or at the very least damage control.
"I told you it starts with a red bow and ends with your fantasy man, now stop fishing, it gives you worry lines."
"Brian, no matter what you say or do," I sidle closer to him, giving him by best sweet, innocent smile, "you will always start sagging long before I do." I cup his balls in my hand and give them a nice firm squeeze.
And then I pretend his lap is a big red balloon and I blow.