why-oh-why

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Subject: Why oh Why oh Why All comments, good or bad, are appreciated – email matt_v_jellicle@hotmail Other stories I’ve written can be found on my website, in the fiction section ter or on Nifty at //authors.htmlmattbuck Usual disclaiming sort of stuff, I don’t know McFly, I don’t know their sexualities, this story is not in any way based on real life events. Why. Why. Why? Why oh why oh why oh why oh why. Why not? Pull down my pants, waddle towards Dougie. Laugh at him covering himself. Haha Dougie, I’m bigger than you! Creak on the stairs, a camera peeks around the corner and flashes. I hear a giggle. TOM YOU BROWN-HAIRED BASTARD! Dougie laughs, I trip over my trousers and fall flat on my face. Why. Why. Why? Why oh why oh why eryaman escort oh why oh why. Because. Because… because. Because because because. Because… because oh god he’s going to hate me. I hate Tom. He did this and now he’s going to hate me over this. Not Tom. Tom was the one who thought it was funny to send the uncensored pic to everyone he knew. I should probably be thankful to whoever it was spread the censored version. But that wasn’t what Tom sent him. If I’d sent it, it would be fine. Probably. Getting it from Tom would be bad enough. But what if he doesn’t read his mail immediately? What if some teenie sends him the picture? I’m not a relationship expert but some twelve year old you’ve never met sending you photos etimesgut escort of your boyfriend’s dick can’t be a good thing. Why. Why. Why. Why oh why oh why oh why oh why oh why. Oh why. Because… Because he hates me. Because I don’t want him to hate me. Because I love him. I should call him. Apologise. Or to tell him not to read the email. But I can’t. My fingers are shaking, I can’t dial. I can’t come up with the words to tell him what he should know. About how it was just a stupid prank, and that there were never meant to be any photos. Just a bit of fun. But would that really work? Right now, I’d be more likely to say I spent the night with Dougie. I say stupid things when I’m ankara escort nervous. I’d email him not to read the earlier one, but I know he then just reads the earlier one to find out what exactly he’s meant to be ignoring. Maybe I should just go to his place and apologise in person. If he’s not there, I can always just let myself in and delete the email. No. That would be even more stupid than sleeping with Dougie. If he’s not there… I’ll wait until he is. Why. Why. Why oh why oh why. Because… he’s my boyfriend, and it’s the right thing to do. I sit in the car, about twenty yards from his doors. Feels like my life’s turning into a bad Son of Dork song. Have to do this. I get out. It’s quiet – the slam of the car door seems to echo forever off the terraced houses. One foot in front of the other. Even my footsteps seem to echo ten times as loud. Left, right… an errant chocolate wrapper whipping past my feet as a gust of wind whistles between the houses. I look up and down the street – not a soul to witness. I knock on the door.

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