Double Penetration

The Art of the Fist

Sorry this took so long. I have to wait for my editor to go through it, and she's a busy person and has her own stories she writes. Also we both get distracted easily, So there may be gaps in time between posts.

Evan:

Art is always the best part of my day. Of course, the art teachers always want you to do what they want, but it's still way better than taking notes and reading from a textbook the whole time. I wish I could just draw what I wanted and that was all, but it wasn't that bad, as long as the teacher didn't make us use Watercolor(for some reason, I can never quite get the techniques for that particular paint down, I don't know why).

Thankfully, since the class was in near the end of a project they'd been working on for a couple weeks, I was allowed to just sit and draw(the teacher told me I could also use anything from the selection of colored pencils, markers, and pastel crayons, just no paint, so she's immediately the only teacher not on my shit list).

It took some girl sitting next to me complimenting the drawing I'd just started in English for me to realize what exactly I was drawing. Damn it, it's those hot guys from this morning!

I've never been secretive about my sexuality, but no one's ever caught my interest enough for me to draw them that quickly. And those guys were being totally weird this morning, staring at me like I'd hung the moon and stars in the sky or some shit!

Although, their eyes were captivating swirl of ocean blue and forest green shades, with gold flecks that caught the shitty fluorescent school lights perfectly. And their hair was not only the perfect shade of chestnut brown, but it was neat, and not in that stupid, slicked-back rich-boy way. And their skin was the perfect golden tan, and–

Fuck.

In an attempt to change my train of thought, I flipped to the next page in my sketchbook and started drawing a bird. There wasn't anything special about it, it just helped to clear my head.

At some point in the class, the art teacher came to give me the same stupid elcome speech I got in first period. Do they make all these poor teachers memorize this load of shit? When she finished, she continued to inform the class of what project we would be starting next week, which just happened to be a project themed around something or someone important to you. I don't really care what she has us do, I just wanna be able to draw what I want. I've never been good with words (unless it involves sarcasm and pissing people off),so I just speak with art instead. So far only my little brother has ever correctly interpreted how I was feeling from my drawings though, or from the colors and shades I used for drawings–dark, light, bold, muted. He could tell if I was happy or content from brighter colors with light shading, and he could tell when I was upset from how dark I colored in the shadows of the drawings.

Class eventually ended and I headed over to my next class. I wasn't particularly fond of P.E, but it wasn't the worst class. As soon as I turned the corner, I felt a tap on my shoulder. Thinking it was Mark, or maybe my brother, I turned around.

And with my shit luck, it turned out to be the guy from my homeroom(well, one of the guys, but I can't tell them apart yet).

"Miss me?" He drawled, a smirk on his face. Ugh, it's you again. You're either Mr. Alpha dog or his douchebag brother who watched you be a douchebag, but either way, you suck.

"Nope." I answered, and kept walking. Unfortunately, he followed me.

"If I would have known we'd be in the same class again, I would have gotten here a lot faster." Yeah, that's definitely Mr. Douchebag Alpha Dog. Ugh, why couldn't it be his brother?! At least that guy wasn't a snarky ass!