smile.
“I’d like that.”
*
It’s two o’clock in the morning by the time I get home. I walk in the front door to find Mom and Elise on the couch with hot chocolate, waiting up for me.
“You have a curfew young man,” Mom says.
“Sorry.” I lean over to give her a goodnight kiss and she less-than-subtly smells my jacket. I smell like smoke from the wood-burning stove, and I hurry to explain myself before she jumps to the more obvious conclusion.
“You really went out,” she says with surprise. Always good to know she has faith in me. “Did you make friends?”
“Good night, Mom.”
“Tell me what happened.”
“ Good night, Mom.”
“Jem!”
Sunday
Sunday is sleepin day at the Harper house. Everyone except Mom, chronic insomniac that she is, lies in till ten or later. By the time I wake up the sun is shining across my bed and it’s blissfully warm. I just lay there for a few moments, listening to the sounds of a sleeping house, before I bother to take stock of my body. When I do get around to it, I notice I’m hungry—that’s been happening more and more this past week. My hand, as usual, has made its way into my pants of its own accord while I slept. The difference is, I wake up hard today. Last time that happened, there were still Halloween decorations around town. I smile and start to move my hand. This has got to be my favorite sign of recovery.
I miss this, is my first thought, right before I notice that it doesn’t feel the same as it used to. I keep moving my hand, varying strokes and pressure, but there’s no build. The sensation never gets more intense. The urge to come never arrives, and after five minutes of pumping fruitlessly my erection starts to wilt in my hand.
“Come on, you bastard.”
Mom knocks on the door and the jig is up. So much for starting the day on a high note.
“Sweetie? Do you want breakfast?”
At least I’ve got a new soup recipe from Willa. That’s sort of a positive start to the day. I still would have preferred an orgasm.
Monday
I think about sitting with Willa’s crowd at lunch, even though it involves Chris bullshit-extraordinaire Elwood. But I do need to work on the whole ‘friends’ thing, and everyone was pretty cool on Saturday. They weren’t outright repulsed by me, anyway. Maybe with time they’ll get used to the elephant that follows me into every room, and I can be part of a social group again.
You know, I think I saw a flying pig out back.
Oh shut up, you.
You mean me?
I’m not having this argument with myself.
I follow behind Willa and her friends, keeping a bit of distance. Maybe I’ll just go up to them once they’ve found a table and ask if this seat is taken. Or maybe that will make them feel guilty and obliged to tolerate my presence. Should I just sit down and let them make what they will of it?
As I’m debating this they find a table. I look around for a seat to occupy, but they’re all full.
So much for that.
I turn and make my way toward Elise’s table, trying to make it look like I’m not retreating. When I sit down Elise gives me a strange look. She thought I would sit with other people today too. I just shake my head and turn to my Jell-O cup, and she—mercifully—lets it slide.
*
You’re an idiot, Harper.
Why’d I want to be friends with her anyway? She’s a bitch.
She’s sort of hot.
That’s enough out of you.
Like it matters, limp-dick.
Shut up.
She only invited you along to screw with your head.
She’s not totally incapable of being nice.
Look! The pig flew by again!
Willa spares me from my mental dialogue by pulling her chair back from the table loudly. She sits down with a nod hello and opens her books.
“Why’d you invite me to hang out with your friends?”
Now would also be a good time to blurt out that you’re failing three of four classes and can’t get it up, moron. Go on, share with the class.
Willa looks at me calmly. “Why do you
“I’d like that.”
*
It’s two o’clock in the morning by the time I get home. I walk in the front door to find Mom and Elise on the couch with hot chocolate, waiting up for me.
“You have a curfew young man,” Mom says.
“Sorry.” I lean over to give her a goodnight kiss and she less-than-subtly smells my jacket. I smell like smoke from the wood-burning stove, and I hurry to explain myself before she jumps to the more obvious conclusion.
“You really went out,” she says with surprise. Always good to know she has faith in me. “Did you make friends?”
“Good night, Mom.”
“Tell me what happened.”
“ Good night, Mom.”
“Jem!”
Sunday
Sunday is sleepin day at the Harper house. Everyone except Mom, chronic insomniac that she is, lies in till ten or later. By the time I wake up the sun is shining across my bed and it’s blissfully warm. I just lay there for a few moments, listening to the sounds of a sleeping house, before I bother to take stock of my body. When I do get around to it, I notice I’m hungry—that’s been happening more and more this past week. My hand, as usual, has made its way into my pants of its own accord while I slept. The difference is, I wake up hard today. Last time that happened, there were still Halloween decorations around town. I smile and start to move my hand. This has got to be my favorite sign of recovery.
I miss this, is my first thought, right before I notice that it doesn’t feel the same as it used to. I keep moving my hand, varying strokes and pressure, but there’s no build. The sensation never gets more intense. The urge to come never arrives, and after five minutes of pumping fruitlessly my erection starts to wilt in my hand.
“Come on, you bastard.”
Mom knocks on the door and the jig is up. So much for starting the day on a high note.
“Sweetie? Do you want breakfast?”
At least I’ve got a new soup recipe from Willa. That’s sort of a positive start to the day. I still would have preferred an orgasm.
Monday
I think about sitting with Willa’s crowd at lunch, even though it involves Chris bullshit-extraordinaire Elwood. But I do need to work on the whole ‘friends’ thing, and everyone was pretty cool on Saturday. They weren’t outright repulsed by me, anyway. Maybe with time they’ll get used to the elephant that follows me into every room, and I can be part of a social group again.
You know, I think I saw a flying pig out back.
Oh shut up, you.
You mean me?
I’m not having this argument with myself.
I follow behind Willa and her friends, keeping a bit of distance. Maybe I’ll just go up to them once they’ve found a table and ask if this seat is taken. Or maybe that will make them feel guilty and obliged to tolerate my presence. Should I just sit down and let them make what they will of it?
As I’m debating this they find a table. I look around for a seat to occupy, but they’re all full.
So much for that.
I turn and make my way toward Elise’s table, trying to make it look like I’m not retreating. When I sit down Elise gives me a strange look. She thought I would sit with other people today too. I just shake my head and turn to my Jell-O cup, and she—mercifully—lets it slide.
*
You’re an idiot, Harper.
Why’d I want to be friends with her anyway? She’s a bitch.
She’s sort of hot.
That’s enough out of you.
Like it matters, limp-dick.
Shut up.
She only invited you along to screw with your head.
She’s not totally incapable of being nice.
Look! The pig flew by again!
Willa spares me from my mental dialogue by pulling her chair back from the table loudly. She sits down with a nod hello and opens her books.
“Why’d you invite me to hang out with your friends?”
Now would also be a good time to blurt out that you’re failing three of four classes and can’t get it up, moron. Go on, share with the class.
Willa looks at me calmly. “Why do you
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