Choke me daddy

The last I remembered time flying this fast was in grade 5 when my aunt had promised to take us to Disneyland, which turned out to be just a lie to get us to focus on our exams without TV. We in fact didn’t go to Disneyland during the holiday, but scratch that. I blinked and it was nighttime, and I was in my bed, on the upper bunk, where I slept noiselessly, hoping no one would remember I existed there.

I had scrubbed the floor today, and yesterday, and the day before. We had a dysfunctional cleaning roster. A piece of paper glued to the wall, it was old and torn, so torn that you couldn’t make out what names were written on it. Everyone had unanimously agreed that somewhere in an unwritten script, Alfie should be doing the cleaning. I did it without complaining. And I think I did it again that night, before blinking again, and it was Friday, and school was over, and I was going to see Riley.

Breathe. Breathe, Alfie. You’re going to just go there, hear him out, and get back to your normal invisible life.

I didn’t know what to wear, and I didn’t understand why I was anxious about it. It’s not—it’s not like… I’m going on a date. I picked up a pink shirt and plain trousers. I looked at the tall mirror in the dresser. On my shirt, they wrote “Don’t forget to live.” It was written in longhand, like it was possible to forget to live. It would be better to write “Don’t forget to die,” ’cause at least you’ll know that this whole thing would one day be over. It was somehow comforting that way.

I didn’t know what to do with my hair, so I simply pushed everything back with gel. One long tuft was left on my face. I wanted to push it back too, but decided to leave it. It made me look like Clark from Superman.

I knocked on Riley’s door. His dorm was built like a luxury hotel. He was amongst the very few students who stayed in suites like these. And he lived here alone.

At this point, all my actions were on autopilot, so even when I knocked again, I didn’t think about it. My body had a mind of its own.

First I heard footsteps, as heavy as a giant’s, and then the door clicked open. Riley was standing at the door, towering over me by several meters.

He was handsome.

Yes, I said it. I’m sorry, but just ’cause someone is a dick doesn’t mean I should lie. Both can be true—he’s a handsome dick.

“Come in,” he said, opening the door and standing beside it, motioning for me to go in. I felt like a deer walking straight into the lion’s den. My mind was screaming, Alfie, turn back and run. But my legs had already found their way in. When I heard the door click behind me, I swallowed hard. Both my hands were folded in front of me, and my steps were mechanical.

I’m sure he could notice it—my tension was visible. I didn’t try to hide it. I didn’t know how to. Not when the person standing in front of me was Riley Beaumont. And to make matters worse, I was alone with him, in his freaking room! He could literally kill me and put me in his fridge, like those true crime documentaries. I felt a cold shiver run down my spine, and I shook visibly.

“My gosh, relax!” he said, looking down at me, as frightened as a bunny. I nodded. Too quickly.

“Take a seat.”

I took a seat.

And then he sat across from me.

“Are you a faggot?”

That was exactly how the question came. It was raw, and it sounded feral coming out of his mouth.

“What??????” My voice came out in a higher pitch, edged with irritation.

He pulled his shirt off. For a moment, everything dulled. In slow motion, I saw his shirt come off his toned body, his muscles stretched, biceps tightened as he worked the shirt out of his body, revealing that overly erotic skin. Dark hair trailing from the center of his chest down into his waistband.

“Suck my dick.”

He commanded. At this point, I was already apologizing to myself for doing something entirely outside my moral constraints, and to God for sinning against him.

I didn’t know who put my knees on the rug, but they got there, and I was kneeling stupidly before Riley, like a slave before his master. He put his masculine hands around my jaw and dipped a finger into my throat.

And then they came. Several flashes of light, taking pictures of me in this intimate position.

They all came out of the corners they were hiding in.

“Gotcha!” They were all laughing, and then Riley kicked me away with his foot and I came crashing onto the floor.

“Bro, you really pulled the gay thing off,” one was saying.

“He was almost about to say ‘Choke me, Daddy,’” another said—all between chaotic laughter that had them coughing.

“I was already having a boring Friday, thanks to—”

“—Alfie the faggot,” another completed.

I was set up.

I was a sex-starved perverted faggot.

The bait was perfect, and I had walked right into it.

You are so stupid, Alfie. So stupid. My eyes moistened, and I knew it was tears. Don’t you dare cry. Don’t you dare! You brought this upon yourself and you have no right to feel sorry for yourself, you twip.

I bit the bottom of my lip until I tasted that metallic, salty liquid. It was my coping mechanism when battling severe and persistent anxiety. And right now, I felt like shit.

I got up from the floor.

Face them like a fucking man, Alfie. Tell them how you feel, give them the middle finger. Call their mother a bitch. I opened my mouth to speak, but all that could come out were light sobs, and I started crying like a fucking baby.

“Awwwwn, he’s crying,” one said.

“Does he need mummy?” another said, mimicking the sound of a baby.

I used the last strength I could manage to run out.

By morning, I had become a viral meme.