Jordan was in full drag sitting next to Diogo, his unofficial boyfriend. Jordan had the guts to take the wig from the box and put it on; Diogo didn't even have the gall to even come out. Jordan did understand, because he also had an overbearing mother. But they were almost 18, for the Goddess' sake.
The prom at Good Hope High was very much enjoyable, but Jordan was having no fun at all. No one could appreciate his artistic references, nor the name of his drag: Hedwig Of The Great Inch. Of course he explained it to Diogo, but he wasn't really into queer content. I know, boys.
The theme was "Banana Republic", the decoration yellow and green and festive, and no, Hollywood-addicts, the punch was not spiked. Schoolers drank before going or snook to the car outside, like anywhere else. I mean, can you imagine putting a full drag garment inside a bathroom stall with that stunk of piss and seniors getting in and out to do coke while you're trying to put on maskara?
The shaperones, Rodolpho and Fabiana, the english and the history teachers, were cool. Rumour had it that Rodolpho once got seriously involved with a student and almost got fired, but he was friends with the Jones. That's why he was unfuckable. Jordan didn't really care about gossip. Music, sex, music, make-up, wigs, music, boots – let's bring back Doc Martens, si vous plait! Enough. And music, of course!
Boring couples were dancing to funk in the middle of the hall, lyrics about dicks and cunts and all. Not censorable, just not interesting to Jordan. Gal Costa can talk about getting the condom out and cumming straight over the others with the following wording: "if there's moonlight in the sky, withdrawl the veil and make it rain... over our love". At least that's what Junior, her best gay friend, said to Jordan. I mean, his best gay friend. Well, there's that, spoiler alert, I've ruined the story. No, there's more to it, there's gotta be! Dear reader, there is. Don't you worry. Stay a while.
Now they were playing Sinatra. It inspired Jordan. The couples were still dancing as the domestic animals they were. Ennui struck and Jordan stood up and whispered in Diogo's ear: "I need to swallow you." When Diogo promptly got up, as the obedient bitch he was, Jordan was already kind of hard. It wasn't always like that – which Jordan also found pleasurable. Diogo had one striking figure a part from his blond dreadlocks: his lips were dark, his eyebrows thick. Like his dick. An elegant dick, thank you.
Leaving Junior behind with Tammy and the other girls, Jordan salivated. Diogo had the best-flavored semen she had tasted. Swallowing was a Greek secret, a secret Jordan didn't share with people. Cum is knowledge, and that's why we crave it. While on her knees, inside the boys' stall, Jordan swallowed the last drop. Gotta love them greeks.
--
Felipe
Felipe always looked around during school intervals. A wandering eye. Painful. All the beauty of the world, right there, but out of reach: wasted bulges, broad shoulders, shimmering lips, hairy bellys, armpits.
He had never even kissed someone before. That was bad. He was already 16. The desire, gee, the desire took over him every single day. Why should he care about Francis Ferdinand when Bill sat so close to him, shared musical findings, was his buddy? Just a buddy. It started on the first day of high school when Felipe had brought his guitar from home and played Raul Seixas during P.E., the most painful class to watch, because of course he didn't participate. Maybe he lacked the testosterone, but the guitar and the music caught Bill's attention. Oh, Eurydice!
Felipe didn't understand that his own beauty was worth something. Lots of teenagers don't. Porn had ruined him. Fuck, porn ruins everyone. Felipe was frustrated, and no one else seemed to be. Everywhere he looked, sex. Everything he listened to, sex. "Believe nothing you see and only half of what you hear", a wise man or a crone might say. But they were far away from Felipe – well, not far away: that's another story. Bear with me.
The school was in a vast building. In the patio there were three staircases, each leading to the classrooms upstairs. Bill and his friends hung out in the first one. That's where the gazing started. Gazing at a high school is like coke at 3AM after having about 13 beers: burning desire, discretion and finding means to get it. The frustration of not getting it, in both scenarios, is the same. For the ones who enjoy coke, of course – I don't have to explain everything, do I? This is hardly a book to be read in high school. Go figure.
Bill. That guy was just off the charts. He had no shread of flaw, like sweet tea in the morning. His hair was always in a perfect toupet – yes, he pulled it off. He could tank it, but to Felipe, tanking Bill's subliminal beauty was not possible. About the gazing, there's a detail: a law was passed and cellphones were banned at school. What other games, aside P.E., could bore teenagers come up with? Gazing and violence. Felipe was sure that the world reduced to those two things. His world, at least. To Bill's neck. They talk so much about a woman's bosoms, their seductive ways. But man, look at that! The protuberance of an Adam's Apple when the throat is clenched while they speak, where the throat becomes the male V-Neck in a seemless effort. What about the brown hair in his arms with veins running through it? What about thick lips? Jawlines, man! He lived for that stuff.
The school's uniform was of a particular palette. Red and black. There were options for an outfit. Today Bill wore black pants, a "Pulp Fiction" t-shirt an the uniform's red jacket. About his bulge... well, it wasn't just air faking it, let's put it that way. Bill nodded at Felipe in the midst of gaze. Felipe blushed, but responded in almost a too fast fashion. He was eager to P.E. class because they would talk about music, especially the last one they listened together, Freddie Costa's "Figure It Out". It was a folksy bluesy song talking about heaven, hell and anarchy. Bill was kind, loved math and hated essays. He also had a high ranking when it came to girlfriends, but they didn't really last.
Felipe decided to go up the stairs since break was nearly finished. He made his way into the bathroom. At the same time, Bill decided to do the same to smoke a cigarette, because it was raining and his secret spot was beside the lockerroom outside. He went to the last stall that was next to a big window. He got up the toilette stool to get nearer to the winow. He lit the cigarette and sighed in pleasure. Suddenly, a flush. Fuck. Someone was there. It was Felipe, but both boys didn't know they shared the space. Felipe left and, outside, saw two wretched guys from their classroom talking to Carmen, the mean inspector, and they pointed to the bathroom. Bill, Midway his cigarette, heard giggles. Gee. It's just a cigarette. When he went outside, Carmen was waiting for him. "Fuck", again, as Carmen led them to the principal's.
--
The ordeal with Nilo's uncle was through, he thought, and his escape plan had failed. He was too young to access his own money. He wouldn't confess to his parents his deal. They just wouldn't get it. Fuck them books, right? And film, man. Ginsberg shouting about engulfing dicks, Kerouac about hitchhiking in the back of pick-ups with strange fellas sharing cigarettes and anecdotes, Jones falling in love with americans while drinking and smoking and snoring anything he could find in Argentina. Then, music, of course. Dylan busting his balls, early Beatles' lovesongs, Adele clingy and obsessed, Lou Reed and his femme fatale. Not to mention the Gods in Arcade Fire. Fire, man, fire! Burn them all.
Nilo once had heard that nothing was urgent. They hadn't participated in a Rodolpho test. He had given up on his writing briefly, but decided to pick it up again once he realized that one that needs medication monthly couldn't be a modern traveler. He woulld only wind up on the streets doing crack and talking to the voices. He decided to concentrate on the test. In 20 minutes, he delivered it to the teacher with a shy smile. He realized that a young writer like himself wouldn't have much repertoire, except of course if they had been raised by two megalomaniac artsy-fellas and had a secret incestuous affair. He had decided to use a pseudonym because the Leites and the Goularts already had an established name, and he didn't want a ride.
Later that night, inside his bedroom, he was finishing his first story. He wanted to show it to someone. Someone wasn't there. He sent an e-mail, anyway.
--
Hubble was somewhat succesful. In his mid-forties he was able to create a numerous – and loyal – audience. Plus, the critics ate him up. He was more of an artist for artists.
He had received a strange, familiar and kind of scary story in his e-mail. Scary beause it was personal. Too personal. But, goddam it, the boy knew how to do it. And so young, still. He felt like Dedalus eyeing his talented nephew. That kind of sentiment shouldn't grow, so he left it aside. Alright, Nilo was using a pseudonym, but still. What if he makes it? H. knew all about the danger of the muses. The exposure. The pressure. But he was always on the other side of that. It felt bitter. H. had nothing nothing ilegal, but surely it wasn't morally accepted in today's helluva boring society. Well, it was up to the gods now. Let them deal with the mushy-bullshit of these kinds of stories, stories that H. himself also wrote about.
Nilo was extremely seductive. Not only because of his body, his smell, his long Golden hair. As a person. He had that kind of brain that you know it's better than yours, and was at the same time needy but mature. He was at a subliminal level of beauty, which was what Hubble was looking for. Fuck, the poet turned into the muse. That should be morally frowned upon in a virtuous society. But H. just felt the need to see the boy, to talk about the story, about life and his plans. Wait. Was H. simply...? No, it couldn't be. He felt love before, sure, but he had history with Nilo. It just couldn't be. How dare Nilo turn him into a character? Fuck fuck fuck. The nymphs had given up on H. and turned their attention to the youngster. H. wouldn't let that happen. Nilo was too young to give up his destiny to the fates, so H. made a decision. He was going to look back, this time. Fuck the family.