Ayden Merlee lay sprawled across the unmade bed, sheets twisted around his
legs like forgotten ropes from a dream he could barely recall. The phone
rested heavy in his palm, glowing with a cold blue light that pushed back
the gentle gold of the morning sun slipping through the slats of the blinds
in thin, deliberate stripes across his bare chest.
He stared at the ceiling for a moment, tracing the familiar crack that ran
from the light fixture to the corner where the paint had started to peel in
tiny curls.His mind began to wander without permission to the pretty
neighbourhood girls who lived just down the street, the ones with
sun-kissed shoulders and easy smiles who waved at him when he
pretended to check the mailbox.
Their voices carried on the breeze like music he wanted to hum but never
quite knew the words to. Then his thoughts slipped further to the pretty
school girls he passed on the way to buy milk, their pleated skirts brushing
against smooth thighs and their laughter spilling out in bright bursts that
made the whole sidewalk feel alive.
He shifted his weight, letting the mattress creak softly beneath him as he
finally unlocked the phone with a swipe. The screen bloomed open to the
browser he had left on private mode the night before. He tapped the
bookmarked pornsite, hidden between a weather app and a calculator that
no one ever questioned.
The page loaded in silence with rows of thumbnails pulsing like promises. He chose one labeled straight porn with a woman whose eyes seemed to look right through the lens and into the room where he lay alone. He
pressed play, adjusting the earbuds so the tinny moans would stay trapped
between his ears.
The video unfolded in crisp detail with skin sliding against skin and breaths
coming faster. But the sight of beautiful tits and ass filling the small
screen in perfect high definition left him strangely unmoved.
He realised he still did not have an erection despite the practiced arches
and sighs designed to pull every viewer into the same frantic rhythm. He
would normally have an erection every morning when he wakes up like
every other boy with the blood surging south before his eyes even opened
fully, but whenever he starts masturbating it is difficult for him.
He gave a defeated sigh and shut off his phone, rubbing his face until his
palms felt hot. He reached for a pair of shorts at the edge of the bed and
pulled them on, moving without hurry, his thoughts still tangled in the fog
of another restless morning.
The door burst open before he could even stand up.
"Merlee! You're going to be late again!"
His sister's voice cut through the silence like glass, too bright, too cheerful
for the hour. She was already halfway into the room before realizing he
wasn't dressed properly.
"Can't you ever knock?" he snapped, voice sharp, eyes narrowing at her.
"How many times do I have to tell you that?"
She rolled her eyes and folded her arms, unbothered by his anger. "Then fix
the stupid lock. Not my fault it doesn't work."
He glared, jaw tight, watching her turn and leave as quickly as she came. The door slammed behind her, leaving an echo. Merlee ran a hand through his hair, muttering under his breath. "Yeah, I'll fix
it. Today."
Merlee rose from the bed with a sluggish motion. The floor felt cold
beneath his feet as he shuffled toward the bathroom. The sound of running water filled the silence while he washed his face and brushed his teeth,
trying to clear his thoughts. By the time he came downstairs, the smell of
toast and coffee drifted through the air.
At the dining table, his father was already seated...newspaper folded neatly
beside his plate...while Margaret sat opposite, swinging her legs under the
chair as she ate. The television murmured faintly from the living room, the
morning news playing to no one in particular. Merlee slipped into his seat without a word. His mother wasn't home
yet...she had the early shift that week...so the table felt emptier than usual.
He ate in silence, keeping his eyes on the food. His father glanced at him
once, then went back to his meal without saying a word.
You see, Merlee and his father had never been on good terms. There was
something sharp and unspoken between them, something that had been
there for as long as he could remember. His father thought he was
reckless, stubborn, always finding new ways to get into trouble at
school...and Merlee thought his father never really tried to understand him.
It had become a quiet war, fought with glances and silences instead of
words.
He swallowed the last bite of his food, leaned back in his chair, and
muttered a faint, "I'm done," before standing up. Margaret looked up at him
but didn't say anything; she was used to the tension.
He walked toward the door, slung his backpack over one shoulder, and
stepped outside. The morning sun met him with a warmth that did little to
reach his mood. Merlee wheeled his bike out of the compound and into the street, the early
air brushing cool against his face. It was a short ride to school, one he had
done so many times it felt like muscle memory...turn by the bakery, cut
through the narrow lane, then down the slope that led to the gates.
By the time he reached the school compound, students were already
crowding the entrance, uniforms neat, laughter carrying through the
morning air. Merlee slowed down, one hand resting casually on the
handlebar as he coasted in.
A few girls standing near the gate turned when they saw him, their chatter
breaking into whispers and soft laughter. He gave a small nod, half a smile, enough to send a ripple through them.
He parked his bike near the wall, took off his helmet, and ran a hand
through his hair. It was black and naturally shiny. His uniform sleeves were
rolled up, showing the lean muscle he carried without trying. Merlee wasn't the best student, not by a long shot, but everyone knew who
he was. Tall, strong, good-looking...the boy teachers sighed over and other
boys either envied or tried to befriend. He carried himself with an ease that
made people notice him even when he wasn't doing anything special.
As he walked toward the building, a few girls greeted him by name. He
answered with that same faint smile, his hands tucked in his pockets, Beneath the easy charm, though, there was always that faint edge that
hinted he wasn't quite as carefree as he looked.