Pearls of White and Grey

By Dr. Pepper 14

Note: Lesbians. Yeah, I'm shaking up the salad dressing a little bit guys.
Stop hogging all the weed, bitch.

I can feel her voice bounce off the skin of my neck.

Sure, I say. Anything for you.

Mommy brings us cookies and milk. I meet her at the top of the stairs, my feet thudding against the steps as I race to the door so she doesn't have to come all the way down and see what we're up to. Harmless fun, really. Nothing bad. A little pot here, a little pot there.

I breathe out and the smoke curls around my finger.

Simon and Jimmy are rolling around on the couch next to me.

We're not gay, they insist. And yet here they are, wrestling just for an excuse to touch each other.

We don't think there's anything wrong with being gay, Jimmy explains. Yeah, Simon echoes. We're just not.

Simon's hand is on Jimmy's ass.

I push them off the couch because they're annoying me and they just laugh and keep going, rolling in a ball of limbs and curses to the other side of the room like a snowball that just keeps getting bigger and bigger.

But my basement isn't really that large and they end up rolling right into one of the walls. I try not to smile when Jimmy's concerned face looks over Simon's body like a doctor checking his patient to make sure he's okay.

I don't think any of us are really okay.

Macy slowly makes her way over to me like a predator with a mission. On hands and knees like a cat, ready to pounce and she blushes when she realizes that I see her.

Scoot over, Jane, she orders me and I do, because I always do what she says. And maybe I like it when she plays dominatrix.

We lie on the couch with my back against the back of the couch and her back colliding almost painfully with my chest. It's okay though, as long as I get to set my hand on her curved hip.

Silence for a few moments, and then a sigh.

I think the American flag should be pink, I confess to her, lips pressed against the back of her neck.

That would make more sense, she replies, but it doesn't really.

It doesn't have to make sense, I counter. It just has to be pink.

Whatever, she says. It doesn't matter, because right now all the colors sort of look the same to me.

That sucks. Like a big blob of grey? My thumb traces her hip and I tug at her belt loops. You missed one, I tell her, pulling on the one she missed with her belt.

Don't care. She doesn't care. And no, more like a lava lamp on opium.


It's actually giving me a headache.

No, I think that's the drugs, babe. I brush my lips across her temple and slide a leg between hers, feeling the smooth skin of her leg rub against my equally smooth one.

She brings my hand up from her hip to her mouth, soft rose petal lips running over it like a breeze.

I don't love you, I remind her, the loving gesture scaring me a little. I can't- don't love her. It's just quick hands, a quick pleasure, and when we're acting as 'just friends', we can snuggle on the couch a little.

She laughs like she doesn't believe me and one look at her cherry red lips and I can't say I believe myself.

You're not important, I say, more for my benefit than for hers. Easily replaceable. Common, like air.

She tilts her head back and I get a taste of her salty lips. Everyone needs to breathe.

Just a short little thing I wrote in like twenty minutes to get me back in the groove of things since I haven't written anything in a while, so sorry if it sucks big time.

I decided that I'm sick of quotations marks, as is evident.

I'm not sure if I like this. I didn't come out right. It's not supposed to be sad or happy or anything, it's just supposed to be.

Oh well.