Verse
Star
- Joined
- May 8, 2011
Saran was a bit wayward.
His group of friends were mostly staying in town. School was out for most of them, but they were still a strong community. Some of them had jobs and some others had plans for further education. Two month of being eighteen had given the young man a broader understanding of the available nightlife in their town, but the more he sampled of adulthood, the more he tried to retreat into his carefree past. With this twilight between the two, he was suffering from separation anxiety everywhere he turned. Maybe it came out as violence, one or twice, but mostly it lent him a kind of darkness that worked well on whoever he needed to charm; which was pretty much anyone with warm holes for his cock.
It had started three years ago, when his then beloved big brother had been in the same predicament. Vincent had a good head on his shoulders, and while mom and dad were very loving, they weren't very rich. Even if they were, Vinnie preferred to do things his own way. He'd been saving up to leave this place. It would have been impressive if it hadn't been so hurtful. That's when Saran had picked up smoking. Not that Vinnie had thought much about it other than to tell him to stop. Where the fuck was the big brother that used to drive him everywhere, and teach him that people who backed down were bitches? Heck, Vinnie had even made being gay look like a fucking superpower. To this day Saran didn't know if he'd fucked his first guy because he wanted to, or because he wanted to be more like Vinnie. Saran couldn't lay off girls though.
The mix of very common complexes worked for the recent young adult. It darkened his brow shadowed his serene skin enough to make him a darkhorse in his own gang. He was supposed to hang with them today. Like he always did. He didn't even tell mom and dad anymore, when he went out. They pestered him to be more like their precious Vincent, and get a job. Maybe soon. Maybe it was time to fucking grow up. Vincent had.
But Saran had felt enough of this spiraling deal that he didn't feel like getting a party started at Tom's house. So he'd left while the pool was still filling up. Mom and dad had their trip today, so maybe the house would be empty. Pretty sure Vincent was at his job. So, he straddled his orange scrambler and went home. His cheekbone-long black, wavy hair was free. Recklessly, the helmet hung off one handle. It didn't go with his white t-shirt and riding leather pants, anyway. He did have to pat his hair down with a couple of combs through it when he dismounted his motorcycle, though, when he got home. Maybe he'd been paranoid about the helmet thing because he'd led the bike further from the house than he usually did.
The tall youth went inside. He was actually looking forward to some peace and quiet. But when he got in to the larger hall that opened up into the kitchen that then was connected to the livingroom, there was definitely sounds coming from mom and dad's bedroom on the first floor, further ahead in the corridor. With his brow scrunched, he brandished his phone on record, and stepped out of his boots. He treaded carefully toward the noises, more incriminating by the second, and found that the bedroom door was ajar. He stuck the phone in first, before following with his head to see what was going on. Were they being robbed?
His group of friends were mostly staying in town. School was out for most of them, but they were still a strong community. Some of them had jobs and some others had plans for further education. Two month of being eighteen had given the young man a broader understanding of the available nightlife in their town, but the more he sampled of adulthood, the more he tried to retreat into his carefree past. With this twilight between the two, he was suffering from separation anxiety everywhere he turned. Maybe it came out as violence, one or twice, but mostly it lent him a kind of darkness that worked well on whoever he needed to charm; which was pretty much anyone with warm holes for his cock.
It had started three years ago, when his then beloved big brother had been in the same predicament. Vincent had a good head on his shoulders, and while mom and dad were very loving, they weren't very rich. Even if they were, Vinnie preferred to do things his own way. He'd been saving up to leave this place. It would have been impressive if it hadn't been so hurtful. That's when Saran had picked up smoking. Not that Vinnie had thought much about it other than to tell him to stop. Where the fuck was the big brother that used to drive him everywhere, and teach him that people who backed down were bitches? Heck, Vinnie had even made being gay look like a fucking superpower. To this day Saran didn't know if he'd fucked his first guy because he wanted to, or because he wanted to be more like Vinnie. Saran couldn't lay off girls though.
The mix of very common complexes worked for the recent young adult. It darkened his brow shadowed his serene skin enough to make him a darkhorse in his own gang. He was supposed to hang with them today. Like he always did. He didn't even tell mom and dad anymore, when he went out. They pestered him to be more like their precious Vincent, and get a job. Maybe soon. Maybe it was time to fucking grow up. Vincent had.
But Saran had felt enough of this spiraling deal that he didn't feel like getting a party started at Tom's house. So he'd left while the pool was still filling up. Mom and dad had their trip today, so maybe the house would be empty. Pretty sure Vincent was at his job. So, he straddled his orange scrambler and went home. His cheekbone-long black, wavy hair was free. Recklessly, the helmet hung off one handle. It didn't go with his white t-shirt and riding leather pants, anyway. He did have to pat his hair down with a couple of combs through it when he dismounted his motorcycle, though, when he got home. Maybe he'd been paranoid about the helmet thing because he'd led the bike further from the house than he usually did.
The tall youth went inside. He was actually looking forward to some peace and quiet. But when he got in to the larger hall that opened up into the kitchen that then was connected to the livingroom, there was definitely sounds coming from mom and dad's bedroom on the first floor, further ahead in the corridor. With his brow scrunched, he brandished his phone on record, and stepped out of his boots. He treaded carefully toward the noises, more incriminating by the second, and found that the bedroom door was ajar. He stuck the phone in first, before following with his head to see what was going on. Were they being robbed?