What the fuck!  You are quite possibly the sexiest boy on the
planet.  Of course, *you* don't consider yourself a boy.  After all,
you've been in the business for seven years already so any *child* in
you has long since disappeared.  At least, that's what *you* say.

I say different.  But actually, it is a big part of what makes you so
appealing.  That little boy look, the sweet curls–thank God they're
back–and that impish little smile.  I believe they call it "jailbait"
and, honey, you are the essence of jailbait even now.

I'm watching you sleep.  I exhausted you last night, I know.  Can I
help it if I can never get enough of you?  Even in your sleep, you
exude sex.  Just that little puff of breath I hear as you breathe in
and out turns me on. 

Can you feel me staring at you?  Are you dreaming of me?  You're
restless now, shifting that fine body, stretching like a cat but not
awake.  I could wake you up with kisses everywhere but you're such an
ass in the morning it just ain't worth it.

C'mon, baby, wake up.  The sun is beautiful over the ocean and we can
hear the waves rolling into the shore, this ocean peaceful.  This is
the time to be up, to sit cross-legged on the sand and  be part of
nature.  This is when you tell everyone you meditate.  Is that a lie,
too?

Forget it.  I'll just sit here and meditate on you.  Wonder
actually.  How many more lies?  Sometimes I wonder if we even know
the truth anymore.  They feed us the lies and they come out of our
mouths like vomit.  Then, two weeks later, we tell the truth somehow,
it just kinda slips out, and we look like fucking assholes.

For example, no one knew we were together.  They still aren't sure
what our relationship is.  We tell them one thing and
then...sometimes we slip.  Want to just tell the truth, baby?  Just
stand there and hold hands and say, Yeah, we fuck like bunnies every
chance we get.

No, huh?  Our "handlers", are we trained animals or what, would be
*very* unhappy.  Fuck, they would shit a brick.  Come to think of it,
fuck and shit ain't high on their to-do list either.  Too fucking
bad.  I am so sick of being a manufactured doll, not a hell of a lot
different from the ones on the shelves.

I know, I know, how can I complain?  We, each of us, could support
half the poor people in a third world country.  Yeah, yeah, I did
read that somewhere.  I *know* I'm not that original.  So back to
complaining.  Why not?  Can't we have problems?

I mean hair, clothes, exercise.  Aren't those important issues for
most young people?  Hell, we are young people last I looked.  Just
because we jet all over the world and you have 450 pairs of shoes
doesn't make us so different.  Does it?  Just because we can retire
before we're 25 doesn't mean we're so different from everyone else.

What makes you so different is how hot you are just breathing.  That
is SO unfair.  I know, I know, lots of people say that about me, too,
but baby, it's really true about you.  Like last night when I tied
your wrists to the bed and blindfolded you.  Your dick looked so
incredible, quivering in anticipation.  And that hitching sound you
make when you're just a little bit scared.

Do I scare you?  Really, I love it when you whimper.  I feel so
powerful, so in control and I laugh my ass off thinking of all the
girlies and how they would love to trade places with me.  Ain't gonna
happen.  I'm here to stay, sweetie.

I love it when  you bring that "special someone" in to join in the
fun.  Wanted to howl with laughter thinking about what our pastors
back home would say.  There's a girl on the net, Destiny or something
like that, keeps saying she's got a one way ticket to hell.  Man, the
bus is getting crowded.

Speaking of which, she wrote this story about you being dressed in
drag.  Think you might be willing?  What a couple we could be.  We're
a little out of the way here for kinky clubs but maybe when we're in
NY next.

Shit, are you gonna sleep all day?  Oh damn, look at those marks on
you.  The fucking papparazzi'll have a field day with those pics. 
Everyone will be on them like white on rice. Sorry, baby, guess I
wasn't too careful but when we came, I just lost control.  You won't
be mad, will you?  Damned PR probably will.

When do we get our private life back?  "You gave up your right to a
private life blah, blah, blah." Oh puh-leez, I have heard that one so
many times.  OK, so how about an honest life?  Did we give that up,
too?  I mean every question and answer is scripted.  Just last week,
I had to bite my lip, bite my *fucking* lip to keep from blurting out
the truth.  No wonder sometimes you just sit there with that blank
look.

I was rolling on the floor when I saw your last interview.  You are
the boyband cheerleader.  Whenever they ask some ridiculous question
about your music, you could go on for hours.  Sometimes I look at the
others and just know they want to smack the hell out of you.  Amazing
they don't.

But then they ask the personal questions and you become the sphinx. 
Tell them, I screamed at the television screen, but you didn't. 
Maybe we never will.  Keep them guessing, Johnny says.  I say, Get
real.  We *do* have lives.  We pee, shit, and fuck just like everyone
else.  I'm sure that even a twelve year old can understand that.

Do you really think they would stop buying our records if they knew
we were together?  Okay, I am getting way too wound up here and you
are still acting like Sleeping Fucking Beauty.  Get your lazy ass up
or...hmmm.  Could be fun.  Nah, you are just too mean this early. 

I'm outta here.  Gonna go find Lance.  I bet his fine butt is already
out of bed.  You snooze, you lose, Justin.  Your girl is gone.

The End


[
menu ]
1