ICOY 2

I rush to a green apple and dark wood kitchen, feeling my pounding heartbeat. I grab a used pot from the cluttered sink, and kneel on the floor, having a sentimental struggle. "Fuck! " I grunt, taking in a shuddering breath, before placing my phone on the floor and using the pot in my other hand to demolish it. I bang the screen in five times, hearing the glass shatter, seeing the metal under-workings.

I then run to my bathroom, another junk area with clothes and shoes all over the floor. I open the medicine cabinet and get a pink makeup bag out. Contour bish! Here's the thing about me...I'm a boy with a baby face and a small Adam's apple, so when I do my shit, I legit look like a girl. I can even change my voice to sound like one. Desperate times cause for desperate measures. The card guy wouldn't suspect that because he heard a guy's voice on the phone.

I need to refine my nose and cheeks to look sharp but soft, not too harsh. I don't want to look like a drag queen. IT'S TRICK A BITCH DAY. I open my MAC concealer and foundation, which were running low, and add the substances to my face thoroughly, using a beauty blender. Foundation first, then concealer under my eyes, in the middle of my eyebrows and around my nose. I blend the makeup evenly before opening a contour stick of a darker shade. Down my cheekbones, over my temples, under my chin, and a light amount on my nose.

Whew, being a girl is complicated! Lastly, I blend my skin to literal perfection and add eyeliner and red lipstick. My eyebrows are naturally thick and full, so all I use is a trimmer for the wild hairs. I choose a wig from one of my stand displays in my light green bedroom, which, of course, is junky. I pick out an all-black, sleek, long, and flowy wig. Oh fuck, I won't be able to get the stuff I ordered. I frown as I use a pin-headed brush on the wig. Damn...maybe it won't arrive until Monday.

I shake away the thought of not being able to enjoy pampering myself and proceed to the bathroom to place on the wig. I use a wig cap and an elastic band that is sowed on the inside for a secure hold. I place the unit on my head, adding powder to the parting. In my closet, I take out gray boots, a blue sweater, and dark leggings. Before putting on the leggings, I tuck my tiny wee wee, using Trinity Taylor's, balls in, clear duct tape, and push back method. I strap silicone breasts to my chest, an adhesive item that blends with my skin and have some weight. Adding a girdle to give me a girly shape before crawling into a purple bra and the sweater. I have a stomach, so.... squeeze that fat all the way in, hoe. I put my hair in a high knot and make to get my phone...but pause and remind myself that I broke it. I head to the door, about to leave. But MY dumb ass runs back to get my makeup bag…stupid.

I give a fleeting gaze over my small, carpeted, pack-rat apartment. My heart goes weak. I saved up months, pinched dollar by dollar, living off noodles, crackers, and baloney to afford this place. It may be super untidy, but it is mine...or was mine. I feel tears coming on. All my damn clothes are here...all of my bad hookups. Good sex. My shoe collection, pretty ass dresses too. I give a sweeping, savoring look to the apartment, almost crying. I jerk open the front door angrily and slam it behind me¬, boxing away my home.

My feet descend a long stairway to a snowy parking lot. The sky is cloudy; chilly wind blows my hair like crazy. Shivering. I only have one place of refuge, even though I don’t want to hear an “I told you so.” I wait for the light to cross the street to a bus stop. I need to get away from this ugly ass card guy. How did he even get my number? Was Sam right about me being tracked? The numbers on my wrist were fading, but I knew it by heart. As I wait for traffic to pass, a nice car turns into my apartment's parking lot. A shiny, blue McLaren P1 Coupe. "Damn..." My eyes glue to it in envy. "Damn..." I say again when I see the driver.

This dude looks like a bodybuilder on steroids, about in his 30's, early or late I couldn’t tell. His hair black and cut short, close to a fade, and nicely textured. His beard well-groomed and appeared so soft. The hottie spots that I'm staring. I divert my gaze quick. The car slowly pulls into the lot, its driver’s side window rolls down. My stupid ass stays frozen in place like a deer. I have the light to cross now, but I simply can't move. The driver's gaze makes my lips sizzle.

"Hey, you need to get warm?" he asks provocatively. My penis comes alive, even tucked, it jerks. I check myself out in the car's reflection. I look girly. Good. That gives me enough confidence to engage. I examine his classic face. My eyes carry out a mission of their own, sizing up his bulging muscles. I approach close enough to the car to see his waist, where I spot huge thighs. Hmm, daddy. I try judging how big he could be down there. "You want a taste, baby?" He bites his lip.

I giggle like a schoolgirl and lighten my voice. "I would, but I have a boyfriend and he's a nut case, so...." I lie to provide temptation.

"He doesn't have to know." I examine his face, noticing that his eyes are golden and fierce. He smirks flirtatiously then suddenly becomes serious. "You shouldn't be out looking like this; you'll get raped."

My eyes buck. What...what did he just say?!! I back away from the car. A defensive mode overcomes me. I try to cross the street, but the light is green, and cars zoom by. I can't cross. So, I hurry down the sidewalk like a frantic penguin. I feel him watching me, my skin flares with a hot throb. I glance back as I speed away, becoming more freaked out by the second. The fancy car is now parked in the lot, and he now exits it. I notice his height, he's tall, about 6'5, or 6'4. I observe him, slowing my pace. He's still hot...just a bit off. Who just brings up rape like that???

As I watch him further, I feel my sex drive set its gears from horny to bothered. How he moves is even hot, powerful. I feel my bones go skittish when he nears a complex building. Something is wrong. Where is he going? I watch as the driver heads up the stairs, I just came down minutes ago, his destination: to a unit. My face goes numb and prickly when he kicks in my apartment's door.

By the time I get to Sam's place, it's pouring down cold rain. Great there were already twelve inches of snow…now there’s a mushy, load of white shit on the ground. I have no umbrella, so I take off my sweater and use it as one. I'm not messing up this wig or my makeup bag! I run up a flight of stairs to his apartment: 301. My hands begin banging on the door.

The cold wind blows my wig, causing clunks of hair to come undone from the top knot, throwing it all crazy over my head. I push the hair behind my ears, dropping my makeup bag in a puddle of water. Great....just great. The door opens. "About time! I'm drowning out here!!" I swoop my makeup bag from the ground and toss it on the welcome mat inside.

"Chris?" He says, stunned at my visit. I push my damp hair back, passing him and throwing my soaked sweater out on the porch; it makes a wet plopping sound when it hits the brick foundation. I shut the door, feeling drips of water run down the bare part of my chest that the garment showed, squeezing my breasts. "You look so-"

He was about to compliment me, his eyes in a daze, but I cut him off. "I'm hiding out from that card guy. He found out where I live."

Sam slaps a hand to his forehead. "See! I told you, didn't I? You should've listened and stopped! Have you called the cops?"

"No..." I walk to a wall mirror in his clean dining room, wiping runny eyeliner from around my dark brown eyes.

"Why not?" He crosses his toned arms and puts on a stern face.

"Cause I didn't." I avoid his eyes, looking around the uppity apartment instead. He was too clean, my place looked like a crackhouse and his like a nun's sanctuary. "I did see him, though. I could call," I inform. "Despite being a psycho, he's hot."

"Did you talk to him?!" Sam gives a harsh chuckle.

"Yeah...but in a girl voice though. He had no idea, so chill. Do you have an umbrella? I need to buy a new phone."

"Umm, yeah, I do." He sighs behind me.

"I need a shirt too."

Sam leaves to a hall on the left, going to his bedroom. I was about to follow him, but I stop my feet after a few steps. That's not a good idea. I fix my makeup instead, using my hands to pat it; my hair was now wet and wavy, bushy too. I let it down from the knot; it flows past my shoulders. I kind of like the look; it has a model from the 80's type of vibe. Big puffy, blown-out glamorous hair, all I need is glitter to complete the look. Sam comes back and hands me an over-sized graphic tee of Wonder Woman. He's taller than me. Think Captain America and Black Widow. We had close to that kind of size difference. I'm not juicier than Nat, though. Queen. "Cool, thanks." I put on the shirt; Sam grabs an umbrella hanging beside the door. "Keys?" As I smooth out the shirt, I head to the door and take the umbrella from him and grip the doorknob.

"You're going by yourself?" Concern drowns his voice.

"Yeah."

His shoulders tense. "What if you were followed?"

"I didn't see a car," I reply stubbornly.

"I'll come with you, just in case." He takes a coat from a side closet.

"You mean in case guys hit on me?" I tease. I look down at his hands as he separates what I realize are two black coats. He drapes one around me, which is not my size, it's baggy. I blush when I feel the warmth of his hands on my shoulders...dick be calm and carry on. I clear my throat to break a scolding heat building between us. "Thanks." Rain pounds the ceiling of the apartment for a few seconds. Sam nods and grins crookedly. I pull on the hood of the coat and zip up. His dark green eyes lock on my brown ones. The sensation of butterflies tingles my spine and lips, my mouth waters, forcing me to swallow. "Yeah, let's go."

In a semi-full Walmart, I groove to throwback Thursday songs. Lip syncing the lyrics of "Umbrella" by Rihanna, with much star power. I strut with the buggy, performing ballet twirls and kicks, perfectly on cue with the beat. Sam giggles adorably as I catwalk down each aisle. "You're insane."

"I knoooowwww." I model down the hygiene aisle throwing deodorant and razors into the buggy as if playing basketball. In the next aisle, I toss in body wash and shampoo. "We need to get a bunch of shit before this card gets canceled." I sprint to the face soap aisle and fill my arms up with Biore products. I wobble back to the buggy, my arms outstretched like an eagle with all the items: face scrubs, nose strips, cleansers, and lotions.

After getting hell of shit from the hygiene area to the graphic tee aisle we go. The girls one. I'm small, okay? "I like that one." Sam points at an artsy one with a blue moon on a pale environment. At the bottom, it reads BREATHE.

"Hmm, yea, it's cool." I grab it and toss it into the cart. "Get you something, come on with ya big ass you can't fit anything over here."

"I'm good."

I put my hands on my hips. "It's free money...like duh, get shit."

"Chris-"

"Don't." I take the buggy and ride it away from him, lifting my shoes onto the bar on the bottom. The buggy's wheels streak on mucked up floors. I kick to add more speed. A light drift hits my face, cooling my skin. I smile like a badass kid, ignoring judgmental looks from customers. I turn the corner into the men's aisle and halt the buggy like a race car. A group of three guys stop at the sound of the buggy's squeaking. I save them from getting knocked the fuck out! I laugh, that short anxious laugh? Yeah, that one. My hair falls onto my face as I hop down from the cart...again, feeling like an 80's diva. "My bad," I say lightly.

One of them eyes my boobs through the big shirt I have on. I look down, oh shit, they're all basic, and these kinds of guys don't stop. Each one is uninteresting and sloppily dressed, two are out of shape, and one is slim. The heavyset ones were total gamers. Their dungeons and dragons t-shirts gave that away. They were blonde and brown-haired with loads of acne, and a cart of snacks and soda. The slim one was the best option, if I had to choose between them, a simple blonde guy, a low budget Austin Ames from A Cinderella Story. Despite that, I’m not interested in hooking up in Walmart. I search around desperately, badly in need of an ex machina.

"Hey," ripoff Austin begins. "You here by yourself?"

This shocks me. They seem like the type who only had the guts to try to flirt with a girl through a dating app. You know the kind that is out of your league yet still hits up your DM's? I put on my girly voice. "No, I'm here with my boyfriend." As if sensing my need of rescuing, from behind, Sam turns the corner. I cringe at the awkward stare he gives the guys. A stupid macho claim. Ugh...guys. Plus, we're over as a couple, so he needs to dial it back some. I slyly point to my side, playing along. Sam stands by my side, wrapping an arm around the small of my back, letting his fingers rest on the waistband of my leggings. He tugs me closer. Okay, too much man...chill. "Come on, babe." I poke in the cheesiest tone ever. Sam gets all cocky at the saying of "babe.", I spot his posture strengthen. Oh shit, I milked the cow for sure; now I need to fix it; if not, Sam will bring this hiccup to light later. I roll the buggy forward, passing the guys, giving a wink to the best looking one. This will shut Sam down. I lead the buggy to the men's area, taking his hand from my waist. A straight-up rip off the band-aid move.

Sam places his hands in his pocket as a recovery tactic. "Did you have to wink?" I detect irritation in his voice.

"One of them was cute."

The last things to hit the buggy were more graphic tees, headphones, an iPhone, pizza, Little Debby snacks, cheese puffs, cookie dough ice cream, breakfast food, and wine coolers. Junk every day. At the self-checkout line, Sam and I ring up the food, swiping it over the red light, hearing the excessive beeping. I stop halfway and flag down a cashier. "Umm, I forgot my card, so can I just put in the information?"

The cashier thinks on it for a moment, a little old lady. "I don't think that's allowed, miss."

"I'll get it. Don't worry, thank you anyway." Sam takes out his wallet and pulls out a credit card from a row of eight. The cashier nods apologetically and continues to patrol the area, going away from us and surveying other customers who use the self-scan.

"Why did you do that?! I can get this off the card."

"You said he found out where you lived; he most likely has a tracker for whenever you use it."

"This is too much money for you to spend." Especially since we're not together romantically. I sulk, straining my neck back to stare up at his tall ass. Sam takes a long look at me, either fed up with my stubbornness or secretly adoring it. I can't tell. "This is Walmart; once he gets in here, it'll be too many suspects. I'm using it." I scan the last item from the cart. "I'll write a check." That site gave me the routing and account information, so I can."

"Chris, don't!”

Sam's three girlfriends were over for their routine dirty book Thursday, reading Fifty Shades Of Grey. I only watched the movies and skipped all the dialogue to the sex. The sex that was blah and uninteresting, but I had no problem jerking off tho. I wonder if Christian is gay in an alternate universe, I feel us having the same name link us somehow. In a black and white accented living room, I hand out fruity wine coolers to the guests and take a seat down on a leather sofa, pretending to read my copy of the book. I scan the page for dick, pussy, or fuck, and saw it nowhere and lost interest immediately. This is weak. I finish drinking my second wine cooler, tapping my feet to the music. That's What I Like by Bruno Mars.

"From his inside jacket pocket, he produces a ring and gazes up at me, his eyes bright gray and raw, full of emotion. Anastasia Steele, I love you. I want to love, cherish, and protect you for the rest of my life. Be mine. Always. Share my life with me. Marry me." One of the girls reads in a Shakespearean impression. I smile cutely, not remembering her name, she was a goofy kind of pretty, with pink hair and glasses. Adorkable, if you will, the other two were basic, black haired chicks with attitudes.

These girls were Sam's playthings. Oh, I forgot to mention that he 's bisexual, and girls are a every changing habit of his. I hate keeping up with the new batches he has every few months. It may just be a flavor thing; whenever I ask about it, he just says “he likes variety.” Honestly, Sam is a thot.

My mind begs to leave and free myself of boredom. YAWN. I glance over at Sam and nod towards a pure black kitchen. He follows my gaze, then looks back at me, his green eyes clicking with my signal and reading a non-verbal request. "I'll be right back," Sam tells the girls, sitting down his book on the sofa before getting up. The pink haired one responds with a nonchalant grin, but the other two glare me down as I stood, judging my bare legs under the big t-shirt. This is why I don't come around his toys...unneeded drama.

Into the kitchen, we go. "This is boring; I don't read unless it's work related."

He snorts at this. "What do you want me to do?"

"Kick them out," I say with a straight face and a no joke policy.

He laughs on, doing that thing where one hand holds his stomach. Aww, so cute, my mind goes goo goo. "Wow, just cause you're bored, Chris?" Sam cuts his laughter short when I mean mug him. "Sorry." He clears his throat. "Well, you can hang in my room."

I get salty. I don't wanna be in a room all by myself, especially his room. Unfortunately, this was my only option of freedom from the bitches, excluding the pink haired one. I like her. "FINE!!" I begin to walk away but end up halting and spotting a box of strawberry shortcakes in an opened cabinet. I gaze slyly at Sam, daringly, before snatching the box and speeding off in the big, flowy shirt.

I didn't want to go in his room because I'd fall asleep and we'd end up snoozing off together and dot, dot, dot. NOPE, Not happening again! I'm gonna sleep on the couch, and that's final. He cheated on me three months into our "serious" relationship. Just because I was "working" too much. We decided to remain friends, though, because we had a lot in common and built up our bond. Our connection just isn’t about being attracted to the same sex, but about being crazy about ice skating, Captain America...oh, and George Michael too.

I lay on his bed, tucking a few pillows between my arms-everything smells of cologne, menthol and apple. A too familiar scent. Oh god, that smell... I think back to hugging Sam, to my nose taking in the scent of his bare neck on a summer's night, near a shimmering lake. To my kisses tasting the menthol and apple. My tongue savoring it. Change the subject, CHANGE THE SUBJECT!!! My mind demands bitterly. In the black and white decorated room, I focus on the Walmart bags on a dark dresser. I get up from the bed and wiggle out and unbox the newly bought iPhone. I can set this up, that'll take my mind off of the past. I hum Rise by Selena, as I start up the device. I go to Sam's computer desk, to a MAC, and power it on, taking a seat at a bowl-like swerve chair. I swear he's a fucking show off, get a regular chair.

Music bumps from outside the room, I roll my eyes at the high pitch giggles...overly done giggles. Basic bitches always do too much. The sound annoys me; my feet start tapping. I like living alone, in peace, my semi-introvert ass. Well, not entirely in peace, I talk a lot to no one in particular...to myself. But I ain't a crazy! I log into Sam's computer and type in the password: Sam007*. Then, plug the phone into a connected USB. When the phone loads and welcomes me, I complete the new boot up info, then connect to the WIFI. The first thing I do is pull up the hack card website. I type in the numbers I memorized. My mouth drops at the current balance: $1,000,000.

I daydream about what I could do with a million dollars, while the party booms on outside Sam's bedroom. The room contradicts his party nights. It's a harsh and mature theme of black and white. With this money, I could buy a downtown luxury high rise full of windows, near water, and paint it pastel, happy colors to match my behavior. Sam has nothing colorful around, not even knick-knacks. When we met at TGI Friday's so many summers ago, I didn't want to pursue him because I thought he was straight. He really surprised me.

I pace the room feeling tipsy and end up pausing and cracking up like a hyena at a picture on Sam's dresser. A picture of him as a kid, he had to be about seven at a Halloween party, dressed as a yellow ice cream cone. I grin, snorting goofily. He was a beautiful little boy and an even more beautiful man. I'm surprised his mother didn't sign him up for modeling, especially with those green eyes that burned, and fine face with detailed cheeks. My fat cheeks had a bare minimum structure; you have to really look to spot the lines. Sam also has plump lips, but mines are bigger. His dark, short hair, statuesque nose, and shocking eyes. I mean, a stop in place and stare, shocking. A dazzling smile, perfect teeth...dimples too. God...I haven't thought this much about him for seven months now.

I hear the music turn off from beyond the door. I check the time on my phone-11:00 pm. Muffled voices speak, sounding as if they were saying partings. Laughter echos the hallway. The sound of smooching weighs down on my nerves. I picture Sam kissing each of his girls goodnight before closing the front door. The sound of footsteps near the bedroom door, the knob twists, then it opens slowly. Sam quietly pokes his head in. "Oh, you're still up?"

"Yep."

"Don't you have work?" He steps into the room and spots me lose my balance and his eyebrows furrow. "No more drinking." He says as he crosses his muscular arms.

I goofily sway over to him, feeling euphoric about being a millionaire, and in great need of celebration. "Or what?" My hand grips around his dick. Sam's eyes spark before lowering to my hand on his crotch. He lets out a grunt as I tighten my grip. "Like I thought..." I kneel to unzip and pull down his pants. As I pull down his boxers, I stare up from a medium, circumcised dick...holding it in my hand. He closes his eyes, and his mouth parts, letting out an airy moan. I lick the sides of his tower, my mouth watering. My tongue moistens it, trailing back and forth. I groan as he bites his lip. I lick around his eggplant a bit longer, then place his tip in my mouth. Then suck, tap, lick, rotate, circle, peck, bite, and tongue stroke.

"AHH!" He gasps and grabs the back of my head, thrusting it forward. Sam backs up against the door and leans his head against it, moaning and hyperventilating. "Damn...go harder!" You ain't gotta tell me twice. I take things hardcore, so hard that the skin of his dick taps the back of my throat. I feel his vein against my tongue: so smooth and full of cum, as it sleeks my inner mouth. Due to my firm head strokes, Sam's waist bangs the door, making the knob clang. I push him deeper and harder into my mouth; gagging, hacking on his load. He explodes from his bone straight cock. I slide my lips over his dick, collecting the sweet." Fuck!" He strains his neck upwards.

"Hmmm..." I sing as I swallow his cake mix-gulping, swallowing the treat. I lick him clean, then suck him so hard that I taste a bit of blood. Deep throating, feeling his member passing my uvula, I gag a bit and curve my tongue around his cock.

As I keep a steady pace, Sam grips at the wood of the door, clawing it, moaning louder, longer, erratically. Loud enough that the neighbors could definitely hear. I suck on until he comes again, like a waterfall, it runs my throat. "FUCK, AHHHH!!" This time he yells like a caveman; wildly, and untamed. His nails clutch at the door's wood, which now holds scratch marks. Sam catches his breath through his teeth, staring down at me, his eyes heavy with lust. I wipe the edges of my mouth, satisfied with my celebration.