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Posted on July 16 2012





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Related article: THE DRAMA CLUB, Part 5 `Daddy'THE DRAMA CLUB, Part 5 `Daddy'IFYOU LIKE DRAMA CLUB, consider joining the TragicRabbit list: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/TragicRabbit/?yguid=195216952Drama Club is a work of fiction and all charactersare imaginary. The story involves sexbetween teens so if that's illegal or offensive for you to read, don't.Author retains all rights. DO NOTdownload/copy/post/link to any site or otherwise reproduce this story withoutwritten permission from the author.TragicRabbit does not intend the story to condone any activity or groupthe characters are involved with; likewise, the opinions or actions of thecharacters are not meant to reflect beliefs of the author. `You stand at the blackboard,daddy,In the picture I have of you,A cleft in your chin instead ofyour footBut no less a devil for that, no notAny less the black man whoBit my pretty red heart in two.I was ten when they buried you.At twenty I tried to dieAnd get back, back,back to you.I thought even the bones would do.But they pulled me out of the sack,And they stuck me together with glue...So daddy, I'm finally through.The black telephone's off at theroot,The voices just can't worm through.If I've killed one man, I've killedtwo--The vampire who said he was youAnd drank my blood for a year,Seven years, if you want to know.Daddy, you can lie back now,There's a stake in your fat blackheartAnd the villagers never liked you.They are dancing and stamping onyou.They always knew it was you.Daddy, daddy, you bastard, I'mthrough.'Daddy (Sylvia Plath, 1961)Bobby frowned into his bathroom mirror on Fridaymorning. David Bowie's CD `Heathen'played on the stereo. His tired brainsearched for the day's direction. Shrinkappointment today instead of school. Hell, no, think of something good, hetold himself. Playing Lysander again on stage this evening.He Nude Preteens reached for the excitement he usuallyfelt with a performance but couldn't find it.He came up empty.Bobby studied his reflection and wished he had acigarette. No, that's not right, hethought, I hate cigarettes. At least, I think I hate them.I'm just not sure.Angel smokes. But thenAngel does a lot of things that maybe I don't Nude Preteens want to do.He closed his eyes, shutting out the imagein the mirror. Shutting off.Breakfast was always fun.Mom trying to make conversation with the back of Dad's newspaper.Under-cooked bacon.Burnt toast.Runny eggs. Bobby sat slumped in his chair, pushing food around hisplate with a fork. Morning lightangled in through white curtains onto the polished surface of the table,catching bright on the open jars to prism out a jellied rainbow onto the wall:plum, mint, and apple. His mothercoughed delicately, looking over at him.She was so lame.Bobby looked up from his eggs and into her eyes.She smiled Nude Preteens at him, a really fake kind ofsmile that looked as if she'd just coughed it up.God, I wish I hadn't told them, he thought.I can't believe I did that, that I just...toldthem. I want to go back and do it overagain. And.Not. Tell.Home was like the moon now: cold, dim-litand lifeless. And it was fucking hardto breathe.Mom smiled again and spoke through her mask. "Are youlooking forward to Sunday night with Alison?" Bobby pushed the last of the eggs into the mint jelly on hisplate. His father had put down thenewspaper. Bobby looked up from theplate. His father's narrowed eyeslooked dark, almost black. His lips were pressed tightly together."Um, Mom, I don't even know Alison.""I know, dear, but she's a nice girl and you'll have a goodtime. You should take her to amovie. Would you like to call her tofind out Nude Preteens what she wants to see?" Dad watched. He'sbeen watching me since I told him, thought Bobby.Staring at me but saying nothing.Saying nothing at all. Notonce since Tuesday night, not once, has he said a single word to me.His son isn't queer, that much he hadcommunicated. He was communicating thatright now, in fact. Watching me.Bobby's mother spoke again."Oh, honey, I almost forgot! We went looking online for somehelp for you, I mean, well, you know, some...well...information." Her face lookedas if a cockroach had crawled into her food and she was trying to make the bestof it. Unwilling to say anything, unwillingto stir things up. Mom always saidthat. `Let's don't stir things up.' That's exactly what Bobby had done Tuesday night.He'd stirred things up.Just a couple of words, really.Those same words were on the cover of an oldTime magazine that Angel had, along with a picture of Ellen Degeneres.Apparently, it was a big deal back then whenshe said it. It was still a bigfucking deal; so much so that when Bobby said it to his parents, when he saidthose couple of words, The Sky Fell In.Mom was rummaging around in her piles of paper on thekitchen counter. She suddenly held up afolder in triumph, smiling that plastic smile."Found it!" She brought the folder over to the table, brushing aside thedebris of breakfast. She laid it openin front of him. He looked at her anddown to the Nude Preteens sheaf of printouts inside.Bright colors. `Tired of the Confusion?' asked one."Whocan blame you?' it answered; and on another, `I think I might be gay...' with a picture of smiling teen boys.Bobby sifted through the pages."But if a wickedman turns away from all the sins he has committed and keeps all my decrees anddoes what is just and right, he will surely live; he will not die. None of theoffenses he has committed will be remembered against him. Because of therighteous things he has done, he will live.Do I take any pleasure in the death of the wicked? declares theSovereign LORD. Rather, am I not pleased when they turn from their ways andlive? (Ezek 18:21-23 NIV)"`A Parent's Guide ToPreventing Homosexuality'`Change ISpossible...discover how!' `Freedom fromhomosexuality through the power of Jesus Christ.' Bobby looked up from the printouts to his mother's nervousface. His thoughts were confused, a jumbleof images. He felt his father's eyesboring into him. Bobby was breathingfaster; rapid, shallow breaths. Ryan's face last night in the parking lot.`Faggot.'Angel in the wings: half-undressed, erect and arching back his slenderneck. Jaye naked in his bed lastsummer, laughing, eyes dancing. Hisfather's voice on Tuesday night, `Goddamqueer.' The kitchen air felt thin.Bobby looked down and read."Everyone is on ajourney to find out who they really are. You are not the only one. There are somany messages out there. Different voices yell what's right and what's wrong.They try to tell you who you are and who you should be. It can be loud, chaoticand confusing."Welcome to Exodus International.Gene crushed out his cigarette and walked back to the debateroom, leaving Angel against the wall outside the building.Friday mornings were a bitch during debateseason. Half a day at school then longdrives or flights to the weekend's tournament in some damn prep school.His new partner, Matthew, wasn't due in townfor another week so Gene was debating maverick this weekend, which just made itworse. He loved debate but didn't loveit as much on Friday mornings. Hereally needed some caffeine. Time fora Dr. Pepper. He jingled the coins inhis pocket, feeling for quarters. The cell phone in his pocket buzzed, ticklinghis thigh."Yo." Michael ofcourse. Gene shook his head, smiling."You're a sick puppy, you do know that don't you, Michael?"Gene said to the phone while he pulled evidence folders out to sort.He had a new case to fine tune before thefirst round at six tonight. He had adecent chance of qualifying for state this weekend if he could get this newaffirmative case ready. Why did Michaelalways call when he was trying to work? It could be oh-dark-hundred and Michaelwould still show up to chat. He laughed to himself."Yeah, yeah" said Michael."What're you up to?""My weapons of mass destruction case is here in front of mein forty different folders and I have maybe two hours before we leave.So whatever it is, Mikey, the answer is no."Gene grinned as he spoke into the mic cord, shuffling rapidly through evidencecards. He heard Michael laughing andthe sound of a car engine shutting off."Hey, Mike, you're not at school yet are you?"The other boychuckled. "Gene, I'm five seconds from you.And I have chocolate sprinkled doughnuts and two mocha lattes.So, shut up.And DON'T call me Mikey, dammit!""Dumb jock.""Debate geek," countered Michael.Gene laughed."Just get that go-juice in here before I hurt you,Mikey. I was just about to murdersomeone for a DP.""Fuck you, Gene." Michael said into the phone mic as hepushed open the door with his foot, his hands full.Gene looked up at Michael's sleepy green eyes."Uh-huh. Hand overthe coffee, dumbass, it's too early for your shit.I had maybe four hours sleep last night and this crap isn't gonnasort itself."Michael set the box down and carefully moved neat stacks offolders over to create a bare space on the worktable.The debate coach was out of his office and they were alone in thedebate room. It was fairly spare withshelves along two walls filled with recent trophies and four long tables downthe center. The only decoration otherthan tournament notices and flyers from debate camps was the frayed`Bladerunner' movie Nude Preteens poster that Michael had tacked to one wall last year.That and two dusty fake plants from somestupid school function. Debaters have no sense of style, thoughtMichael, for the thousandth time. Genewas sucking down hot coffee through the open cup lid and rummaging around inthe doughnut box. Gene's expression wasso typical, the debater had never been much of a morning person."Okay, jockstrap, where're the twists?""They were out, Gene, so shut the fuck up about it and takeone. Show some appreciation for myefforts, why dontcha?" Michael pulled a chair around and sat backwards in it,facing Gene's tidy piles of work, and reached for a doughnut.Gene smacked his hand away with a smile andleaned back, holding aloft a doughnut loaded with chocolate sprinkles."Ahhh, chocolate doughnuts and Starbuck's.The breakfast of champions.You're a prince, Mikey.""Yanno what, Gene? I can take these somewhere they'll beappreciated" Michael said with a grin. "And that would be just about anywherebut here, I'm thinking."Gene put down his coffee and faced Michael.He leaned in and lightly kissed Michael'slips, and then pulled back. Michaelblushed.With a shy smile Michael said, "You're such a bastard,Gene." Gene grinned. "Dumb jock."Michael rolled his eyes. "Don't push your luck." Bobby hunched down in the psychiatrist's padded leatherchair, his hands thrust in pockets. A smallblack tape recorder sat on the desk beside him.The woman sitting across from him was at least fifty and wore anavy silk suit, her gray hair twisted into a loose chignon.She took no notes, merely watching Bobby asthe tape captured their session. Therewasn't much on it so far. He washaving trouble organizing any of his feelings into sentences beyond the ideathat he Nude Preteens didn't want to be there. Thatmessage, she'd gotten right away. Thiswas completely his parents' idea. Shesighed. "Bobby, maybe we can try to start again with how you feelabout your father."He stared at the floor without speaking."Bobby, why do you think you're here?"He shrugged."I understand that you think you're gay." Bobby sat up in the chair, pulling his hands out of hispockets and crossing them over his chest, eyes still downcast.He frowned."I don't think I'mgay. I am."She nodded. "Tell me what you're feeling right now."He snorted. "I'm feelingthat this whole thing is a waste of time.I'm gay and my parents don't like it.That's too bad but that's how it is.""Why do you think your parent's don't like it?"Bobby shrugged."Do they often `not like' things about you?"He shifted in the chair."I guess. I dunno."She waited.Bobby spoke slowly. "Well, okay, I dunno.I mean...okay, no, usually they don't reallycare. I mean they care but they don'tmind. I mean it's usually okay.Whatever I do.I mean...I guess they love me and all that type of stuff."She paused and then spoke. "Bobby, do you have troublesleeping?"He looked up sharply but said nothing."Bobby? Can you sleep?"He looked at his folded arms and took a breath."Bobby? How did you sleep last night?"He shook his head without looking up."Alright, Bobby, let's talk about your father.How do you think he feels about you rightnow?"He glanced up at her with a scowl."Do you think he's worried about you?"Silence."Do you think your father is worried about you, Bobby?"He shrugged his shoulders."Bobby..."Do you think your father has a reason to be worried rightnow?"Bobby watched his sneakers as he pushed them back and forthacross the thick carpet pile."Bobby, do you know any other boys your Nude Preteens age who think theymight be gay?"He jerked his head towards her and exhaled hard."Bobby..." her voice dropped low, intimate. "How did you sleeplast night, Bobby?"He lowered his eyes in silence."Bobby...""Bobby..." Her voice was very soft and gentle. "How do youfeel right now, Bobby?"Tears filled his eyes.He slid further down in the chair without looking at Nude Preteens her."Bobby...""Bobby...when was the last time you felt happy?"A sob choked up from his throat and he stifled it.Tears formed in his eyes and he felt soangry, so weak and so angry. And hefelt..."Scared. I'm...I'mscared" he whispered. "I'm really,really scared."Bobby buried his face in the leather of the chair and cried."I should have been a pair of ragged clawsScuttling across the floors of silentseas."TheLove Song of J. Alfred Prufrock (T.S. Eliot, 1917)Fridays in Drama Major Studies during a performance weekwere always disorganized; a charged kind of madness, and today was noexception. Techies crawled out on beamsto adjust lights and had periodic sound checks that echoed strangely throughthe empty house of the theatre. Actorspaced the stage, talking to themselves and counting steps to each mark,ignoring the chaos around them. Lisaand Lori sat cross-legged in the wings, stage left, their laps full of gauzycostumes, needle and scissors in hand.Suspended over it all, in the back of the house, the tech booth wascrowded with techies talking through headsets to their compatriots scatteredaround the theatre. John, also with aheadset, moved in and out of the bustle, unobtrusive and quiet.Ms. Robi held court in the drama room,ringed by teenagers lying against one another on the floor, a few inchairs. Angel finished his cigarette alone in silence, eyeing thedrama ducks, after Gene left the smoking area.He was a little tired lately of people and their attitudes.Gene was hard to figure out, though, andAngel wondered what Gene really thought of him.Not that it mattered.Gene the Machine. He alwaysseemed so aloof and unruffled, as if nothing really bothered him or, morelikely, he just didn't care about any one around him.Most of the debaters were a little like that; a little distant,always a little preoccupied. Angel had played Spades for hours with some of them throughendless after school hours but couldn't really say he was close to anydebater. Cigarette breaks and Spadesdidn't entirely Nude Preteens make up for other differences.Debaters and drama kids just weren't the same species.Gene could get under his skin, though, withjust a look, raising that Spock eyebrow and smiling.Made him feel like he was under a microscope, made himnervous. Gene was such a jerk.Blushing, he remembered last night's dreamand flicked away his cigarette. Time togo in.Angel walked through the drama room, past the kidssurrounding Ms. Robi attentively, and out into the shop.The loading bay door was up, letting in theearly sunshine. Trey, wearing safety goggles, leaned over Anthony, showing himhow to run the large saw. The noise wastremendous, stopping and starting, a bright whir.Angel could tell Tony wasn't paying close attention.He kept pressing back into Trey and tryingto wiggle, unobtrusively, a smile on his lips.Trey Nude Preteens ignored him. There wasnothing funny about safe shop procedures.Jenny held the long board Trey was working on, shaking her headoccasionally at Anthony. Boys.Angel went into the boys' dressing room, looking forsomeplace quiet, not an easy thing to find during the run of a show.Flicking on the makeup lights, he looked atthe chairs lined against the mirrored cabinet, pulled one out and sat downheavily. Angel sighed.His reflection looked a little tired.Too many things happening, too many thingsalways happening, and then there were those damn dreams.He thought of Bobby, wondering whether he'dseen that stupid shrink yet. I hate parents, thought Angel.Although he really didn't, his Mom wascool...for a Mom. He remembered hisfather and gave a slight shudder. Angelshook his head to clear it, black hair falling over his face.He leaned down onto his arms, against thecountertop, and closed his eyes. Angel heard a faint noise and sat up, looking aroundhim. The noise came again: a muffledthump and what sounded like a Nude Preteens gasp.Angel smiled and stood up, listening intently.A low moan was quickly hushed.Angel grinned, feeling his groin respond.Curious, and feeling the first tingle of arousal, Angel slippedsoftly through the dressing area and into the showers, alert and watchful.The area seemed empty until he reached the showers, eachstall separated by a tile partition. Heremembered Jaye on his knees after dress rehearsal and felt himself grow harder,his cock lengthening, pressing tight against his jeans.He moved further in and looked into the lastshower stall.Doug had little Camille flat against the wall, her handsunder his and held high against the tiles.Neither face was visible. Her longblack skirt was hiked up and Doug was between her raised legs, his pants pusheddown to his ankles, thrusting into her.His short black hair glistened with sweat as his bottom clenched intoeach forward movement, thrusting again and again.God, Doug Nude Preteens had agorgeous ass, thought Angel, unable to stop his hand from reaching to thefront of his jeans. Angel strokedhimself through the denim; his mind gone blank, eyes focused on thelovers. Camille let out another lowmoan and writhed, pulling her legs higher and wrapping her feet around Doug'sback, pressing up his shirt, baring more of his flesh.A trail of fine hair between those smoothcheeks drew Angel's eye. Magnetic,Doug's tight bottom looked inviting: gleaming with sweat, muscles clenching andrelaxing in a rapid, slowly increasing rhythm. Camille moaned again and Doug'space quickened. Breaths rapid, Angelsqueezed and stroked himself, perversely enjoying the feel of constriction inhis jeans. With a soft cry, Doug thrust hard once into Camille andshuddered, shoving her up against the tile wall with his larger body.Her legs tightened around his back as shepulled him closer in climax. Doug held still inside her, panting, sweatdripping from his hair and skin, as the shocks passed through his body.Suddenly embarrassed, Angel pulled silently back andhesitated. Still painfully hard andbreathing fast, he opened the door and left the now quiet dressing room.He stood in the shop, trying to slow hisragged Nude Preteens breathing, watching Anthony still snuggling back against an obliviousTrey in front of the jigsaw table. Tonysaw Angel looking and winked.This really was onehell of a confusing Friday."I have seen the moment of my greatness flicker,And I have seen the eternal Footman holdmy coat, and snicker,And in short, I Nude Preteens was afraid."The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock (T.S. Eliot, 1917)Bobby sat slumped into the sofa in his parent's living room,watching the television without expression, seeing nothing.His mother moved around in the kitchen,making little domestic sounds that he normally wouldn't notice.He noticed everything today.This house, his home since birth, feltforeign; a wasteland where familiar things cast unfamiliar shadows.His Dad was home, Bobby knew.It was as if he were holding his breath, as if he were nervousnot knowing where, exactly, his father was in the house, as if he needed to be onguard in some inexplicable way. Hisfather had never been violent, this feeling was irrational, he toldhimself. And still he felt tense.The TV screen flickered in his vision buthe couldn't have said what it was that he was watching.A shadow fell across Bobby and his father stood in front ofhim, blocking the television screen but he knew better than to object.He slowly looked up into his father'sface. His father regarded himsilently, his face unreadable. Bobbyhesitated, then spoke."Dad?"The older man studied him impassively, standing legs-apartin military fashion, hands behind his back.Bobby remembered when he was little, before his father had retired fromservice, and how, without fail, he'd always come to his son's room and saidgoodnight. It was the last thing heknew before sleep took him and had been so comforting.Whenwas the last time he did that, wondered Bobby.When did I get to be tooold, too grownup? "Dad? I'm sorry if I've...disappointed you.I..." he stared into his father's eyes,looking for something, "Dad, I love you." He finished simply.His father didn't answer, didn't change hisexpression. Bobby stood up, in front of his father.He'd once Nude Preteens thought of him as so very tall butnow Bobby actually had to look down to his father.He winced, wondering if he'd been wrong to stand.Their eyes met."Dad?"Nothing in his father's face or body changed, it was as ifhe hadn't spoken."Dad? Please, Dad?"His father's body grew tense and his breathing changed, cominga little faster, his face flushed as his gaze grew steely.The older man drew a deep breath and pulledback, eyes narrowing at his son. His father's face seemed to change as hestared into Bobby's eyes. Without a word, he pulled back and struck Bobby hard acrossthe face with his open hand, knocking the boy aside and against the sofa.Without any further indication of interest,he turned from his son, who was shaking on the floor, and left.Bobby heard the door to his father's studyclose quietly. He was dazed, breathingrapidly. His shoulders shook and hishands trembled as he raised them to his face.He hit me, thoughtBobby numbly. No, he didn't `hit' me, he...slapped me.He slapped his son's face.His father couldn't possibly have expressed his contemptmore clearly. Bobby's chest felt as ifit were a rock, solid and painful inside him.He leaned into the sofa and cried, hard and from the heart, for thesecond time that day. Later, Bobby lay across his bed surrounded by the printoutshis mother had given him, reading erratically, skipping from page to page,section to section. He thoughts feltvague, his mind a kind of white blank. I really could use a Nude Preteens cigarette, hethought. Angel sometimes leaves a packin the bedside drawer but he hadn't been here in over a week.Bobby had money but couldn't even imaginethe energy it might take to dress, get in his car and drive to the 7-11.He wasn't even sure he had the strength toget up and go to the toilet. He reallyneeded to take a piss but his arms and legs felt heavy, weak.He pushed the printouts around, reading bitsof advice from each but nothing coherent, nothing complete. One offered thethought, `I always want the other guysand men to notice me...'`Wanting to be noticedby men may simply be a matter of wanting to know that you are accepted by them,that you are OK. Perhaps your father didn't live with you, or was too busy withwork to pay much attention to you. Perhaps you feel that you can't get hisapproval no matter how hard you try. Maybe he called you names and pushed youaround. Whatever the case, if your dad didn't tell you that you mattered, thatyou are important to him, it's no surprise that you want men to notice you.'Bobby frowned Nude Preteens and shifted on the bed. ` If there's adad-shaped space in your heart that hasn't been filled, face that pain withsomeone you trust. It is not wrong to look for some attention, we all need it.Find healthy, godly, men and women who will accept you and treat you withrespect.' Bobby exhaled and pulled another sheet to him.Whydid these people all have to sound sopolite? `When you really badlywant a man to hug you or hold you close, don't panic and think that you mightbe gay. Check out what you are feeling and what you really need. Don't sellyour soul for a Nude Preteens moment of closeness.' Bobby closed his eyes and lay down onthe pillow. He wasn't even sure hebelieved in a soul, not in his Nude Preteens own soul anyway.What did all this shit mean?He pushed himself up reluctantly and went into his bathroom, turning on thelight automatically. He finished and flushed, closing the lid and sittingdown. Bobby stared at the white tilesand fluffy blue bathmat. His brainseemed to wander, picking at thoughts listlessly.He looked up at the small clock on the wall.Howlong had he been sitting here? He felt a drowsy sort of confusion, alethargy that filled his limbs and heart and mind.He had a funny feeling, a funny sort of pleasure in doingnothing, thinking nothing. He felt asif someone else was directing his body, as if he was on some kind ofautopilot. He looked down at what he'dpicked up from the counter.An amber plastic bottle of sleeping pills, almost full."DyingIs an Art, like everything else." LadyLazarus (Sylvia Plath, 1961)[End of Part 5]Thanksagain for your support! I'm still learning and all of you are helping me even if it's just byreading Drama Club or joining the list, but the emails really keep me going TragicRabbit11aol.comOther fiction/poetry by Tragic Rabbit, including theDrama Club spoof chapter `The Farewell Tour' and regular Drama Club chaptersbefore they hit Nifty are available only at: www.awesomedude.comIF YOU LIKE DRAMA CLUB, consider joining theTragicRabbit list:http://groups.yahoo.com/group/TragicRabbit/?yguid=195216952
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