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In My Skin: So It Begins

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This is my first submission, and I would very much appreciate helpful feedback! It starts a bit slow, but I wanted to really establish these characters and let you guys get a feel for them before we got to the more erotic aspect. I felt that the characters’ relationship deserved more than that. This is only Part One. Much more to come!!

Thank you all in advance! xx

The Boy

Remmy: 2007

Why my mother thinks that we need a housekeeper, I will never understand. I am more than capable of taking care of- and cleaning up after- myself. On top of all of that, the idea of somebody anywhere near my things gives me anxiety. So I’ve told her that my room is strictly off limits. My mother has tried to tell her otherwise, but I think that she’s more afraid of me than my mother. I understand why. She once rearranged my desk and I had to count to ten so that I didn’t murder her.

But today is different. Today I’ve decided that maybe the housekeeper can stick around. Today she’s brought the boy with her.

Her son is my age- and beautiful. Jackson.

“Jacks,” he corrects her and extends his hand toward me.

What eighteen year old shakes hands?

I don’t hesitate to accept his offered hand. His handshake is firm as I introduce myself, “Raymond,” and I’m sure I have a goofy, embarrassed grin on my face as my voice cracks. I have the joys of being a late bloomer.

I take in his appearance as he smiles back at me. He is quite beautiful. His dark hair is a curly mop on the top of his head, it’s obvious that he tried to make it look intentional. His skin is lightly tanned, a smattering of freckles is dusted over his cheeks and nose. His smile is genuine, showing off his braced teeth. The cosmetic necessity is quite adorable. Then I meet his eyes. They’re a blue that I’ve only ever seen in a box of crayons- never on a person. They are warm and friendly.

Beautiful.

His mother says something that pulls his attention elsewhere. He takes his hand from mine, and I am suddenly mortified that I’ve held it this long. I go back to my homework at the bar as his mother introduces him to my mother, who has just arrived home. I take the opportunity to take in the rest of him. He’s tall- probably around my height. His build is slim, but athletic. That explains the tan.

I notice, with some surprise, that he is very well dressed. A navy sweater that looks to be cashmere over a polo button up. His jeans are designer. His loafers are spotless.

How much do we pay his mother?

I notice- with even more embarrassment- that his eyes are on me. They hold an emotion that I’m not completely familiar with. Appreciation?

No.

Later I’m cross legged in front of the T.V. My attention is completely consumed with my game. I’m completely oblivious to the approaching Jackson, who plops himself beside me without hesitation. I startle and end up dying.

“Fuck!” I turn to snap at my distraction, but forget my rage when I see the grin on his face.

He pulls off my headset. The kind has balls.

“I didn’t know that you gamed,” he sounds mystified.

“Why would you,” I snap, finding some of my forgotten rage, “We’ve known each other for about two seconds.”

He scoffs, “are you kidding? I’ve known you as long as my mom has worked here,” at my confused expression he adds, “she doesn’t have many friends- and likes to talk a lot.”

I shake my head and snatch my headset from him. Cute or not, he cost me a kill.

“Can I join?”

I look at him, a bit leery. I’m not exactly polite when it comes to competition.

He scoffs at me again, his expression takes on arrogance, “unless you’re too scared….”

I bark a laugh, “Not hardly,” I assure him before getting up to get the spare controller. When I turn back to throw it at him, I immediately notice where his line of sight was rested- my ass. But, I’ve turned around. So now he’s eye level with my crotch. His eyes snap up to mine, and a flush covers his face- mirroring mine, I’m sure. But he doesn’t look the least bit ashamed to have gotten caught.

I quickly toss him the controller and join him back on the floor before I have time to over think.

“Prepare to get your ass whipped,” I joke in an attempt to lighten the mood.

I could very well be insane- I almost hope that I was hearing things. But I could very well swear on my life that his response was ‘with pleasure.’ But his voice was too low for me to be one hundred percent certain.

Hours passed as if it had only been a few minutes. I learned more about the beautiful boy next to me than I ever had about my closest friend. He opened up to me like a well read novel, and I very much enjoyed what I read. His birthday put him in the class beneath mine, but he was at the top of it- he goes to my rival school across town. His GPA is above a 4.0 because of the AP classes that fill his schedule. He plays starting varsity baseball and soccer. He wants to attend USC and major in film, or English- he has yet to make up his mind. He loves classic novels, Hardy and Dickens. His favorite bands are a long list casino şirketleri of names I’ve never heard. He’s the first in line at ever Harry Potter and Marvel midnight premiere. His mother would prefer that he pick a more practical hobby- there’s the choice to play sports that he couldn’t be less interested in. She would also prefer that he pick a more practical major, like business. But his heart isn’t in it. His soul is kind, and he’s earnest, and passionate. He’s also managed to make me laugh harder than I knew that I could.

“Well that was embarrassing,” I laugh as he manages to completely massacre me at my favorite game. I’m not actually upset. Usually I’d be pissed, but that was the most pleasurable string of losses that I have ever had the pleasure of taking. I’d be more than happy to lose a thousand more times if it meant that I could spend more time with Jackson.

The Interview

Remmy: 2017

My suit jacket and slacks are a slightly different shade of black, and I know it, but you can’t tell in the mirror. I’m hoping that nobody else would notice. I simply didn’t have the money to rent a matching suit on such short notice. So I just worked with what I had. I search the pits of my memory to figure out how to knot my tie properly. After about ten failed attempts, I end up just Googling it. The result is passable at best.

It doesn’t matter. I’ve run out of time, and I still need to get a cab.

You’d figure that in the city with about a million cabs, it would be a little bit easier to get one. But for ever one cab, there’s about five people trying to hail it. The one with the littlest regard for the feelings of others gets to be on time to wherever it is that they are constantly rushing off to. In this case, it only took me two tries before I was too pissed to lose the little game.

I arrive to Monroe and Associates exactly early enough to make a good impression without looking like a brown nosing asshole. The building is sleek and modern on the outside, but dated and inviting on the inside; nothing like I expected. M&A is told to house the most ruthless, terrifying lawyers that exist. I expected something a little more intimidating. The woman at the front desk was even more of a surprise. She was middle aged, round, and pink in the cheeks. She looks like everybody’s favorite aunt. As I approach I see that her desk is decorated with framed pictures of a variation of cats.

Very predictable.

“Rosa?” I great her. This must be the woman that I scheduled my interview with.

She looks up at me from her computer with warm, maternal eyes, “Well hello Mr. Santiago. I thought that you sounded handsome on the phone,” she greats me with no filter. She smiles, and her full cheeks turn her eyes into happy little slits. I love her immediately, “you’re a bit early, but Mr. Andrews loves that. Let me tell him that you’re here. Go ahead and take a seat. He should be down here shortly.”

I give her my mega watt smile and nod my thanks. Her cheeks turn an even more adorable shade of pink as turn and make my way to a small seating area filled with tacky floral arrangements and mix-match chars. The entire place is huge, but it screams 90’s, like somebody’s mother or grandmother had there way with it twenty years ago, and nobody’s gotten around to changing it. Its quite surprising considering the amount of business that M&A does. Mr. Monroe is one of the most successful lawyer in country, representing the defendant in all of the most high profile cases in the past five years. He never loses. So why wouldn’t this be my first choice after graduation? Well, two years after graduation. I needed to get some wins under my belt before I made a fool of myself interviewing for the most powerful firm in the city. They were strangely eager to invite me. I got a call only two days after submitting my resume. I haven’t done a whole lot, just some public defense and referrals. But I have yet to lose. Maybe that piqued their interest.

I can’t overthink it. It would only wear more on my already substantial nerves.

I’ve only just sat down when a petite, immaculately dressed woman with raven hair comes to retrieve me, “Mr. Andrews is just getting out of a meeting with a potential client, and will be meeting us in his office.”

I follow her to the elevator. It’s a quick ride to the second to last floor of the 11 story building. The top floor is completely occupied by Mr. Monroe. The 10th floor is Mr. Andrews’s. The elevator is much more what I would expect for a building such as this. Its all reflective silver and sleek. I make eye contact with my reflection and attempt a look of confidence. I settle for not completely terrified. We step out of the elevator and for a moment I’m confused. We’ve stepped out into what looks like a completely different building. It’s another lobby of sorts; this one is all pale whites and greys, with the occasional black accent. Its all clean lines, and modern design- much more fitting to the outside of the building.

The petite woman- whos name I never asked- leads me to a glass office whos blinds are pulled closed. Without casino firmaları a word, she gestures for me to enter and walks back down the hall toward the lobby.

I enter the vast office that’s decorated exactly as the rest of the floor. Before I can take in anything else, Mr. Andrews stands from where he was perched behind his glass desk to great me. And just like that, all the breath leaves my lungs. It may have been 11 years, but I could never forget that face even if I tried.

The beautiful boy. My beautiful boy.

Jackson.

The Boy

Jacks: 2007

I feel like I’ve known this boy as long as my mother has worked for the Sontiagos. She really doesn’t have anybody else to talk to. She doesn’t have enough time for friends. She keeps herself busy with work to distract her from the fact that my father is gone- again. So just like with every other family, I know them as well as she does. You learn the dirtiest little secrets about people when you clean up after all of there messes. But the boy doesn’t seem to have any. She’s quite fond of him. He doesn’t let her clean up after him, and asks very little of her. But he’s never been anything but kind to her. She says that he’s bright. He falls into the shadow of his older brother who has already done everything that he has tried to accomplishment. But that doesn’t keep him from doing everything in his capabilities to make his parents proud of him. He is strong willed and witty. All according to my mother, of course.

I don’t understand why my mother insists on introducing me as Jackson.

“Jacks,” I correct her. I stick out my hand for a handshake, because I can think of nothing better to do with my hands; and I feel the strangest need to experience his touch. But we are sixteen. So this is a rather strange gesture. I only realize that after he takes my outstretched hand.

Why didn’t I just put them in my pockets??

As soon as our hands touch, I’m glad that I didn’t. It’s somehow satisfying to have his hand in mine, in a way that I don’t exactly understand.

His smile is disarming, “Raymond,” he says as his voice cracks in the most endearing way. It sounds more like an older man’s name, but somehow it’s fitting for him. I like it. He doesn’t immediately take his hand out of mine, which I’m strangely grateful for.

He’s my height with a thin build, but he isn’t gangly in the slightest. His skin is a light tan. His almost black hair is stick straight and hangs over his eyes like he doesn’t care. My fingers itch to brush it out of the way so that I can see his eyes more clearly. His eyes are a beautiful, deep, thoughtful brown. They have an unheard of curiosity in them. They look even deeper next to his caramel skin.

He’s beautiful.

For some reason my brain doesn’t register at all that this isn’t a normal thought process for me. It doesn’t seem the least bit strange to me that I find this boy attractive, that I’m looking it him the way that I once looked at Mary. I refuse to let myself overthink.

When my mother pulls me away to introduce me to Mrs. Santiago I’m reluctant to let go of his hand. He looks embarrassed as he quickly rips his hand from mine. Why? Could he not tell that I wasn’t exactly eager to end the contact?

He takes his place back at the bar in front of his homework. I notice that he dresses as if he doesn’t care. For somebody that is suppose to be so outspoken and outgoing, he doesn’t exactly present himself that way. In such a nice house with such nice things, I would think that he would be dressed a bit more like myself, not in Nike running pants, and an oversized hoodie.

I couldn’t help but jump on the opportunity to spend more time with this beautiful boy. While continuously beating him game after game- I’m pretty sure that he was letting me win- I got to know even more about him. He’s very bright. The kind of mind that is intensified by his quick wit, and sharp tongue. He knows all of my favorite authors as much as I do. He wants to go to whichever ivy league that offers him the most academic scholarships. He dreams of Harvard, but doesn’t judge me in the slightest when I tell him that I want to go to school for something that I’ll never actually have a future in. His spare time is spent at the piano, or getting ahead in class; but his eyes light up slightly at the mention of Marvel. He has a smart response for everything that I say. But he genuinely listens when I speak. He asks questions, and is actually eager to hear my answers. I don’t want our time together to end.

When he sets his controller down and admits his defeat, my heart begins to accelerate. I don’t want to go. If I have to, I want to be sure that I’ll see him again. I’ve never had to ask to see somebody again. I’m always asked when hanging out with my group of friends. I want to ask. But the words are stuck in my throat. It’s dark outside, and I can hear my mother finishing dinner in the kitchen- did he skip dinner?- and I start to panic.

Luckily, he saves me, “So what are you doing this weekend?” I’m so surprised that I take a second too long to respond güvenilir casino and he backpedals, “I just, there’s a new DC movie coming out, and I need somebody to hate it with me. You don’t have to, I’m sure that a bunch of us will go. I just thought that-“

“Sure,” I interrupt him, “I was going to go anyways. May as well not go by myself.” I attempt to not sound as eager as I am to see him again.

Saturday comes entirely too slow. My week seems too dull, that makes my expectations for today even higher. My friends seem much less interesting now. I don’t know what’s happening to me. I never obsess over anything like this. But I cannot seem to get this kid out of my head. I don’t seem to mind it even one bit.

I am bewitched.

My eagerness falters slightly when I remember that he’s invited a group of his friends. But I can deal. I was dumb enough to ask what time the show was when I was there Monday. I could have I could have used it as a way to get his phone number. Then I wouldn’t have to find an excuse to ask for it tonight. Maybe he’ll offer, or ask for mine- save me like he did last time I lost the ability to form a sentence.

I can’t seem to contain myself anymore and find myself leaving entirely too early. But my heart leaps inside my chest when I see him waiting outside of the cinema. He’s dressed quite differently than the last time that I saw him. His oversized hoodie has been replaced with a sky blue button up that looks tanned skin. As I approach him, I realize that he’s standing by himself.

He must see the confusion on my face, because his full lips spread into a sheepish grin, “I guess we’ll be hating this one alone. My friends all ha something better to do.”

I can’t help the smile that threatens to rip my face in half. I could not be happier that it’s just the two of us. That way I get his undivided attention, I try to keep my tone casual, “fine by me.”

What’s wrong with me? Here I am obsessing over this guy- for reasons that I don’t completely understand- and he probably has a girlfriend. But, wait? Does that matter? I’m not beguiled by him for reasons like that. Am I? Hell, I think that he’s beautiful. But there’s nothing wrong with that. I just want to be friends with this kid. Right? Right. Right?

I don’t think so. But the thought isn’t unsettling or scary to me. Even though I feel like it should be. I mean, there’s nothing wrong with that. But I’m just not like that. I’ve never thought of another guy like this in my entire life. But I can’t help but appreciate his ass in his fitted khakis as he turns to purchase his ticket.

Dude, just because you’re thinking of him like this doesn’t mean that it’s mutual.

The thought sends a stabbing pain through my stomach. The girlfriend thought returns to me as well. I hadn’t even considered it. That would make things easier, wouldn’t it? Then I really wouldn’t have to worry about anything. We can just be friends. I would want to keep him as a friend regardless. My mind is in a million places. I don’t even notice that he’s bought my ticket for me until he turns to hand it to me with a guilty expression on his face.

Friends do that for each other all the time. That’s normal.

I don’t even hesitate to head straight for the concessions. He follows closely behind me. His eyes scan the candy with childlike enthusiasm. I can’t fight my pleasure when he picks up the Sour Patch Kids- my favorite candy. When we reach the front of the line I yank it from his hand and set it on the counter, with a box for myself.

He splutters in surprise, “Jackson, you don’t need to do that…”

I usually hate it when people use my full name, but hearing him say it sets a pool of warmth through my chest, “just as you didn’t need to by my ticket,” I give him a sideways glance, but he still looks uncomfortable, “believe me, it’s my pleasure.”

I then have the treat of watching a flush crawl across his cheeks, and it really does give me pleasure to see him so pleased.

I order a large popcorn for the two of us to share with out candy. He steps up right after I pay to buy us drinks. He shoots me a look of victory over his shoulder.

Oh, no. What is he doing to me???

The Interview

Jacks: 2017

I fiddle with my tie for about ten minutes before I just have Alice, my assistant, tie it for me. Why in the world am I so nervous? Because you’re seeing him again, you idiot.

Monroe forwarded the resume to me as soon as it came across his desk. He left a note on it: ‘Shows promise. This could be what we’re looking for.’

He wouldn’t have even taken a second look at the resume if they had a single loss. My heart nearly jumped from my chest when I saw the name in clean font at the top of the page:

Raymond A. Santiago

I nearly choke of my coffee. Whilst mid- coughing fit, my eyes speed over the text. He ended up at Harvard- just as he planned. He’s been public defending for the past two years, and he’s been kicking ass. He does show a lot of potential. I quickly type out my e-mail to Monroe with my approval. I’m entirely too eager, just like I always have been when it comes to my beautiful boy. Monroe gets back to me almost immediately, giving me the go ahead to bring Remmy in for an interview. My heart is in my throat as I send the instructions to Rosa to reach out to him.

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