Russian Preteen Models


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Russian Preteen Models






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Related article: Date: Sun, 28 Jan 2007 01:36:22 -0800 (PST)
From: Mike Botwinski
Subject: A Heartbeat Skip Relationship Chapter 3 Before I start this chapter off, I'd like to thank everyone's
feedback, it's really flattering! Now, if you're straight and you've made
it this far and haven't figured out that this is indeed a story about
homosexuals, now would be the time for you to turn back and run for
hetero-city. Chapter III--`Round Here I could not explain how excited I was that practice was over. The
quicker I could get away from Brad, the better off I'd be.
"So what was that stunt with the new guy?" Jay asked me, wrapping
her Russian Preteen Models towel around her midriff.
I rubbed my head thoroughly with my own towel, trying to dry it
out.
"Nothin, just fuckin around, you know," I covered.
She looked at me funny for a few seconds, then shrugged "I don't
think I'll ever understand the male sex," she laughed.
"I gave up on the female sex a long time ago," I muttered.
That earned another questioning glance.
"Yeah Jay, I'm gay, lemme tell you about it," I said sarcastically.
"I didn't even say anything!" she defended, a grin on her face.
I began walking for the locker rooms, smirking as I did so.
"You didn't need to, your facial expression kinda covered all
that," I replied.
Once inside the locker room, the stagnant smell of chlorine and
soap almost made me dizzy. Either that or I was just extremely
tired. Whichever it was, I never really found out. Getting dressed again
and gathering my stuff was all a blur to me, and by the time I was heading
out to my car, nothing had registered.
I drove home in the same daze, occasionally uttering some lyrics to
the songs that came on. Fifteen minutes later, I was pulling into my
driveway, happy to be able to dwell on whatever Hunter had proposed
earlier.
"Gabriel! Just in time," my mom greeted me as I entered the door.
"For?" I questioned.
She pushed me into a seat by my shoulders and sat next to me, her
face neutral.
"As you know, your father and I have always wanted a second
child..." she began.
"Whoa, wait a minute; you guys are in your 40s, by the time the kid
graduates I'll have grandchildren!" I cut her off.
"Shh, that's not it," she calmed me; "We're adopting a kid from
Grantsville."
Grantsville was a hellhole, full of subsidiaries, drug lords, and a
place where gangs were the only method of survival. The idea of taking in a
kid from there seemed like the best idea I'd ever heard. I mean, the kid
deserved a shot at life, and in our city of Sherman, he'd definitely have a
chance and some of the best opportunities.
"Wow...that's amazing, mom," I told her, "You guys sound like you
have everything planned out."
"I was hoping you'd be fine with it. Your dad is out now finishing
up some paper work, but you should go meet him; his name is Cole," she
informed me.
"Cole huh?" I pondered, standing up, "Guess I'll go talk to him. Is
he in the spare room?"
"Yeah, I told him to just make himself comfortable and that you
would take him shopping for some school clothes; whatever he has is filthy
and ten-times too big for him," my mom rambled.
I nodded slowly, "Right...I guess I can do that for the little guy."
She paused, then nodded also, "Yeah, yeah...right."
I lingered a few more moments, making sure there wasn't something I
was missing, and then headed for my room first to drop my duffle of
swimming equipment off. But when I got up the stairs and started for my
room, a shadow loomed near the far wall of the hallway.
"Cole...?" I wondered aloud.
No answer.
Cautiously, I took a few more steps forward, peering over the
corner. Nothing.
Shrugging, I backtracked to my room and deposited my belongings,
then headed down the opposite end of the hallway toward the guest room.
Knocking, I waited for a squeaky, maybe even prepubescent voice to
tell me to come in. Instead, there was silence.
Slowly, I opened the door to a guy maybe an inch Russian Preteen Models taller than me
with buzzed light brown hair who looked like he hadn't shaven in a few
days. His eyes were an odd hazel-like green and they didn't seem to keen on
seeing me.
"Uh...hi," I said awkwardly.
Little guy? What the hell were my parents thinking adopting someone
at least my age?!
"Sup?" he asked me, his voice arrogant, deep, and somewhat
intimidating.
"Uh...you're Cole, right?" I asked.
He nodded.
I extended my hand and introduced myself, "Gabriel, but Gabe works
too."
He shook my hand and his eyes searched mine, maybe trying to break
me or either read me. Whichever it was, I didn't like it, so I diverted my
attention to his clothes.
"So my mom said you needed to go shopping?" I asked somewhat
hastily.
He Russian Preteen Models nodded again, looking around. "Yeah, don't really have much with
me."
"Not Russian Preteen Models a problem, I'll take you around, Russian Preteen Models we can grab some stuff," I
offered.
He didn't look like he appreciated the way I said that, like I was
toting him around because I felt sorry for him. I'd never dealt with
someone so much less fortunate than myself and didn't know whether or not
he could lash out or have a deep-seeded bitterness toward the "preppy white
America."
"Right," he said in a gruff tone as he followed me out of his
bedroom door.
It felt weird to walk down the hallway with him behind me. It's
kind of like the feeling you get when you walk into a classroom to talk to
the teacher and the entire class stares at you. Or when you walk alone past
a group of "cool" kids. I felt like I was walking too stiff, but if I
loosened up, I felt like I was trying to pimp-walk or something.
"Oh, so you've met!" my mom enthused, moving away from the
simmering pot of hot water she was boiling. Apparently she was cooking.
We nodded, "Yeah, we're off to shop now," I said.
"Well make sure you're home soon, dinner should be ready in a
little while," she said, tying up her shoulder length brown hair in a
ponytail.
"Will do," I said.
"Later Mrs. A," Cole spoke up.
"Ugh, Cole, you have got to stop doing that; it's Brenda," she
corrected.
He waved and followed me out the door and to my Grand Cherokee.
"So, you got any particular place you like to shop?" I asked him as
I started the car.
"I didn't shop for clothes a lot, mainly just groceries," he said.
"Well you got some place you wanna try out?" I asked again.
"Nah man, whatever's good," he shrugged.
"We'll just try the mall then," I caved.
He was being standoffish and I didn't want to poke around too much,
although I was dying to know what his life was like. Instead, I turned on
my iPod player that started off in the middle of the song "If You're Gone"
by Matchbox Twenty. Other than the music, there was complete silence.
"Dude, what the fuck is this shit?" he finally spoke up.
Granted, it wasn't what I wanted to hear, but I turned it down a
bit to answer him.
"What do you mean? It's Matchbox Twenty," I answered.
He sneered, "Right."
"You don't like `em?" I asked.
"I don't know who the hell they are," he replied defensively.
I raised an eyebrow at his rudeness, and then changed the song. I
figured, stereotypically, that he'd be more into the whole "rap" scene. So,
I began to play some of my "crunk" music; "It's Goin' Down."
"Nah man..." he sighed.
I rolled my eyes, getting fed up with him trying to control my car
already.
"Okay, then we'll just turn it off," I said, doing just that.
He had no objections.
So we rode in silence for ten minutes until we arrived at the
Sherman Mall. Huge as it was, it was definitely the "preppier" of the 3
malls Sherman had to offer.
"This is your mall?" he asked incredulously.
"Yeah..." I answered sounding rather Russian Preteen Models annoyed at his question.
I'll admit, I was not happy with the guy. Sure, he looked like
Chris Evans' twin with green eyes, but his attitude was killing his
point-pool. So, without further discussion, we entered the mall, mainly
with him tagging along behind me, trying to avoid conversation, which was
fine on my part. I hoped he didn't have a penchant for dressing all
thuggish; otherwise, there'd have been no way I could take him shopping.
"Let's try American Eagle," I offered, walking into the store.
Instantly, we were greeted by catchy hip-hop/pop that played
non-stop.
"Hey, how're you guys doing?" the cute blonde girl asked us.
I smiled at her politely, "Fine, how're you?"
"I'm fine, thank you for asking! You need any help finding
something in particular?" she questioned.
"Nah, just looking," I replied, looking back at Cole.
His eyes bulged once he saw some of the price tags.
"These things are incredibly overpriced," he said.
I raised an eyebrow. This guy should try A & F.
"Look, they've got Polo's 2 for Russian Preteen Models 25," I pointed out, leading him
over there.
"That's like $13 for one shirt," he gawked.
"Yeah...that's cheap for AE," I said.
He shook his head, "Nah man."
"I'm buying, don't worry about it. Go try some stuff on," I
ordered, handing him a few shirts.
"This is a medium," he said in disbelief.
"Yeah...that's about what size you are," I responded.
"This shirt is XL, though," he argued.
"And that shirt is swallowing you; just go try the shirts on," I
snapped.
He rolled his eyes and walked toward the dressing rooms.
The fact that he had the nerve to get upset was what bothered me
most. But, as he continued to try more and more on, he began to like the
feeling of clothes that actually fit.
"Alright, will that be all for you?" the same blonde girl asked me
at the register.
"Yep," I said.
"Okay, that brings Russian Preteen Models your total to--"
"Ah-ah-ah," I stopped her, handing her my debit card, "He's kind of
price-sensitive."
She grinned, "It's so cute you guys buy clothes for each other. I
try to buy stuff for my boyfriend but he never lets me."
I titled my head back in surrender. Why did everyone assume that
the guys I hung out with were my boyfriends?
"He's not my boyfriend," I said with a chuckle, "He's my new
brother."
Her face displayed an expression of extreme shock and
embarrassment, "Oh my goodness, I am so sorry!"
I laughed, "It's alright."
She shook her head, her face bright red as she slid my card.
Silence resumed and she apologized once more as she handed my
receipt before wishing us a good night.
"You need Russian Preteen Models
socks or underwear?" I asked.
He nodded, "Yeah, I uh...didn't bring anything with me. It was kind
of last minute."
I understood what he meant and began to walk back towards the exits
that lead to my car.
"We'll just drop by Wal-Mart," I told him.
"Now that's my kinda store," he enthused, laughing for the first
time.
I had to admit, having a brother was pretty cool. Although at the
time he was just a friend, having him around would certainly make home life
more interesting and would definitely help me keep some company. School,
however, was probably going to take some getting used to for him. Not only
did I have to help him in school, but I'd have to help Brad like I said I
would. Oh the mess I'd created for myself...
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by biatehabe | 2012-08-01 06:14