Sometimes

Sometimes I watch the boy next door. I don't know much about him, but something in the way he moves, the way he looks at his feet while he walks, as if he's masterminding some great escape... something grips me.



It's not like any other normal teenage obsession, though. No, something about the androgynous boy who lives next door sends what feels like a thousand volts of electricity crackling throughout my entire body. He makes the hair on my arms stand up on end. He makes my chest tighten and my throat close. Fuck, man, he kind of scares me.



Once in a while, when I'm alone – when my brother is downstairs playing video games, or everyone's out at one of my sister's soccer games - I sit in my room and just watch him walking around his house. I watch the way he licks the jelly off his thumb after making a peanut butter sandwich, and I watch him wriggle his toes beneath his socks while he listens to music on his DJ-grade headphones. He doesn't see me seeing him. I almost wish he did. I want to talk to him, but I can't. I can't imagine what I would say to him.



“I live next door. You don't know me, but I've been watching you every day for two months, and I think you're hot.”



Hot is the understatement of the year. I don't just find him hot, I find him unequivocally sexy. I'm constantly waking up to find myself hornier than a sailor on a submarine. I think about him in the shower; late at night; alone in an empty room, hoping to God no one walks in while my hand is buried in my jeans.



Sometimes I think about what it would be like to tell him. What if I could just walk into his bedroom while he's lounging on the bed and have him? He'd stand up and knit his dark eyebrows together, about to ask what I'm doing in his room. I'd creep my arms around his neck and lean forward and press my mouth to his soft-looking one. He wouldn't have time to say no. He'd taste my tongue and my lips, and while he might be thinking 'no', all I'd be feeling would be an enormous 'yes!' His hands might move to clench in my tee-shirt, and from there it'd be soft words and soft touches in the darkened room. And afterward, he would kiss me on the cheek and say, “I love you.”



Sometimes, I watch the boy next door.



*****



A/N: Sadly, this is the first story I've written in two years. I hate writer's block.