"Brandon, you know I love you like a brother," Misty reminded.
Brandon was so sick of getting the like-a-brother spiel every time he asked Misty on a real date. Brandon and Misty had become good friends in the last three years. Best friends even. She even used to change clothes in front of him on occasions when they were in a rush to get to the movies, down to the panties. Oh, how Brandon loved her panties with the laced yellow ribbons that lined her waist. He'd eventually sneak them out of her hamper a few days later. Ever since he wrote her a note in seventh grade confessing his infatuation with her, Misty had a slight weakness for him. A brotherly weakness, though.
"Why do you always say that? You know I don't look at you as a sister," Brandon replied. "Bicycle seats."
"Yeah, but you're like my little brother," she responded.
"Lickity, lickity. Gluck! Gluck! Gluck!" Brandon sighed. "Why do I have to be the little brother? I'm like three months older than you."
"Because I'm taller," Misty joked as she raked his hair, making his blond curls frizz.
"Shut up. Pick. Pick. Pick. Aaaaargh."
I guess you can say Misty's sisterly affection came from Brandon's innocent demeanor. That and the fact that he had a hard time maturing since all the school kids picked on him and taunted him about his Tourette's. Yet, that didn't stop Brandon from pursuing Misty every time she broke up with a boyfriend. This happened monthly since she refused to give up her friendship with Brandon at each of her boyfriends' request. That and she didn't tolerate them bullying Brandon.
"You coming to the game tonight, or what?"
"Yeah...Yankly, yank, shoo-shit... I guess so." Brandon said, looking down at Misty's shoes. "Hey, yayayayaya...aren't those the Doc Martens I got you last week?"
"Yeah, they're really comfortable. Thanks again, you're really sweet."
She thinks I'm sweet...zoy-zoy-zoy nugget fart, Brandon thought to himself. Even the voice in his head had Tourette's.
It had been two months and Misty was still with her new boyfriend, constantly on dates. Occasionally letting Brandon tag-along. Brandon was getting impatient for his next chance at rejection. She's gotta say yes this time...lula, mackalak-tink. But Misty and Evan were still an item. And Evan didn't mind Brandon being the third wheel every now and then. He was kind of amused by Brandon's little outbursts, especially at the oddest moments. Like that time at the theatre when it was just the three of them and the elderly couple making out at the movies. Or the time they were asked to leave the Ju-Ju Mart when Brandon burst out in a three minute outburst. Apparently the clerk was nervous that Brandon was freaking from a robbery plot gone wrong and let them leave with three bags of Doritos and slush mugs. No matter what, though, Evan never disrespected Brandon...in front of Misty.
One day, during lunch, Brandon was sitting in the gym bleachers by himself studying. "Hey Brandon," Evan's voice echoed in the empty gym.
"Hey Evan. Play ball, horsey."
"What you got going on here?"
"Just some government homework. Russia love. Mr. Harding will have my ass if I forget to turn it in again."
"Right." Three more guys entered the gym. Juniors. Evan's wrestling teammates; Johnny, a red haired stocky kid with acne so bad, he'd gloat on the weeks you could actually see a patch of healthy skin. Dante, a short and thin Mexican kid with an Antonio Banderas accent that all the senior girls creamed over. And Tim, a tall and plain, brown hair, lanky kid with a Marine style buzz cut.
"Hey fa-fa-fa-faggot," Johnny teased as they all broke out in laughter.
"I don't have a stutter moron...Ricky Racks, roopy...I have Tourette's."
"Come on guys," Evan pleaded wiping away tears from his eyes as he tried to straighten his smirk. "Leave him alone before you make him have a meltdown and he really lets us have it."
"No way! All you have to do is push him into a heavy outburst session?" Tim intrigued.
"You should have seen him when the Nun stopped us on the boardwalk for directions and asked Brandon boy over hear all kinds of questions about Clove Beach," Evan started. "He was sweating so hard that he couldn't get a coherent word out. It was all shit this, ball sack that. She fucking damn near went into cardiac arrest. " The guys broke out in dying laughter.
"Why don't you guys just...clit cumming, squirty-sah-sah-sah, assfuck...leave me the hell...su-su-su-tittie, nipple nip...alone!"
Brandon's eyes began to well with tears. The guys were bent over with laughter. The kind when no sound comes out and you can't breathe. Brandon started packing his books. And then Misty walked in.
"What the fuck are you assholes doing?" She yelled as she marched over to the group.
"Oh, c'mon Misty. It's nothing. Brandon was just...telling us jokes and shit," Evan lied.
Misty looked over at Brandon who was now hiding his face in the pocket of his elbow. She could see the sleeve of his forest green sweater was damp. "You know what Evan? I can't believe I was about to actually let our relationship go beyond you yanking on my boobs. It's fucking over. Let's go Brandon."
"Put the bong in my ass. George, Jack, Joe, Jetson."
Tim, Johnny, and Dante burst out in more roaring laughter as Evan stood slack jawed. Though Brandon was embarrassed, and demasculinized, that Misty, yet again, had to come to his rescue, he couldn't help but fall further in love with her. That was it. He wasn't going to take no for an answer. She didn't just reject Evan in front of his gumbas for her "little brother".
Misty and Brandon got to the stairs when suddenly Brandon put his arm around her waist, stopped, and pulled her close to him planting the most odd kiss on her. After a few split seconds Misty pulled back.
"Brandon! This isn't Lucas. You're not even Corey Haim cute...You're like Macaulay Culkin cute."
"Look. You didn't just deny Evan third base in front of his friends...taint and ass...just 'cause you still look at me as your long lost brother. Lolli, lolli."
"Brandon, stop. Not now. You know I don't like people messing with you. And I thought Evan was gonna be, like, long term. Ya' know? Besides, he'd already fingered me and I jerked him off until he came in my hands, we were way beyond third base...he was close to stealing home plate, but I wasn't gonna say that in front of all those asswipes."
"Nya-nya. Fuckity shit ass. Dick and pubes. What?!?!" Brandon couldn't believe what she was saying. Evan had damn near ravished the love of his life. He didn't even know Misty was that sexual. He was turned on and it was time to take what was his.
"This is the last time I'm asking...shit sticks, waffles...and if you say no then I can't be your friend anymore. Clown rides, zebra." That's right Brandon, time to be a man, he assured himself.
"Do not even say that. You know how I feel, Brandon..."
"Fuck you. Look, I'm serious this time. You know how long I've been in love with you. Pussy, feel so good, pussy."
Misty crumpled her face, scrunching the skin between her eyebrows. "Brannnndon," she whined.
"For real. I'm done with....blowjob city, baby, blow, OOOOOH YEAH...this bullshit."
"Oh my God, Brandon. You need to, like, calm down for a minute. I can't tell if it's your Tourette's right now."
"Bitch! Lick my ass."
Misty stood perplexed. "That wasn't your Tourette's. Was it?"
Fuck no. Tell her how you really feel. Hell, whip it out and show her what she's missing. What she needs. Let her know we've been warning her this whole time about the mammoth tail you've been packing all these years, he thought.
"Sluts. I can't believe you. Sphincter."
Brandon gave her the finger,turned and ran down the hall, dropping his backpack. When he got outside he paused to catch his breath, making sure Misty hadn't followed him. He began walking to the baseball diamond, unzipping his pants, pulling out his rod.
"Yeah, it is pretty large and in charge," he smiled, remembering that through all the shits, cocks, and asses, he still had the biggest wang in high school...ever.
"I told you. Now turn back around and go showcase it to Misty. Hell, show her who's the new designated hitter." Brandon was confused because he knew he didn't say this, but it came out of his mouth effortlessly.
"What...the fuck is happening? Apple logs"
"Go...put...the...muscle...on her. Faggot." Again, Brandon never felt the words forming from his voice box and frolicking out of his mouth.
"I didn't say that. Fug-mon fuggle"
"No, you didn't, Cinderella. You don't have the cojones. You think you've ever had the stones to say all the things I've allowed you to say, Capote?"
"I don't get it," Brandon puzzled.
"And you never will if you keep this pansy shit up. You got Thor's mallet in your pants and you've been fucking playing pocket pull these last few years instead of letting Misty shine your Johnson."
Brandon was beginning to frighten himself as he couldn't identify where these words were forming. He couldn't even picture them in his mind. The axons weren't conducting signals, but no motor skill were affected.
"Brandon. You do not have fucking Tourette's. Not even a little angel like you could allow the obscenities to leak out of your subconscious. You're a fucking schitzo man. Oh, and clearly a homosexual."
"But I love her. Grog penis."
Brandon coughed and gave his shaft a few tugs,then wrapped it back into his boxers. Let's go, Romeo. Welcome to the real world, he grinned. Brandon started back for the school, cracking his knuckles and grabbing his crotch glorifying his girth.
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