Toenails

857 words
Sometimes I wear my underwear two days in a row, and every once in a while I will go three or four days without changing my underwear. Maybe I’m filthy, or maybe I’m just lazy. When I tell people my philosophy, “no stain, fair game,” they pucker up their lips and throw back their chins in disgust. I wish they knew how silly they look when they try to close their nostrils with only the muscles in their face.

I am a firm believer in economic eating: the practice of shoveling as much food as possible into your mouth as you can before chewing. One major difficulty with this practice is the overflow. Sometimes the popcorn or steak sandwich has trouble crowding between my lips and when my jaw moves pieces of saliva-covered, half-chewed slop discharges in random directions. People sitting next to me attempt to move by shifting their hips a little, believing that an extra inch will save them from a stain on their pants.

When I have nothing else to occupy my hands, I bite my nails and cuticles. I enjoy tearing off the dead skin, feeling it tug and rip. Where my nail turns white, I slice off the excess with my front teeth and crunch it between my canines until it's small enough to swallow. All the while, the person next to me is wondering why the door handle or the corner of the desk is so interesting because I’ve been staring at it for ten minutes.

I only wash my hands when someone else is in the bathroom. Every time I am alone, the sinks glare at me, but I tell myself that the only thing I touched was my dick and I touch my dick all day. So I reach for the door handle that every dick-holding guy at the place has touched, and then leave with my hands in my mouth, biting my nails.

When I’m walking the halls and see I girl that I find attractive, I try as hard as I can to not look directly at her breasts. I am proud of myself for developing a strategy for quenching my perverted thirst and not being seen as a creep all the time. This is how it goes: I look at their eyes waiting for them to acknowledge me—either they say hello, or quickly look away like they got caught, not ready for the eye to eye contact. After this short interaction, the girl focuses on something else, determined to forget the awkwardness. Now I pounce; with the girl’s attention diverted my eyes are free to stare, my mouth free to drool, my mind free to wander into a short sexual fantasy. It’s like stealing.

People tell me I mumble, but what they don’t know is that I occasionally talk to myself under my breath. I constantly catch myself doing it, muttering a phrase or two with no intended listener. Maybe I am crazy, but I think it’s just a nervous habit because I find myself doing it only before talking to girls or authoritative figures. Another thing I do subconsciously: pucker and move my lips during movie make out scenes. I catch myself smooching the air every single time, and I ask myself, “am I lonely or just really into this movie?”

I believe every bad day can be fixed with three things: a large amount of greasy or sweet food, a hug from the opposite sex, or masturbation. Everyone loves to indulge once and while, and there is no better time for some mac and cheese or a tub of ice cream than on a bad day. Meanwhile, a hug from the opposite sex accomplishes something. It makes us feel loved and cared for, not just by our dick-holding friends, but by a sweet-lipped, round-hipped girly. And you might be asking, “why masturbation and not sex?” Sex has expectations. Masturbation, however, is expectation free. Rub one out and you will glow for the rest of the day.

The world may say I am wrong or weird from my ideas. I will cut you off in the middle of your sentence because I honestly believe my words hold prevalence over yours. I sleep with my mouth open, and God could probably tell you that in my lifetime, enough drool will seep from my mouth to fill Lake Placid. I enjoy skinny dipping, not so I can see your knockers, but because I enjoy the freedom between my legs. I don’t have a favorite color because I think the others colors will get jealous. Confidence is a day to day thing with me.

As teenagers we develop our quirks; we discover our insecurities. Maybe we know what we are doing and maybe we don’t, but that's the fun off it all. The only thing in our way is the expectations of our parents, our peers and the constant whisper of our world, our society. I ask, “why not be ourselves, why not be unique?” People will love us for what is wrong and what is right. Hell, I would bite my toenails if I could.