Word Count: 917

Paris lay sprawled on his stomach on the bed in his dorm room, over messy sheets of sea-green and a bright blue comforter. His feet swung lazily back and forth in the air, encased in a pair of fuzzy pink slippers. His legs were bare, his body clothed in nothing more than a pair of ruffly pink panties and a simple white shirt. The lamp on his desk was on, bathing the room in a dull light. A nearby stereo filtered up-beat pop music into an otherwise quiet room.

In front of him on the mattress, Paris set a black hard-covered notebook, emblazoned in the center with a golden pentagram. A variety of stickers also decorated the front cover – a pair of pink ballet slippers, a stamp of Audrey Hepburn, a colorful fairy, a fluffy kitten, a few sparkling stars, a small picture of himself looking exceptionally sexy, and a blob of white and pink that looked suspiciously like Hello Kitty. Paris flipped the book open and turned through pages and pages full of loopy writing, before coming to a blank sheet of paper.

He twirled a pen in his right hand before pulling the cap off and setting it on the paper to write. The ink came out easily, bleeding bright pink onto the page.

Ye Olde Book of Shadows

AKA Dear Journal,

I can only describe yesterday afternoon in two words: Mindblowingly Fantastic.

Pay no mind to the fact that ‘mindblowingly’ isn’t really a word. It is now. Because I said so.

Most of yesterday was a normal day. Boring. Repetitive. I almost fell asleep in two classes. I did fall asleep in one, but my nap was interrupted by my teacher. Whats-his-name. Really crabby. Doesn’t seem to understand that he’s a horrible lecturer. I mean, he could be more enthusiastic and then maybe I wouldn’t feel the need to put my head on my desk and snooze. I told him as much, but like he’d actually appreciate my opinion. He seems to think I’m a moron, or that something in my brain isn’t quite aligned properly and it’s causing me to act dysfunctional.

Obviously he’s jealous of me. He’s old and wrinkly, whereas I am young and beautiful. I saw him looking at me once. You know, like he wanted me. But I have more self-respect than that.

If he wants in my pants, he’ll have to bump up my grade. I mean, honestly. I can’t afford to fail his class. I also can’t afford to pay attention. I swear I die a little on the inside when I do.

But anyway. That isn’t the point of this entry. This point is that yesterday afternoon was quite possibly the best afternoon I’ve had in a long, long time. And that’s saying something. “Why?” you ask. Because I got laid. But it wasn’t just a normal lay. Oh, no. It was a marvelous lay. Awesome. Sensational. Superb. And completely unexpected.

That’s right, Journal. Yours truly has slept with one Billy Roadinger.

Yes. Billy Roadinger. Good-looking. Arrogant. Kind of dour looking. I mean, would it kill him to smile every once in a while? He’s definitely not the nicest guy in this school, but then they’re not going to send very many nice people here, are they? If they do, the poor suckers must have gotten caught up in some pretty bad s**t. Billy’s certainly a snob. I really wouldn’t be surprised if he thought he was some sort of god.

And he is a god. A Sex God.

Like, sweet mother of all that is living, he is exceptionally good in bed. I was surprised. Shocked. But thrilled, too. It was hard to believe he’d never done it before. Yes, it was that good. Of course, the fact that he was sleeping with me probably had something to do with it. I made sure to treat him very well, if you know what I mean. And he wants me. He wants me bad. I’m sure of it. I have the hickeys to prove it. He was wild. And I mean wild. I’ve never had a just-out-of-the-closet virgin act quite like that. Usually they’re all timid and embarrassed. It can be a little annoying. I don’t want to have to hold their hand and pet them and tell them it’s alright.

But it wasn’t like that with Billy. Because Billy is Billy, and Billy is proud, therefore he must be good. You know, I think we’re a bit alike in certain ways. Except I talk a lot more. And I’m more beautiful. But, you know, we both have our pride and arrogance. And I think he has a thing against emotion, which is totally great because it means he won’t be following me around with puppy eyes all the time. He’ll just come around when he wants something and leave when he’s done. Although his company’s not all that bad. Sure beats being alone.

He’ll be back. How could he possibly keep himself away after that?

How he thought he was straight all this time, I’ll never know.

Yours Always,

Paris

Paris signed his name with a flourish and a heart above the ‘I.’ Satisfied with his entry, he bent down to mark it, pressing his mouth against the bottom of the page to stamp it with bright red lips. He grinned as he looked it over, more than pleased with how the afternoon in question had turned out.

He did so love proving that he wasn’t all talk.

This diary entry has since been viciously crossed out with black marker, over top of which was written "I HATE BILLY ROADINGER".