Bright Eyes Bright Lies

Hey what do you know, it's Hipster Boy again. I just got back from playing the Orange Circle (made $10) and Newport Beach (made $0.37) and I have a story from my good buddy Eliot. It is great!

“Remember the time you drove all night, just to meet me in the morning.”

Bright Eyes draped the walls in his thick velvet. His sorrowful chorus danced step to stair, seeping between our bodies, drying our sweat and ringing about the basement. It was beautiful. I pushed tears into my eyes so that she would see a glisten and ask me about it:

“Are you okay darling?”

Like a preteen on a yard long margarita I sucked them back in.

“I don’t care.”

We’d just fucked. I picked her in on my bike and her thrift-store threaded hips pounded into me the whole ride back to my place. It was dusk, and the world’s seedest were about to make their nightly rounds.

Alysin and I got back to my place and after giving my mom’s Murder-Back-Ribs the finger we slid into our own hovel downstairs. I pulled out my vinyls, she picked Bright Eyes and I put the other record away. Since I didn’t care, I smacked the needle into place and it landed squarely in the runoff groove. We listened to the rustle for several minutes.

After a few minutes of Side B (Side A is for faggots and posers), we started kissing, and she pressed her herself into my chest. Landing on my lap, she tried to straddle me, but her pants were too tight for her to spread her legs. I reached under her Urban Outfitters and grabbed at her un-bra’d breasts. She moaned in time with Oberst’s sporadic cries and was almost on beat. I kissed her neck and three days of salted sweat danced on my tongue, washing away the bitter taste of Mom’s expectations.

Finally we grabbed each other and threw ourselves on the couch, exploding in passion. In no more than twenty minutes I’d unsqueezed myself from my jeans and was ready to dive deep into her. Alysin pressed her flattened breasts against me, crying that she hadn’t been fucked like this since gradeschool.

“Is this good for you Jimothy?”

I didn’t care.

“I don’t care.”

Her Ray Bans fogged and she pressed her forehead into my sweatband, three weeks of stubble and she said she almost felt something. On the floor our color-striped shirts threaded the rug, they were 40% Cotton, 60% Polyester and 100% Retro. She pulled my shirt back so the neckline rose to my bellybutton, showing the hair I planned on growing on my stomach.

Finally I was in her, pulling myself in and out slowly to chords that were being played on a guitar by Bright Eyes while he sang. I narrated to her my actions, explaining that I thought her insides were cool beans. Through my Kanye Shades shades I saw horizontal stripes of her messy blonde hair. Above her sat this month’s pack of cigarettes and a lighter shaped like a Smurf.

I tried not to pay attention to her while we fucked, because frankly, I didn’t care. To make her feel good though, I would whimper every once in a while. We carried through, quietly fucking until my parent’s knocked on the door and said that my Aunt had sent me a hundred dollars for my twenty-second birthday. Mom never leaves me alone.

Finally we finished having all the sex and I lay on top of her, our naked bodies beautiful in the One’s eyes. She ruffled my hair and when she got her hand unstuck put it against my back.

“Jimothy, I have a lot of feelings for you.”

“I know Alysin. Me too.”

She was quiet.

I rolled off her and reorganized my vinyls (Bright Eyes was after Death Cab). I must have misplaced them in my passion. Oh well. I don’t care.

A story I didn't write

Hello, Hipster Boy here with a story written by my friend Sam. I am so proud of her right now.

I invited him into my basement. I wanted to look sexy, not that I would ever admit it. The place was a mess. My beaten up couch was engulfed in my supa tight jeans, shift dresses, and oversized scarves. My vinyls had been flung all across the dirty shag rug. My Velvet Underground wept at my carelessness. I threw all of the clothes into a corner, emptying a space in which I hoped to do the deed. I whispered sweet nothings to my music as I pushed them into the corner as well. I looked in the mirror. My look was effortless. And by effortless I mean I spent two hours making my hair look like it had just been hit by a weed-wacker. My fried locks had been dyed so many times that they frizzed out into place quite nicely. I was wearing a short, shapeless purple dress that hung on my body like a sac. The words “easy access” kept flashing through my brain. I ringed my eyes with some more black eyeliner. I thought it really contrasted well with my pasty complexion. I kicked off my heels. At 5’11,” I figured I was already awkwardly tall. The tap-tap of footsteps coming down the stairs made me turn. There he was, the boy that I loved. He was wearing tight red pants, so tight I swear that his junk must be all smashed up in his crotch. His legs were thin, perhaps thinner than mine. But he had gargantuan feet. God, he is sexy. His hair looks like he left it in a headband all day. He smiled nervously and walked across the room. He pushed his bony frame up against my body and kissed me. I ran my hand along the ribs of his back. He moved his hand up to the place where my boobs would be if I had any. His hands were so cold that I jumped back for a second, but then moved in again. I thought I could feel him getting hard, but with his tight jeans on, I couldn’t tell. I began to tug them off, with intense effort. He was paler than I could have ever imagined. He came down on top of me. He was quick, like a gerbil. God, his hips are sharp. Eff. Ow. Owwww. Frick this hurts. He made a face like frightened school girl and squealed a bit. Well. At least it ended quick. He turns red. I look deep into his eyes and said “I think I like women.”

Cheap Monday

“They were pretty good, weren’t they?” Anna asked, nearly out of breath.
“Yeah. I never thought I’d like Sunset Rubdown more than Wolf Parade,” answered Jason, who was just as out of breath as his new girlfriend was.

Glowing in post-show sweat and under the influence of PBR, they both walked clumsily back to Jason’s prized 1980’s Benz. They both knew what they wanted and knew what they would be getting tonight.

After comfortably settling down in the car, they both sat there for a moment, listening to Chromeo and unsure of what to say or do next. After all, it had only been a few weeks.

“So…” Jason started.
“Yeah?” Anna answered.
“I really like Chromeo. They’re funny, like you,” he replied.
Anna smiled.
“That’s really cute,” she leaned over and kissed him on the cheek.
“You look really fucking beautiful tonight,” he whispered into her ear.
She giggled.
“And are you gonna do something about that?”
“Are you?” he asked.
She slid her hand down his deep-v.

After that moment, they quickly jumped into the backseat. The temperature in the car, breathing, and moods grew hotter at every passing moment. Jason found himself kissing Anna’s tender, young body in places that never saw the light of day. She moaned with every touch she received, his goatee tickling her.

Anna made a reach for Jason’s belt buckle. She quickly slid his belt off and started to remove his beloved Cheap Monday jeans.

“Are you hard?” she whispered to him seductively.
He moaned. She took that as a yes.

Anna moved her hands to the waistband of his jeans. Their hands met as they both tugged on his jeans to remove them. But they wouldn’t budge.

“Are your jeans too ti-“ she started.
Jason re-adjusted his black-framed glasses and stammered something incomprehensible.
“Jason?”
There was a moment of silence.

“Do you just wanna go down on me baby?” she asked.

-Hipster Girl