Danny Phantom Fan Fiction ❯ Journal Entry ❯ Journal: Danny ( Chapter 2 )

Journal Entry: Danny's Admission

 

Hi, I'm Danny Phantom, or Danny Fenton, whatever you want to call me. In fact, just call me Danny, less confusing that way.

 

I know you've heard of me. Hah, you're probably investigating me right now and that's how you stumbled across this little book. A journal, how convenient. Well if you think you'll find day to day musings jotted down by a psychopathic paranormal obsessed teen, you'd better reconsider. I've written this all for you, and I hope you enjoy it.

 

I know I did.

 

You see, I've always been the nice guy, sweet, charming in a cute, geeky sort of way, and thoughtful. I had a beautiful girlfriend, a wonderful best friend, a caring older sister and wonderful parents willing to spend time with me whenever they could.

 

No discernable family problems that my behavior could be tied to right? Unless your one of those bastards who would blame my unstable behavior on their occupation. Believe me; it had nothing to do with this. The roll they played in this event was minute, if even there.

 

No. You can put the whole blame on my school life, on bullying, but not the typical high school bullying. No, I always wondered about those who couldn't handle the pesky idiots that plagued the school halls. Maybe they're just weak. Maybe I'm weak too, but I really don't care anymore. After all, you know exactly how not weak I am. You know what I'm capable of, and if you don't? Don't worry, you will soon.

 

Whether you already know this or not I'm going to tell you something important.

 

Something is going on. Something within the walls of Casper High, something disgusting and exciting and so very wrong that you're going to wish you played a part in it. Something I played a part in, and enjoyed, though I know I shouldn't have.

 

What made me accept the offer, when it came, is what I'm still trying to figure out, and no doubt hundreds of psychological analysts will jump at the chance to explain it. So many theories, but I've got a theory of my own.

 

You see, when I was approached in the showers I was startled, no, scared shitless. One second I'm washing my hair the next I'm spun around, shoved up against the slick tiled walls, lips smashed against someone else's, and I've got something long and thick pressing against my hip, I did the only thing I could think of, I kicked him.

 

Only when he had pulled back, cursing at the pain and looking at me in hatred did I recognize it was Dash Baxter, star quarterback and my own personal tormentor. I clenched my fists in anger. If you had a guy you've hated since freshman year come up and molest you in the showers what would you do?

 

Tell you what I did, I punched him. As hard as I could, then ran out of the showers. I didn't think he'd follow me, I didn't honestly care actually I was just pissed. I felt like running back and beating the shit out of him but instead I kept running, throwing on my clothes without toweling off and heading home. The only damn reason we were in the showers alone was because he'd dumped a bucket full of something I didn't want to name all over me during detention and I managed to throw some on him.

 

Can you understand my revulsion? Its not that I have anything against gays, its just Dash Baxter himself. Being kissed by a dude in the showers would probably get any straight guy with no prior emotional attachment to their assailant pissed.

 

The next day he cornered me in the boy's bathroom. I tried to tell him off but he silenced me with another kiss, this one had way more tongue. I was frantic, he was stronger than me in my human form and damn it the bathroom door was opening. Someone was coming in. I panicked, and Mr. Lancer, needing to use the restroom, saw it. I swear he wanted to expel me, Dash was bleeding and on the floor when he saw us after all.

 

Dash calmed him down though, said it was an accident and shit. Lancer didn't believe him but he wasn't going to question the star quarterback. Made my blood boil. I still got detention though, he didn't give me a reason and I didn't ask for one. We both knew why. I could see the smirk forming on Dash's swollen lips. I wanted to hit him again.

 

I found out why he was smiling later that day when I arrived, the only one in detention, and saw Dash Baxter grading tests using a score sheet over by Lancer's desk. Mr. Lancer was nowhere to be seen.

 

I was tempted to just walk back out, especially when Dash looked up and smiled at me in a fake friendly manner. I wanted to puke. He made my skin crawl, I hated him. He was disgusting and I didn't know why. Guess I did have a thing against gays, but that doesn't matter now. Nothing matters now.

 

He didn't try anything in detention, though Lancer was continuously going in and out, his room to the office and back. Most of the time was spent with me staring out at the field praying no ghost would attack and Dash shuffling papers, grading, organizing, typing the grades into the computer. He didn't look my way at all, not once since I came in. It put me on edge.

 

When my time was served Mr. Lancer came in to tell me I could go. Dash smiled at me, handing the graded papers to the teacher and offering to walk me out. I bolted as soon as the door closed behind us, barely feeling my hand go intangible as he tried to grab my wrist to hold me there. I saw my English Teacher Mrs. Schrader and with a broad smile approached her, starting up a conversation about Frankenstein and his creation. In the end I was stuck with a three page essay on how Frankenstein had originally wanted to birth a new species and be renowned as their creator, but later changed his beliefs to that of unleashing demons onto the world and being scorned as the bane of human existence. But Dash was nowhere to be seen and that was just fine with me.

 

It went on like that for a while, I staid as far away from him as possible, especially during school hours where Sam and Tucker could stumble upon him cornering me. How do you tell your girlfriend that a guy is trying to get into your pants? I'm glad I never had to. He never got the chance to kiss me again after the Lancer incident though, I wouldn't let him. But he didn't corner me, often, but I was forced to hit him to get away every time. I stuck to my teachers like glue, getting ass loads of extra credit work in the process but hey, my grades were improving.

 

One day though, I was the one to stumble across a kissing scene. I was trying to avoid Dash by going intangible and slipping down into the boiler room until I was certain he was gone like the rest of the student body. They were down there. Sam and the new transfer student. They didn't even have their clothes off, Sam's skirt hiked up, his pants down around his ankles, pushed up against the wall and going at it in a rushed, frenzied pace one can only attribute to teenagers. I always thought Sam had more decency then that.

 

I hated her, hated her as much as Dash. I should have known it would happen. That kid had been flirting with her since he first moved here. A fellow Goth, he wrote her dark poetry and signed her petition against forcing kids in P.E. to use gloves and balls made from leather. She always said she wasn't a girl who could be wooed, but she was. Everyone had a price and he had played to every one of hers. It didn't help that I supported abstinence, something her family loved to preach to her since she turned sixteen. She was a rogue, independent and willing to do everything she was told not to do. I wanted to wait till marriage; she wanted to go against her parents.

 

Well, she did. And I wasn't in the picture anymore.

 

I rose up out of the floor and slumped against the lockers. I didn't think I could have ever hurt more, even when I thought my parents died. I felt betrayed, and I felt like I betrayed her. I questioned my own morals, wondering if I was the one in the wrong but the more I thought of it the angrier I got. She wanted me to believe in all this stuff with her, I didn't even eat meat in front of her anymore and I never wore leather and I supported her every petition even when I thought it was all idiotic. I had one thing, one that I asked for and she argued with me over it constantly.

 

So I wanted to wait, big deal. She had all these little, and large, things she asked of me. I just asked for a little time. And she couldn't give that to me. Well fuck her, or let someone else fuck her. I really didn't care.

 

Just then a hand thumped against the lockers above me and I looked up to see Dash standing, leaning down to look at me. I sneered up at him, wanting him to make a move so I could deck him. Get a little of this anger out.

 

He looked at me. Really looked at me and it seemed he knew something was wrong. He sat down cross-legged next to me with a sigh. I glared at him, waiting for him to say something. When he did, I was shocked.

 

He wanted to make a deal with me. Of course I knew what he wanted, and he didn't make any attempt at sugar coating it. He wanted me, any time, any where, in any outfit and in front of anyone. I scoffed, yeah just what I needed, to get out of a relationship for refusing sex only to be offered a relationship based on sex.

 

But then he stated his offer.

 

He'd get me in with his friends. I'd be popular, like I've been trying to be since day one. He left then, heading off to basketball practice, leaving me to think.

 

Think of going to parties, hanging out at games, dances, eating lunch, having the teachers off my back, and best of all bullying. No more being shoved into lockers, no more wedgies, no more swirlies, no more evil pranks.

 

I weighed the pros and cons, would I be willing? Hell I couldn't sink much lower than being dumped by Sam. Our friendship was officially ruined, and only hard core apologies, by her of course, would fix it. Tucker was busy off with some secret girlfriend who he refused to tell me about and I found myself spending more and more time alone. Even ghost hunting had gotten boring. I'd started to suit up and take them on in my human form with my parents.

 

Yeah. I accepted. After all, what more did I have?

 

I walked to the gym and sat down at the bleachers, watching Dash play. He didn't notice me, and I'm glad he didn't. I was most likely looking at him strangely. Contemplating, comparing, questioning. I began to think it wouldn't be so bad, having him as my first, and I'd get something out of it in return. My only problem was that he'd be in complete and total control of the relationship, obviously that meant I was the bottom, but it also meant I had no say in what, when, and where we were doing. He could screw me on stage in front of the whole student body if he wanted to.

 

That thought sent an odd thrill through me that made me even more confused.

 

Another thing I noticed was…Dash was pretty good looking. I mean, I knew he was handsome but there's a difference between noticing someone's looks and actually….”noticing” someone. And I was certainly noticing Dash then, in his basketball uniform, moving, running, competing with the others, skin glistening with perspiration, hair slightly disheveled as he ran a hand through it for the third time since I started watching him.

 

The coach blew the whistle and they started to head towards the locker room, I grabbed Dash's wrist before he could go inside and pulled him away from the others, out into the hall, down the steps. He was talking, muttering questions, watching our surroundings, looking like he'd never been down this way before. He obviously hadn't, not many people go to the boiler room.

 

I didn't expect Sam to still be there, though if she had been it would have been fine with me. But when I opened the door it was to a dark, quiet, empty room. I didn't know if I was relieved or disappointed.

 

Dash was still talking. Idiot, he was such an idiot. I thought about turning around, walking out and locking him in there. Instead I grabbed his face and kissed him. Just as effective, and strangely just as satisfying.

 

I led him over to where I had seen Sam and the bastard she fucked, removing his shirt while we went. He was sloppy, hurried, incompetent, going more for the outcome than the actual task. I couldn't believe he was going to be my first, and in the boiler room of all places, but when my back grazed the wall, the same wall Sam had been pinned to, and I wrapped my arms around his thick neck and tilted my head back, feeling his tongue brush so far against mine those thoughts left me.

 

Sam never kissed like this.

 

He was starved, I could see it. All this time he chased me, cornered me, I knew he wanted this but for two months I had denied him. He wanted it bad, except I wasn't just going to give everything I've held dear up for a quick fuck in the dark. He was going to have to wait, and if I had to work at him first then so be it.

 

He wasn't as bad as I'd thought he would be once he calmed down, though the blow job might have helped that. He didn't take much time at me, a few licks here and there, but I enjoyed the attention. His mouth fed on me like I was covered in something sweet or spicy or dipped in chocolate. He bit my neck and drove his tongue into my mouth like a burrowing worm in those documentaries, digging deeper into me each time. I don't know if the gag was because I was disgusted or because he brushed my uvula.

 

He wanted to use the floor, I said no. I wanted to be pinned to the wall, that same wall. He muttered something about fingers and preparation but I didn't care. He tried to be gentle, straining against his control, but I didn't want that. I didn't want this to be about feelings, it was business. Plain and simple. I wrapped my legs around him, climbed him, then when I felt the tip of him brush my naked ass I drove down. He made stupid nasally words and sounds that seemed like protests, it hurt, god it hurt when he was finally in, I grunted, bit don on my own arm wrapped around his shoulders. His hands supporting us against the wall trembled, his elbows buckled, my back was forced to take our combined bruising weight. Not a comfortable feeling, and I suppose I should have listened to him about all that preparation crap, and I probably should have listened to him about waiting and adjusting too. But guess what.

 

I didn't. Using my grip on his shoulders I started sliding up then grinding back down, pressed to the wall as I was I couldn't move more than a few centimeters, but it was movement, it was progress, and though the friction felt painful I was more intent to get the hole experience the hell over with. His hands finally grabbed me after the second attempt, apparently giving up on trying to make me comfortable, and he thrust hard, those few centimeters I had pulled away from felt so much longer and my spine lost some skin to the concrete roughing up my back.

 

There was no real rhythm, thrust after hard thrust, pinned completely to the wall, every time he found some kind of pace he's make this stupid leaning motion and try to place a hand somewhere near my stomach, which seemed stupid to me and so every time he did this I pressed myself so tightly against him and clenched that he almost toppled over. Eventually he gave up, his motions becoming chaotic and impossible to keep up with.

 

I just let him have way with it. Not like control was anything to me, I honestly didn't see the point.

 

Then came the final thrust, you'd think it would feel different, in those erotic stories Sam and Valerie like to read that make such a big deal out of it, it felt to me like he just suddenly stopped, pushed in and didn't pull out, trembled, then his legs folded beneath him and something warm and liquid swam into me as we crashed to the floor.

 

All in all I'd say it wasn't a terribly bad experience. One I still hold to this day as our best, though I don't know why, I didn't get much pleasure out of it. It wasn't even ruined when Sam called after we were both spent. I put her on speaker phone because I couldn't hold anything to my ear. Why the hell was I so tired? You try being pressed to the wall with your legs wrapped around a body builder and still manage to move your hips. I just did some amazing abdominal exercises is all I can say. She said what I knew she'd say, though, and far nicer than really necessary. She wanted to break it to me easy.

 

I was already broken.

 

Dash stared at me with something akin to pity. I hated that. I knew what she was doing, who she'd been fucking; she could rot in hell for her false love. My heart was shredded and my pride too, I'd sold myself for internal revenge and a chance at coming out on top, but I'll be damned if anyone was going to pity me for it. I wasn't up for it, exhausted and sore, but I got Dash excited again, not a very difficult thing to did, mounted and rode him like he had wanted me to do in the beginning. I would live out his every fantasy for this chance, a chance at acceptance, at superiority, a chance to be the best.

 

Call me a whore, say I'm an idiot without morals, that I'm selling myself too cheaply, but you don't know me. Not the real me. And you didn't have to go through what I've gone through. How would you know if you'd react differently? I don't think you would have. You might have had something worse than betrayal happen to you, maybe taken a little longer to think about it, you might even have waited until the phone call before accepting, you might have requested something a little more extravagant, a little more expensive than simple popularity, but you'd still have a price, and someone would have bought you.

 

Don't. Judge. Me.

 

-

 

Well, I opted for the second chapter over a one-shot, because the thing I planned to write about Danny and a kissing booth fell flat after the first few paragraphs, though a sentence or two will be saved for another story idea. Still centered on Kissing, but I think Jaz will be somehow involved, Jaz and Tutoring.

 

Hmm, and maybe a reward program? Yeah, and I'll base it during High school Exit Exams, the brainstorming has begun. To a blank Text Document!