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How I Became A Fairy Godperson: A True Love Story by Auntie Em by Tagsit

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I'm taking a well-deserved study break to get you the treat of a new chapter. Hope you enjoy while I continue to trudge away at my last two finals for this term. I didn't take time to edit it for typos - Thought you would rather have the chapter than wait until I get the time to edit. Please forgive any mistakes. TAG.


Chapter 5


Justin did beat Brenda the Breeder and his Frightening Father home that night after Woody's, but not by much. He was only to the top of the staircase leading down to his basement boudoir when he heard the garage door opening and his father's car pulling in.  Little did the lad know, though, that Ethan and Ian had driven separately and had already arrived before our barfly boy. And Ethan and Ian, being the badass bullies they were, practically jumped for joy at the thought of all the truly cruel things they could do to Justin with the knowledge of his illicit outing.


The blackmailing bully boys lost no time descending on the unsuspecting urchin.


"Hey, Jus," Ethan drawled as he and his brother crept down the basement stairs. "Getting in a bit LATE, aren't you?"


"Yeah.  It's just a bit late. . . . especially seeing as you weren't supposed to be out at all,"  added the insipid Ian.  "Where have you been, anyway?"


"Wh . . . what do you mmmean," stammered out Jittery Justin. "I wa . . . wasn't out. I was just upstairs sorting laundry like Brenda . . . I mean mom . . . told me to."


"Fat Chance," Tweedle-dee-Ethan retorted, stalking forward towards the scared stutterer.  "We saw you getting dropped off in front of the house not two minutes before Mom & Dad arrived.  And I bet if I went upstairs right now I wouldn't find any laundry sorted either, would I?"


Tweedle-dum-Ian had been circling around behind Justin while his terrible twin had been talking. Ian now ran his finger across Justin's back.


"Where'd you get these clothes," Twin Two intoned. One of the first things Ian the Inconsiderate had noticed when he first saw Justin this evening was the diaphanus, sleeveless, black rayon shirt and tight fitting white chinos I'd purchased for the boy earlier this evening. Our now desperate, defenseless, dear didn't dare duck Ian's devilish demand for knowledge even though he deduced that he was soon to be denuded of his dapper duds.  But, Justin hoped that if he just said nothing, maybe they would just get tired of annoying him?  Probably not, but what else could he do?


Now, Ian had already availed himself of Justin's closets the very day the twins had embarked on the Suite Life of Ethan and Ian, in this, their new home. Ian had promptly removed any really respectable rags from the boy's possession on the pretense that Justin really had no where to wear them and Ian didn't want nice clothes like these to go to waste. So Ian knew with a certain certainty that Justin didn't own anything as nice as the outfit he was wearing now - at least he hadn't as of that afternoon.  


"That shirt is way too good for you, Jus. You'll just ruin it if you wear it while working at the store scrubbing toilets or doing chores. Give it here - I'll take care of it for you," simpered the lousy looter.  


But when Justin stubbornly shook his head and started backing away from the acquisitive asshole, Ian advanced avariciously, grabbing the collar of the shirt and ripping it off the poor thing.


Justin couldn't believe it - he just stood staring at the ragged remains of his once ravishing raiment and the rotten rascal responsible for rending it from him. Evil Twin Ethan apparently found the look on his step-brother's face to be hilarious and his cackling laughter egged Justin's erstwhile enemy on.


"The pants too, Janitor-Boy. I know they'll look much hotter on me," Ian menaced. "Want me to rip them off too?" Ian added with a snivelling sneer.  


Our poor humiliated honey had't the heart to hold out in the face of such hostility. He therefore, meekly, slid his hot new chinos off and let them puddle on the ground at his feet. Ethan, not to be outdone by his ransacking relation, suddenly snatched up the slacks with a nasty smile directed at his sneering sibling.  Ian went to grab at the pants too and a tug-of-war game ensued.  


A basically bare Justin stood there in his briefs, wondering if he'd somehow just fallen through a looking glass as the talkative twins began to argue over the torn togs. In a moment of surrealism, snatches of a nursery rhyme floated through the beleagured boy's brain, "Tweedledum and Tweedledee, Agreed to have a battle . . ." along with visions of Ethan and Ian morphing into two fat little men with beanie hats dancing through his imagination. Shaking his head to dispel the daydream, a joyless Justin turned away and shuffled over to his bed, trying to ignore the tumult.  


Finally winning the prize pants, Ethan smirked back at his step-brother, "thanks, Jus. These'll look great on me."


"Sweet Dreams," said a sulking, slacks-less Ian accompanying his sadistic sibling as the two scaled the stairs, side-by-side, like a modern day Chang and Eng, delayed only briefly as they shouldered each other aside, each striving to be the first through the doorway at the top of the dungeon stairs.


Meanwhile, a sad, scared Justin sat alone in his dungeon worrying about what further havoc the sadistic siblings would come up with now that they were armed with additional information they could use against him. ‘It had been such a fun evening,' thought the boy, ‘why did those cretins have to ruin everything! At least they didn't manage to find out what I'd been doing.' And, once again, the tired, timid, tortured teen took to his bed with a tear-streaked face and a heavy heart.  


As expected, the terrible twat twins weren't done with young Taylor, though, as our hero found out later, to his detriment.


*************************


Sunday should have been Justin's one day to rest and relax.  I mean, everybody is entitled to one day a week off, right? As my Aunt Lula used to say, "even ‘gaters in the bayou get to take Sundays off, Sugar. They might jest drag ya under and stuff ya ‘neath a nice log of a Sunday, but they won't eat ya on the Lord's day - them'll save ya up, let ya get all tender and eat ya up for Monday brunch, instead!"  


Our yummy youth was  in complete agreement with the general public's desire to take Sunday's easy and after his late night excursion, he'd been looking forward to getting in his share of R&R today.


Mommy-Meddlesome had made other plans though. Today was Ms. Nellah's turn to bring refreshments for the after service reception at their church. The congregation at 'Our Lady of the Suburban Shopping Mall' always enjoyed thumping their bibles and castigating sinners over a nice cuppa tea and plate of biscuits after the sermon. And, since Boastful Brenda had been bragging about her buttery biscuits ever since she'd joined the church, the joint consensus among the parishioners had been that this was her week to either put-up or shut-up. Those beautiful baked-goods had been commanded to make an appearance at today's meeting and Brenda was determined to show off her culinary skills.


That's why she had her sleepy-headed step-son up at 4:30 am baking his biscuits off before the dawn even broke. (Honey, you just know that hyped-up housefrau couldn't tell a biscuit from her butt cheek, hence her need for the little baker-boy's assistance.)


So, Justin had been cooking all morning and he'd gotten hot and sweaty and I'm sure his tee shirt was just plastered to his tight little torso with those nip-able little nubs just poking through the damp cotton . . . Is it getting hot in here? (Ooops. Sorry! That's just one of my 'fave'  little fantasies. Now, where was I again? Oh yeah, Justin had been cooking all morning - sigh).


At 10:00 am, once all the delicious dainties had been boxed up, our dear little delivery boy was ordered by his Saintly Step-Mom to tote everything to the truck and then to come with her to get the affiar set up.  At the Rectory, Justin was put in charge of setting up the treats in the vestibule while the family was savoring the sermon. As he was setting out the scrumptious sweets, Justin could hear the prating priest in the background preaching on about the wages of wantoness, the abomination of adultery, the sinfulness of sex and the horrors of homosexuality.  Just as the pedantic priest was getting to his favorite part, as evidenced by his increasingly gleeful tone and rising volubility, going on about all the horrors of hell that these sinners would be subjected to, the Charlatan Chef herself popped her head through the vestibule doors to survey Justin's progress.


"What are you still doing here," shrieked the shrew. "Hurry up, get this stuff tidied up and get out of here before anyone sees you. God help us if our friends find out Jennifer's little fairy-boy son was actually here in the church, let alone that he'd touched the food!  Shoo!  Go on!" She added, waving her arms at the dear dejected, demeaned, debased drudge who had slaved away for her all morning.


Justin gathered up all the trash and packaging and was preparing to depart, as the congregation broke out into the final harmonious hymn of the service: "Every sperm is sacred, every sperm is great. If a sperm is wasted, God gets quite irate . . ."**


"You get straight home, now," admonished Brenda as Justin started for the door. "Sinful little cocksuckers like you definitely shouldn't bee seen slinking around on Sundays."


Justin slammed the door on the end of Brenda's sentence, letting that last line leach away the remains of his lingering low spirits as it simultaneously fanned the flames of his fury.  How dare these lying, vain, sanctimonious, amoral, hypocrites judge me or my lifestyle,' he thought. ‘Fuck that Brute Brenda and my Farcical Father.' Justin wasn't going to hide away and he wasn't going home. He would go spend his Sunday worshiping something worthy of the worship. He was going to Liberty Avenue and he was going to find a real god - a sex god - the one and only Brian Kinney.


Unbeknownst to our little rebel, his retreat was witnessed by two pairs of prying peepers.  Ethan and Ian, intent on discovering their dear little brother's secret, had been conniving ever since last night. They wanted to know what Justin had been up to, where he'd gotten those clothes last night and anything else they could use against him as blackmail.  And, as the justifiably jangled Justin made his way towards Liberty Avenue, two treacherous twins were tailing him all the way.


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**Monty Python, Meaning of Life.


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