Day 6

Since his encounter with Mr. Janacek had taken longer than Danny anticipated, he'd overrun morning break and was now almost ten minutes late for French class; but being Danny Vandervere meant not having to face consequences for such minor infractions; besides which, he was already fairly fluent in French due to growing up with a French nanny as well as having private tutoring in French literature the previous year, and he was only taking the class because it was a college requirement that he needed on his transcript, and an easy A on his crowded schedule; so Danny simply put his books away in his locker and went along to the restroom to primp his hair back into place and enjoy his own reflection for a while.

The teacher's frenzied grasping hadn't done too much damage to Danny's carefully tousled curls, they only needed a little pulling, pinching, and patting to return them to their rightful places; standing back from the full-length mirror in the boy's room, he closely examined his clothes, rebuttonning the fly of his jeans when he noticed he'd missed a button earlier.

Stepping back even further, he took in his overall appearance, and tried out a few nonchalant poses to enjoy the effect. His clothes were not the usual fashion, the deep aubergine polo shirt and artfully faded blue-gray jeans being a good deal more form-fitting than what was worn by his peers, most of whom preferred to wallow in oversized layers of t-shirts and hoodies with sagging khakis or wide board-stiff jeans that completely disguised their bodies; he also eschewed the puffy athletic shoes and flat sneakers that other boys wore in favor of stack-heeled motorcycle boots that made his buttocks stand out and gave his walk an eye-catching swagger: Danny was intensely proud of his body, and loved the effect he had on people by showing it to its best advantage.

Danny's style of dress had caused something of a stir among the more status-conscious boys when he adopted it for his Senior year, and they aped his tighter clothes to the best of their abilities -- though most had to resort to vintage shops and mail-order for old 501s and Izods where Danny's lavish allowance from the Vandervere Trust enabled him to wear Gianfranco Ferre and Ralph Lauren Purple Label; and they all pulled back from the blatant display of cock and ass, pecs and thighs that were Danny's whole reason for dressing as he did.

Satisfied with his beauty, Danny left the restroom and ambled down the broad silent corridor to the library, where he pulled a copy of The New Yorker off the Periodicals rack and fell into a comfortable chair with his feet up on the table to while away the remaining third-period hour.

He was watched but not challenged by the librarian, Mr. D'Arby, who was completely in love with Danny; and though Danny was usually happy to return such adoration with sex, he found the librarian dreadfully repellent... he thought Mr. D'Arby looked like an inflated frog, obese and wide-mouthed and pop-eyed; the thought of the man touching him with those short sausage-like fingers or pressing that soft spherical body against his made him shiver with revulsion.

Still, he was nice to the man, and flirted with him outrageously whenever he checked out books (which was two or three times a week, as Danny was a voracious reader), earning the man's undying loyalty and affection.

It was affection that Danny craved above all else, the need that drove his prodigious sexuality; and even before he became sexually active, he was deeply engaged in getting people to love him. As a child he had gone out of his way to charm people, to study what it ws that made people respond with fond smiles; he watched his father charm people when he wanted something, and replicated that charm, watched his other relatives treating people with disdain and did the exact opposite.

The charm came quite naturally to him: his openness and his sweet disposition, his amazingly retentive memory and his interest in the details of people's lives, were as much a part of him as his beauty; and like his beauty, he cultivated his charm assiduously and displayed it ostentatiously, using it to get the affection he needed. He could never get enough of it, and during his short life had exercised his charm to such an extent that the entire town loved him.

The exception to this rule, and the obvious genesis of this insatiable need, was his family: his parents, his brothers, his aunt and uncle and cousins all despised him, had done so almost since his birth; he had nearly killed his mother in childbirth, earning both parents' resentment; and from the very beginning he was so clearly different from the rest of his family -- his curling black hair and huge bottomless gray eyes, his inhuman prettiness and precocious intelligence. In a clan of handsome blond WASPs, conventional and average in every aspect but their autocratic sense of entitlement, Danny was the ugly duckling, suffering the cruelty and isolation of a pariah.

But like most young men, he was blissfully ignorant of what made him tick; he was aware that he used his beauty and charm to manipulate and make people love him; but he had no idea why he was compelled to do so -- nor did he really care. He just knew that he was happy, that he loved his life and the pleasures it gave him.

Danny put away his magazine and headed for the gymnasium before the bell rang, and was already undressed and standing naked at his locker when the rest of the fourth-period boys came pouring noisily into the locker room. Some of the boys wondered how he seemed so comfortable, naked in a room full of clothed people; others shook their heads at his blatant exhibitionism; most wished they looked like him, quite a few wished they could touch him; a select few already had, and Danny was engaged in picking out those he would approach next -- part of the reason he spent so much time naked in the locker room was to gauge reactions and catch those flashes of lust that indicated the likelihood of his success with them. All of the boys looked at his oversized genitals, some with disgust and most with envy, but there was a certain look that came into a boy's eyes when they were lit with desire, and Danny was constantly on the hunt for that look.

He had marked down a chubby blond boy, a trumpeter in the marching band, as his next quarry by the time he was dressed in his tight white t-shirt and baggy blue jersey shorts (though he liked to show off his body, he did not wish to appear out of control, and he frequently got erections during gym class that he didn't want everyone to see); he called out a greeting to the boy, whose name he remembered was Derrick, and reveled in the confused blush that mantled the blond's smoothly rounded cheeks.

"You goin' after that fat nerd, Vandervere?" Henry Ahern, Danny's wrestling partner and frequent fuck-buddy, fell into step beside him as they made their way out of the locker room.

"He's not a fat nerd," Danny defended his prospective conquest, "I think he's cute."

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