for madvest

(proud owner of a selfie stick)

I text Harry.

I can't believe you took advantage of my phone while I was unaware. You didn't find my nudes, did you?

NUDES?!

I'm only joking, phone invader.

You didn't really think I'd let you go without getting your number, did you?

Even if it was against my will. I retort. God, I love playful banter.

Don't turn this into a challenge. ;) He replied.

Good night, Harry.

Nighty-night, Sherry.

*****

Kate had confessed to being pretty smitten with Niall. She remembered most events of the evening with only a couple of blurry spots. I was pretty surprised since she was so drunk she needed me to help her into the apartment when we got home.

"He is such a good kisser," she practically moaned, her mouth full of Frosted Flakes. "Oh my God..."

I rolled my eyes. "His hair was highlighted. What kind of guy highlights his hair? Do you think he's high maintenance?" I loved to egg her on.

Kate was a little distraught because she and Niall neglected to trade numbers at the party. I assured her that he'd find a way to get in touch, perhaps through Harry. Considering that Harry had used his silent ninja skills to obtain my number and had already texted me, I expected his pursuit to continue uninterrupted. I was glad that he wasn't one of those "wait 3-5 days before calling" kind of guys. He would definitely have to be the initiator if anything was going to happen between us.

After Kate left for the market, I went into my bedroom and locked the door.

I was bound and determined to take some successful nudes today. If I failed, I would have to purchase what I imagined could solve my problems: A selfie stick.

I was firmly convinced that selfie sticks were invented specifically for horny people who wanted to take their own nudes. I can't imagine why else anyone would need one. If you're in a large group of people, there's bound to be an extra person or passerby who can snap a photo for you, right?

Let's be clear, I am way too paranoid to send someone a picture of my junk. But that doesn't stop me from wanting to see how it photographs. Men have it easy, their junk is right in front of them, so they don't have to be contortionists to get a good view of it. I didn't have a huge mirror in my room, and I didn't want to sit on the bathroom counter. With my luck, I'd fall off, crack my head open on the toilet, and be discovered naked with pussy shots on my phone. My mother would be ashamed.

I had taken a few strategic tit shots, but I was super self-conscious. Nipples should be hard for photos. Is that a stretch-mark? Maybe I should use a filter. And some low-lighting. Well, that's not a good angle. Fuck.

When I tried to take a vaginal shot, I put my phone in selfie-mode so I could see how it looked before snapping the photo. This would be easier if I were an octopus, because I needed to keep the phone steady, tap the screen for focus, push the button, and still have a hand in the shot for hotness purposes as well as making sure my vagina was displayed in all its (imagined) glory.

After many frustrated attempts (some of which included the accidental fart slipping out from awkward positioning - definitely a mood killer), I decided to give it one more go before secretly purchasing a stick and hiding it under my bed.

This time, I decided to try it with full lighting to make sure everything showed up well. I could always adjust or add a filter later. I also thought I would shoot in regular mode, just snapping away blindly, and then look at what I managed to get afterward.

After snapping away for a few minutes, I trepidatiously swiped through the photos. I realized I definitely needed a manicure. But aside from that, some were blurry so I deleted them right off the bat. Too this, too that, but ultimately I had taken about 15 shots, 7 that I considered viewing worthy.

This called for a celebration.

*****

Harry's POV

I felt like shit. This was definitely the worst hangover of my lifetime. It was like I was under heavy sedation. Had someone tried to date-rape me? I wish.

Sherry was sexy AF. I wasn't sure exactly what it was about her, because she wasn't a conventional beauty like Paige. Paige was gorgeous, but she was mean and nasty. She didn't use to be that way, but with parents like hers, it's not surprising. Not that I have the greatest parents either. I think in the beginning, the fact that we both had crappy parents was something that brought us together. I tried to stay positive and not let my parents get to me, but Paige didn't seem as strong as I was. She had changed a lot, and it wasn't for the better.

Sherry was funny. She seemed confident, direct. Like she spoke exactly what was on her mind whether you liked it or not. After Paige's dishonesty, I found Sherry's directness refreshing. She also seemed pretty easily entertained, which was great for me, because while I may seem at first like a partying frat-boy, I'm really somewhat low-key and awkward. Sometimes even shy.

I should really get up and assess the damage after the house party. It just felt too troublesome to move just yet. I felt like I could spend a lifetime in this bed. God bless memory foam. You don't ever have to roll over; you're just suspended in constant comfort. This was bliss.

One of my favorite parts of the day is this dreamy wakeup state between slumber and actually getting out of bed. That's prime time to think of your girl and rub one out, while you're still unconscious enough to pretend that it's really happening. Like it's not your own hand on yourself, but someone's lips maybe...

I was still too out of it to even masturbate. This was serious. I almost dreaded getting with the lads and reconstructing the events of the evening. I hate hearing about embarrassing crap I did and don't remember.

Was that the sound of a door opening? Dammit. Don't tell me Paige is here. I really don't wanna deal with her ass this morning. I struggled to open my eyes.

"Is he going to be okay?"

That wasn't Paige.

"We have some important business banquets coming up," she added.

It was my mother. Always concerned about her stupid parties.

My mother? What the fuck...

Then, another voice, "Shall we talk about this in the hallway?"

Who was that? Why was my mum at the frat house?

Again I tried to open my eyes, but couldn't. Why couldn't I wake up? I tried to move my body, but I felt oddly restrained, as if I were underwater, or being held back by something. I could hear some metallic noises. What was that?

"Oh, is he waking up?" My mother sounded excited, "I knew he wouldn't disappoint me by missing the banquets. Important clients of his father's will be there." Enough with the parties already.

"I doubt he'll be in any condition-"

My mother interrupted her. She was always interrupting people. Attempts to open my eyes were futile. It took every bit of my strength to lift my eyelids for a nanosecond.

All I could glimpse before my eyes fell closed was that I was surrounded by white. My room was painted green, not white. Was I dead?

"Come on, honey," my mother cooed in baby talk, "Wake up for Mummy." I could feel her hand touching my hair as I desperately tried to open my eyes.

My eyelids fluttered open, then closed, and then open again, squinting at the brightness of everything around me.

My mother was grinning, "Oh, Harry, love - you're finally awake. Thank goodness. Now let's get you home."

"He can't go home until we run some more tests on him, m'am. He's been unconscious for days. I'll go get the doctor and let him know that Harry's awake now."

Unconscious for days? Looking around the room in a haze, I realized I was in a hospital, and my mum was talking to a nurse.

"What happened?" I asked, my dry throat making my normally husky voice sound croaky.

Looking down at myself, I realized why I was having a difficult time waking up, or even moving.

My right arm was in a cast and supported by a sling around my neck. There was a labyrinth of wires, sensors, and tubes surrounding my body. I was basically immobilized.

"You'll be fine, dear," mum said dismissively, looking at her cellphone. "I should probably call your father and tell him so he can stop worrying about your reckless behavior spoiling his charity gala." Her eyes flickered up to mine with a disapproving glance.

"What happened?" I asked again, as I fidgeted a bit seeking a comfortable position.

"You were in an accident. Your car was destroyed. This is why we can't have nice things, Harry. You're always-"

"Geez, mum, I'm in the hospital. I can't even remember what happened," I spoke, exasperated, needing a drink of water but knowing better than to ask her for help.

"You can't remember? I'm sure it'll come back to you once the medication wears off," she said, pacing back and forth impatiently.

I wondered where my phone was so that I could call someone who actually gave a shit as my mum continued to pace around either side of my bed.

I felt trapped and miserable. "Christ, mum. Could you just sit down a minute. You're really stressing me out with all your party drama. Shit." As if I wanted to be in the hospital.

"Harry, I swear you are so ungrateful at times," she complained as she usually did, making everything about her.

Our glowering eyes met in brief silence as she continued, "If that doctor will come in and just let us know when you'll be dismissed, then I'd have one less thing to worry about."

She reached out and wiggled my foot like you might to comfort a child, and offered a small smile. The first smile from her since I'd woken up, but instead of returning it, I felt my blood run cold.

"Do that again," I pleaded.

"Harry, we don't have time -"

"Do it again!" I raised my voice, frantic.

"Harry, that is no way to talk to your mother!" She grabbed my big toe through the blanket and twisted it in frustration.

"Mum," I spoke in quiet defeat as her eyes met mine. "Mum..."

"Spit it out, Harry, I can't stay here all day."

"Mum," my voice came out in a near whisper, "I can't feel my legs."