1 Admission

"Argh, fuck."

Asher slid his hand to the base of his own shaft, stroked back to the tip, and went down again. All the time, his head was thrown back, eyes closed and mind conjuring images from some of the pictures from the magazine spread on his bed.

He opened his eyes to look at the magazine again. His eyes landed on a picture of a male model in a designer underwear.

Asher groaned softly and increased his movements. A quick peep at the door showed the lock firmly in place—as he'd left it.

Getting caught in an act such as this wasn't something he intended to gamble with. Not only would his parents freak out when they learned that he always touched himself, but they might also chain and push him to an exorcist for getting turned on by pictures of half-naked males.

A Nineteen years old male from a millionaire family caught by his parents in the very act of what every Christian religious parent despised with the last drop of their blood.

Masturbation. Homosexuality.

Asher pushed his mind off his horrid family beliefs. He pictured the model's rosy lips on his cock, sucking him up, massaging his balls, the model's fingers all over Asher's skin.

Asher snuck his free hand to his balls and gently tugged on them. Just as he ascended the steps to his release, a voice pulled him out of his daydream.

"Asher?"

For a moment, Asher's heart collapsed into the pit of his stomach. He threw his eyes to the door, hoping to see his mother standing there with a look of sacrilegious shock. His heartbeat slowly returned to normal when he saw the door still locked.

"Mom?" he called back, clearing his throat not to sound suspicious because of his increased heartbeat.

"Dinner is ready. Be down in five. You know how your dad can be with coming late to dinner."

"I will be downstairs in a moment." Asher held his breath, waiting until her footsteps receded to the bottom of the stairs before going back to pleasuring himself.

Moments later, he erupted, coating his abdomen with his release.

To avoid being chastised by his father for going to dinner late, he rushed through his bath.

The dining room was just as he remembered: boring, annoying, depressingly quiet.

Asher murmured a greeting to his father who sat at the head of the larger-than-life table, before taking his seat.

"Ash, I have good news," his father started and gently set his spoon on the plate. He did not even wait to see if his son was interested in the conversation. He went straight to the point, "You remember my friend, Mr Ford? I have spoken with him. With his position as the chancellor, he has secured your admission to the university he presides over. You will be leaving next tomorrow. Make sure you prepare."

Asher's spoon fell to the plate with a clatter. His jaw dropped. His father went back to his food as if he had casually asked one of the workers to add some supplies of groceries to the kitchen. For some reasons unknown to Asher, his mother kept avoiding his gaze. Just like most of the decisions that were taken in the household, she didn't seem to have a say in the matter.

Asher couldn't call his life awesome. He had all the fine things of life—at least, for teens his age—like money in millions at his disposal, a very expensive car that his mother gifted him for his seventeenth birthday, and various luxuries at his beck and call. But all those things came with a sacrifice.

His happiness.

At first, he thought that money would cover everything, but it didn't. In the end, he became withdrawn, secluded, and very secretive. That way, he managed to keep a grip on his sanity.

But this...

How could his father inform him of an admission that was obviously bought with money two days to when he was supposed to resume?!!

Such a short time!

"It's a very beautiful school. You will have a lot of fun," his father continued, not minding the ashen look on his son's face. "It's located in Elite High, which also happens to be the name of the university. At last, my son, Randall Asher, will be a graduate. Your peers would be so jealous."

Asher had heard enough. He gently dabbed on his mouth with a napkin and pushed his chair back.

"Where are you going?" his father asked, eyes narrowed.

"I don't feel hungry. I think I don't have an appetite." He tried to move away from the table but his father's voice came back with a warning.

"Don't you dare. Sit down and eat."

"Dad, I'm not—"

"Sit down!!"

Asher collapsed on the chair with his eyes fixed on his plate. His heartbeat increased; he fisted his spoon tightly.

"What should happen to the food?! Huh?! Why didn't you tell your mom you wouldn't eat much or even eat at all?"

Asher kept quiet, fuming, but the chastise wasn't done.

"The lord hates wastage! The scripture is against it! I would advise you to gobble up those things on your plate before I shove them up your ass!"

Asher forked up some of the pasta.

"Sweetie, don't you like the food?" his mother asked, cooing softly. The smile on her face was one that Asher recognized. It was evident that she was on the verge of tears. "Take some more, okay?"

Asher slowly nodded. Anger boiled in his guts like a pot of sauce laid over an open fire. His mother continued saying cool words to soothe him. At some point, he began asking himself why he got angry in the first place. His father's outbursts and over-domineering attitude were a part of his childhood. He grew up with constant fear, anger, and resentment towards the man. Just as his anger subsided, his father picked another topic, still fuming.

"Most of your mates crave to be where you are today. Do you know what the lord has done for you? Do you know how lucky you are? You have all you want, a car that most of your peers have not even dreamed of acquiring, and a good house to live in! The least you can do is appreciate what I am doing for you, the happiness I crave for your future..."

At a point, Asher stopped listening. He still could not fathom how his loss of appetite had transcended into a sermon of the advantages and disadvantages of his life.

Talking about the luxuries his father spoke about, Asher would rather live an ordinary life than live in such wealth without peace of mind. In his next life, he wished he could come as a dolphin. That way, entirely avoiding interactions with humans would be easy. Especially interactions with his father.

The remaining part of dinner felt like a mourning service. His mother kept shut, scared that she could be yelled at if she tried pitching in a word or two, and Asher refused to indulge the insane man by replying.

When Randall, Asher's father, finished with his food, he left mother and son at the table, stomping up the massive stairs still mumbling words of disapproval of his son's conduct.

Asher slowly got up, intentionally avoiding eye contact with his mother.

"Baby?" Mrs Randall called out to him. She smiled reassuringly, "Everything will be okay. Just stay strong like you have always been, okay?"

Asher nodded but did not say a word. As the kitchen workers came in to take away the dishes, he slipped into his room.

This was the only place in the entire lonely mansion where he could think and reflect on his life. No dad. No yells or grumbles. No feeling of anger or resentment. No feeling of... guilt.

Asher picked up his phone. He had no one to call, no one to miss him after he would be bundled to a neighbourhood miles away in the name of getting a certificate. As an only child, his father wanted him to take over the family's heritage, and become a distinguished member of the society after passing out of a university.

Asher had no thoughts to counter that, but he felt that he could make some decisions by himself. Decisions like the institution he wanted, where he wanted, and when he wanted—and most especially, the course he wanted.

Asher ended up scrolling through the phone for some minutes trying to distract himself.

It didn't work.

As he laid down on his bed, his mind wandered far and wide. What did this next phase of his life hold for him?