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Diary of a Grown Ass Man	By : Raceysama Category: Bleach > Yaoi - Male/Male > Grimmjow/Ichigo Views: 1651 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach, nor do I make any profit from these works......

Chapter List
- 1
- 2
- 3
CHAPTER 2
Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach...
Onwards...
XOXOXO
June 13th, 2011
Tuesday
7:15 pm
I can't believe I got suckered into taking this stupid fucking class. All because that little fucker, Luppi, put a restraining order on me.
Pussy.
That little tight-ass had so much mouth, but the minute I went to shut it, he turned into a fucking girl. Well, I guess I should've seen that coming. It's not like I've ever seen the faggot fight before. And Luppi IS a fucking faggot. A flaming one, in fact. He even dresses like a chick and everything, I kid you not. He's so...tiny. He can't possibly be a guy! I think the kami fucked up when they made him, like they couldn't make up their minds what they wanted him to be. Haha.
Anyway.
So, here I am in a fucking anger management class because a little cross-dressing freak couldn't keep his fucking mouth shut. Talkin' 'bout, "You know you want this, Grimmjow!"
…
As fucking if.
OH SHIT! I almost forgot all the fun I had yesterday, my first day!
So, let me start at the beginning. I left my house, which is in Tokyo, to come all the way to this crappy fucking hick town named Karakura. I shouldn't be so hard on the place though. They can't help the fact that they fucking suck.
Anyway.
So, I come from Tokyo after having the mother of all arguments with my baby sister, Cirucci, whore that she has become. She thinks I don't know about her nasty little habit of coming into my room late at night and going through my pants, hoping that I've left my wallet in them. Well, anyway. We were arguing because I refused to fucking take her side in the parent war. In other words, our folks are kicking her ass the fuck out for...surprise, surprise...stealing from them. Now, if Cirucci was a NORMAL baby sister, doing what she was supposed to do and shit like that, I might have considered being thrown under the bus for her sake, but since she's stolen from me no less than three times, I wouldn't piss on fire to put her out.
Way off track here.
So, we argue and she has a titty tantrum and storms the fuck out – like I give a shit. Then, I realize I'm running late for the class I was forced into. Although I live in Tokyo with my folks, I work in Karakura. Well, me and my boy, Gin. Gin actually lives here in Karakura though. Him and his girl, Nel-something or other. She's hot, that's all I know.
We work for Gin's step-pops, Aizen. He owns a nice little club and I'm the house DJ, while Gin is one of the bartenders. It's a cool gig and the pay is pretty fucking good, so it works. I'm grateful as hell too, because I just moved back here after having been in America for ten years, which is why I got lost trying to find this fucking school. Before I started working at the club, Hueco Mundo, I'd never set foot in Karakura. I'm only familiar with the club and Gin's apartment, so everything else is like traversing fucking Pluto.
Damn, I keep getting side-tracked.
So, I'm driving around looking for this fucking place and I'm getting pissed and annoyed because it seems like I keep driving in fucking circles. Finally, a gas station attendant takes pity on my dumb ass when he spots me driving past him for the FIFTH time. He gives me directions, I thank him – although I don't really want to – and make my way to this school: Karakura Elementary.
I run across another problem because now I can't find any fucking parking. They have these signs along the curb in front of the school saying "NO PARKING", which pisses me off, because...where the FUCK am I supposed to park my goddamned car?
Yeah, so I end up parking three blocks away and walking to the fucking school because some smart fucker decided no one could park in front of it. Fucking geniuses, I swear.
Anyway.
At long last, I make it to the fucking school and guess what?
The fucking front door is locked.
I mean, what the fuck people! Give a guy a break, yeah?
Now, I feel like an idiot because the fucking door is not only locked, but the front entrance is dark and it's pretty fucking obvious that no one is there. Then, just as I'm about to flip the building the bird, I spot a teeny tiny note beside the light blue door stating that "Anyone here for the anger management class should go around back."
Whose idea it was to stick a microscopic note up there, I have no fucking clue, but whoever it was, they should be donkey-stomped.
So, now I go 'round back and there's a red door that seems to have some life behind it. There's a light shining underneath it and I hear a deep voice coming from the other side. This must be it. I open the door, which is thankfully unlocked and the first thing my eyes land on is a HUGE guy with an absolutely ridiculous hairstyle. The fucking slicked back spikes are just over the top and I'm forced to swallow my first reaction of laughing out loud at the fucker. Then, the guy goes and...yells at me.
Yeah, I don't know if he didn't get the memo or not, but no one fucking yells at Grimmjow fucking Jaegerjaques. Dude must not know who the fuck I am.
I stare at him like he's lost his fucking mind – which he clearly has. I mean, his hair is the proof. I calmly ask him if this is the anger management class and again, the fucker snaps and yells. Something about him not tolerating people that can't follow the rules. At this point, I've come to the conclusion that not only is the guy a fucking lunatic, he's a fucking asshole too.
And that's what I tell him. Except I was so pissed, I said it in English.
He didn't understand.
I clarified in Japanese.
I'm not one for biting my tongue or holding shit in when I'm pissed.
Then, the motherfucker flips the script completely and gives me this creepy ass grin before "welcoming me" to the class and pointing to an empty, blue, plastic chair.
I tried to tell you...he's nutty as squirrel shit.
Anyway.
I sit and survey my surroundings. The class is filled with a bunch of misfits, if you ask me. They all look weird or unhinged and not one of them appealed to me. I mean, the really tall, skinny fucker caught my eye for a second, but that was because he was staring at me (with one eye, mind you, since his left eye is hidden by a white bandana) with this perverted smirk. I wanted to ask him what the fuck he was looking at like that, but thought better of it. I mean, I was here to "manage my anger" not start shit with my classmates. I believe my mom would call that "counter-productive".
I continue taking in the rest of the class, wondering why the hell there were three midgets in attendance. I shouldn't care, but it's pretty fucking funny that people that damned small have anger issues. Continuing with my visual checklist, I run a mental "X" through each image. Buff, red head. Check. The three chibis. Check. A female karate kid. Check. The bandana-wearing sicko. Check. Holy cow, the silent, dark-skinned behemoth. Check. Cue ball and the weirdo group leader. Check.
And then my favorite part of the class: bright-orange haired guy.
After staring at this guy's hair for a bit ('cuz c'mon, I've never seen bright as tangerines orange hair before), I decide to ask a few questions that are just dying to be answered.
Something weird happens.
This guy has...ok, when I explain this, don't think I'm gay, 'cuz I'm NOT.
The orange-haired guy tells me his name is strawberry and his voice is like...like your favorite song...something you can listen to all fucking day and never get tired of it. It's deep, but husky. Like he's on the verge of a sore throat or something and it suits him. He's got these milk chocolate brown eyes, matching freckles across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose (which is straight and kind of up-turned at the end) and he has a spectacular fucking tan. His skin is like the color of honey and he's got freckles on his arms and legs too.
I don't know why his looks distract me so much, but it pisses me off and I take it out on his name. I mean, he has to know that, even if the shit does mean something else, people are gonna fuck with him because it sounds like the damned fruit. Personally, I think it's kinda cute. His hair and his name go hand in hand. You can't really beat that.
Anyway.
Ichigo is so easy to get riled up and it's fucking FUN. Kami, I've never had that much fun getting under someone's skin in my life. Not even Cirucci and she's pretty fun to fuck with too, but this guy wins, no contest. One mention of the "v" word and he's ready to shit bricks, blushing all prettily. So, I fuck with him some more, of course, and then he surprises me and punches me.
One reason I didn't see that coming: he just doesn't seem the type to be a fighter. Angry? Yeah. But fighting? FUCK no. So, as you can tell, he pretty much made my fucking day with that hit. It didn't hurt, but he did manage to draw some blood.
I leap at him and the next thing I know, we're on the floor wrestling around like high schoolers and the strawberry is trying to get his hands around my throat. He's so fucking adorable, but if he wants to play hardball, then hardball we shall play. I grab his purple t-shirt and head-butt the crap out of him, which stuns him and gives me the perfect opportunity to roll him over and press him against the floor. Now, we're just staring at each other and breathing all hard and I'm getting aroused from all the excitement. Ichigo has a lean, wiry body complete with toned muscle and soft skin and he smells like Irish Spring soap.
Although that thought pisses me the fuck off, I can't help the grin that splits my face in two. This is the most fun I've had since I moved back to Japan. Ichigo pushes against my chest and gets nowhere, but his hand against me makes my heart skip a beat and my dick jump. I'm not gay, so I don't like the dick jumping part. That's why I bring my fist back to meet his face, but the group leader – the insane fucker with the spikes – pulls me off of the strawberry before I can land the hit.
Fucking sucks.
I was so ready to let Ichigo get acquainted with my knuckles. Hell, he fucking deserved it after that little pussy punch earlier. I vaguely register the group leader saying something to me, but for some reason my attention is riveted to the orange-haired man staring back at me in disbelief and discomfort. He's confused. It's so obvious, he may as well have had a fucking sign stuck to his forehead.
I don't blame him.
I'm grinning at him like an idiot because he interests me and has supplied me with a great time.
And here I thought anger management was going to be wack.
Ichigo is sporting an angry red mark in the middle of his forehead from where I head-butted him, but he doesn't seem bothered by it, which only serves to intrigue me more. Has he taken a lot of damage before and that's why he can withstand a blow like that?
Oh man.
I've never been this excited in my life.
I feel like fucking Christmas has come in the middle of June and I'm the lucky kid with the most presents.
Ichigo is my Santa Claus.
Fuck.
Merry Christmas to me.
The group leader – whose name is Kenpachi-something – pushes me out of the class and tells me not to come back if I can't behave. Once Ichigo is out of my sight, my focus seems to return and I realize that I am acting like a teenager with a crush.
But I can't help it.
Most guys take one look at me and decide tempting fate just isn't fucking worth it, but Ichigo...Ichigo didn't even hesitate to go toe-to-toe with me and that's new for me. Can you blame me for being excited? Especially since I love fighting to begin with? Bar brawls, street fights, they all make my blood roar and sing like Mariah Carey.
I stand outside of the school for five minutes, hoping the strawberry will appear and we can finish what we started inside, but then I realize that I'm behaving like a fucking stalker, so I walk my ass to my car. Even though it's the evening, it's still hot as hell and I begin sweating during the three block walk to my vehicle, my white polo shirt sticking uncomfortably to my back.
I touch my lip, register a twinge of pain, smile and start humming a tune.
I finally reach my black, 2009 Honda Accord and slip inside, starting it up and immediately blasting the AC. I drive home anxious for tomorrow and my next anger management class and thus, my next encounter with the strawberry.
I get home and float inside, my parents asking questions I don't bother to answer as I head for my room to get out of my sweaty clothes and shower.
I wake up this morning, feeling like a million fucking bucks and glad that I don't have to work tonight either, giving me ample time to proposition the strawberry for another REAL fight. The day sails by and in no time I'm driving to my anger management class, eager as a boy about to lose his virginity. I saunter into class and realize that everyone from the day before is there...except the one I want to fucking see.
I'm in class now, pissed off and bored because my strawberry isn't fucking here and I could've stayed the hell home and done something else with my fucking time. Kenpachi is saying we need to come prepared to talk tomorrow.
Fuck that.
He better be glad if I even bother to come at all.
I'm not some chick, yet, I'm sitting here writing in this "journal" just for the hell of it and because I like my handwriting.
Ah...just as I was about to complain about being ready to bounce, Kenpachi has dismissed us.
So, later fucking "journal"...
~Grimm
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Diary of a Grown Ass Man