THAT SATURDAY ONE BOTTLE OF JD, TWO BOYS AND TWO POINTS OF VIEW
Chapter One -- Nick
It was Saturday. We were hanging in his room in his Mum's big flat. She wasn't home. I don't know where she got to all the time, but Alex always seemed to be home on his own back then. That's why we hung there, I guess. It felt cool to be able to do what we wanted. No supervision. I'm three years younger than he is so it was especially novel for me to be there with him, just listening to music. No adults telling us to turn it down or whatever. Sometimes we drank or got stoned. But mostly it was about the music. Until that Saturday.
He had a full bottle of JD when I got there. He looked pleased with himself, devilish almost. I don't know where he got it since he was too young to buy it. He usually just nicked half full bottles off his Mum, then put water in them or something to make up the difference. Thinking back, I guess we never really drank that much in those days. Until that Saturday.
He put on the White Album and we drank straight out of the bottle. He had a lot more experience drinking than me. First off, as I said he was older, seventeen; I was only fourteen and he had started real young, apparently. That's what he bragged anyhow. He liked it so much I had no reason to doubt his claims. He kept pushing it on me. I hadn't eaten anything and after a while it was making me a little sick. I didn't want him to think I was a wuss though so I tried to keep up with him. I started to feel a little woozy and had to lay down on his bed. He was acting really drunk and stupid already. I'd never seen him quite like that before. He turned the stereo up real loud and came over to the bed. I didn't open my eyes; the bed was spinning beneath me.
"Open wide." He said, laughing. Before I had the chance to open my eyes, never mind my mouth, I felt liquid on my face. He was standing over me pouring the booze onto my face. I leapt up, sputtering. "What the fuck, you fucking arsehole." The sudden, violent movement made me feel as if I was gonna be sick. I sat, put my head in my hands. "You're a dick." All at once, I puked onto the floor between my legs. No heaving, nothing. I couldn't stop myself. All the booze came pouring out of me like a faucet. Alex, in the meantime, had stepped back and, I presume, was just watching, in horror. The room reeked of vomit and liquor. His carpet was soaked with it. "Dammit, I'm sorry. I'm sorry." I felt so stupid, so lame, I felt like crying but didn't because that would've only made it worse.
"What'm I gonna do? How am I gonna clean that shit up?"
"I don't know. I'm sorry." I said and laid back down. I felt awful. Only wished I could feel better, normal again. I stayed like that for a while, listening to him running back and forth to the kitchen or the bathroom or somewhere, pouring various concoctions onto my mess to get rid of the stain and the smell. After a time, he collapsed on the bed next to me, laughing and breathless.
"You pussy." I didn't respond. He poked me. "Are you passed out? Are you all right, pussy-boy?" I wished he'd be quiet, turn off the music, leave me in peace. "Seriously," He said, putting his lips against my ear, "Are you all right, Nicky?"
"I'm fine. Ssshh."
"Open up." he said again.
"No don't. Come on, don't." I felt his fingers creeping up my neck, onto my chin, then he hooked two of them into my mouth. I tried to turn my face away, but they were latched on hard enough that I would've had to get up and move away to dislodge them and I wasn't prepared to move that much. I gave up and let him keep them there.
"Suck on them. It'll make you feel better. It's an old Danish folk remedy. Cures hiccups, too." When I didn't respond, he pushed them further into my mouth, down onto my tongue. Almost at once I started to gag and he withdrew them. He couldn't risk my vomiting on his bed or him.
"Cut it out, okay? I feel like shit and I just want to sleep."
"Not yet. I've got something else, something better. It'll work, I promise." He was very close to me, he laughed a nervous laugh, and I could feel his breath against my cheek. It smelled minty and I realized that, at some point, during his cleaning efforts, he'd taken the time to brush his teeth. He took my chin in his hand again and turned my face to him, gently he put his lips on mine. I don't know why, really, but I let him kiss me. He did it slow, easy, put his tongue in tentatively. His lips are full and they felt nice. I wished I wasn't so sick because I would've liked to enjoy it more, maybe. We were still a few inches apart so our bodies were almost but not quite touching. I was shy to reach for him, for his body, so I took his chin in my fingers. I wasn't sure what we were doing or where this was going. I was only fourteen, a virgin, and was excited, but afraid too. "How's that feel?" He asked.
"Nice."
"Can I keep going?"
"Yeah."
He edged closer to me and hooked one of his legs between mine. He placed his left hand on my waist and slid it under my t-shirt. It tickled. I got gooseflesh and thought I might laugh. But I didn't want him to think of me like a kid, so I held it in. He put his right hand on my other side and started kissing me again, this time a little rougher, more insistent. I felt awkward, didn't know what to do with my hands, so I lightly took hold of his wrists. He was halfway on top of me now and I could feel his boner against my leg. "I'm gonna jerk you off, okay?"
I nodded.
"And you're gonna jerk me off, okay?"
I nodded.
He opened his fly and took his dick out. I didn't do anything, just stared at it, so he took my right hand, guided it to his mouth, licked my palm so it was wet and sloppy then wrapped it around his dick and started moving it up and down with his own hand. When he was confident that I had a satisfactory rhythm going he reached for my fly. As I jerked him off, I watched his face partly because I didn't want to look at what I was doing and partly because I was curious about what was going on his head. When he got my dick out of my jeans, he looked really excited, even more so than by my jerking him off. Like he was turned on by the sight of my dick or something. That seemed strange to me.
At some point the music stopped and I was forced to listen to the sounds he was making. He groaned a bit and kept saying "yeah" under his breath, kinda like some old pervert in a porn film. But I remember his breathing most of all. He was real close to me and I could feel it, erratic and hot, against my neck. It all seemed so dirty, kind of gross, and I started to feel inhibited, embarrassed, ashamed.
"Hey come on, come on, don't stop now. Fuck, I'm almost there."
But he wasn't really and I came before him anyway. When I gasped, he put his mouth over mine. No one had ever gotten me off before and it was bizarre. He took over jerking himself off after that and shortly said to me, "Can I come on your face?"
I thought I must've heard wrong. "What?" Instead of responding, he just sprung up into a kneeling position on the bed, facing toward where I was still lying down, put his knee on my chest and ejaculated on my face. "What the fuck! You fucking arsehole." I wiped at my face furiously and tried to get up but he was still kneeling on me. "Get off me, you motherfucker."
In response, he fell down on top of me. He was laughing, not in a cruel way, like he'd gotten something over on me, which is I how I viewed it, but like he was giddy, excited. "Nick, don't be mad. That was fucking awesome. You're fucking awesome. I've wanted you forever, man. That was so fucking great." Like a big sloppy dog, he proceeded to lick any stray jizz off my face.
"Whaddya mean, you wanted me forever?"
"Like, since I first laid eyes on you I've been horny for you. Forever. I had a hard on for you every time you came over here. You're fucking gorgeous."
"For real?" The flattery was working.
"Take off your clothes, okay? Get naked. I want you see the rest of you."
"I don't know. I don't think so."
"Come on. Please. Please."
"Only if you do too. Okay?"
"Yeah, great." At once he started tearing his stuff off. Since he was naked in record time, he helped me out of my clothes after he was done. I could tell he was getting off on undressing me, touching me and looking at me. It was kind of turning me on a bit, but at the same time I felt queasy because I knew it was wrong. "So, whaddya want to do now?" He asked. We were seated on the bed, facing one another, stark naked.
I shrugged.
"Want to try sixty-nine?"
"No."
"Come on. Why not? It'll be cool."
"I don't want to put your dick in my mouth, Alex. I'm not a faggot."
"Fuck you. Neither am I. Asshole. Forget it then. Just forget it." Suddenly he got up, took me by the arm and yanked me roughly off the bed. He dragged me out of his room, down the hall and toward the flat's entry. "You can just get out, asshole. Okay? Get the fuck out." He was attempting to put me into the hallway of his Mum's building bare-arsed so naturally I fought like a wild animal. I was smaller than he was back then so couldn't manage to free my arm from his grip but was able to punch and kick him enough to impede his progress. Eventually he gave up trying to throw me out and just started hitting me back. We proceeded to have a nude brawl in the living room.
When it was over and we were both sitting on the floor, panting, he rose and went back to his room without a word to me. Fearing that he intended to lock me out, I ran after him at once but the door was open. He was inside, getting dressed. "I'm sorry about all that, Nick. It was a mistake. I don't know what I was thinking or why I said those things. Or why I did those things to you. It was the booze or something. I shouldn't drink so much, anyhow, right? That's what they always say. It fucks with my head. It makes me do weird shit and stuff. Sorry." Every time he turned toward me, I could see his eyes run over my body. He wanted to be able to help it, I think, but he couldn't. It wasn't the booze that made him want me, it was me. I felt like I had some sort of power over him. His desire for me was turning me on. I sat down beside him on the bed and began to dress...slowly. My body was right up next to his. He was itching to touch me, I could tell. "Do you forgive me? You're not gonna stop hanging out with me now are ya?"
I just smiled at him. Nothing like that's happened between us again. We've never spoken of it since then. Life has changed a lot for us in the ensuing years. We work together and see each other every day sometimes for months on end. Sometimes he touches me or kisses me, innocently or jokingly. Sometimes he looks at me, longingly, when he thinks no one sees. Sometimes, when we're hanging with friends and he's gotten quite pissed, he says things or does things to hint that there might be something more between us but there isn't. Not since that Saturday.
Chapter Two -- Alex
He was a lot younger than me. I don't even know what the age of consent in New York is. At fourteen, if he was legal, it was only just barely. So he was probably too young. I know that. I'm not stupid or anything. And I know it was probably a big mistake on my part. Because it wasn't like it just happened, you know, naturally, or anything. For a long time, I kind of hoped that it was going to happen that way. Organically. But I was starting to get the feeling he was going to need more incentive than my deadly charm alone. [I'm kidding here]
Yeah, so I planned it. I got the bottle of Jack and figured I'd ply him with booze and he'd let me...well, let me...whatever. Y'know, he'd just let me. He was just a sophomore; I was already a senior. He never really talked about girls much. Honestly, we mostly talked about music and shit, not girls, so maybe he was into girls and it just never came up. He probably thought it was lame to be talking about that sort of thing to me since I had all these lofty ideas that I was trying to get across all the time. Shit, I can be a pretentious piece of shit sometimes. I should feel lucky he didn't just get fucking bored of my blah-blah-blabber and take off. Long and short of it, I'm trying to say I probably had the whole situation worked out wrong from the start. I can be such a fucking asshole sometimes.
"Lookie. A whole bottle. JD. The good stuff."
"Cool." He never really talked much at all, come to think of it. Well no, sometimes he did actually. When he got worked up over something. But really only then.
He followed me to my room and sat in his usual spot, on the floor with his back against the bed. I flipped through my CD collection to see what I'd play for us. My mind was already racing, thinking, "This is it. This is the day," so I was trying to find something appropriate without being too obvious about it. So fucking queer, I am. Such a fucking freak. I picked the White Album for no good reason, just because I was afraid it was looking like I was taking too long or something. Not that he gave a fuck. I mean, it wasn't like he knew what I was up to or anything but I was all paranoid about it anyhow. So I just grabbed the White Album and that was that. When I turned back to him, he was oblivious, flipping through an old copy of Cream magazine I had picked up at Rocks in Your Head earlier in the week. It had a cool old article about Iggy Pop in it that I wanted to read. It was fucking expensive and, after I read the article, which took me all of fifteen minutes, realized it had been a big waste of cash but it was too late.
"You want that? You can have it if you want. I'm done with it." He continued to flip through it without answering me, as if he was browsing, trying to decide whether he wanted it or not. Like, for fuck's sake, I was offering it to him for free, what did he need to decide about?
"There's a pretty cool article about Iggy in there. And some stuff about Suicide too. Remember them? Are they still around?"
"I don't know. I never heard of them." He said with a blank stare.
"Oh yeah, there's a really hot picture of Debbie Harry on the inside of the back cover, too." I don't know why I was trying so hard to sell it to him. I was beginning to feel rejected a little. "So ya want it?"
"Nah. I'll just read it over here." He closed it and put it aside. I think I turned him off to it. Maybe I was imagining it, but I felt as though he had some sort of a `tude and it was pissing me off a little. I took another swig from the bottle and handed it off to him. He drank as much as I had, more maybe. Good. Drink up, kid.
We hung out a while. He showed me some of the guitar parts on a couple of the songs. He liked to play, had been playing for years so, when he heard something that caught his ear, he'd just pick up the guitar and start playing along. He'd been sort of teaching me all different shit for a while. He said I was good, that he was impressed with my musical ability. I'd only been playing less than a year so that was nice to hear. I guess I always need a lot of positive reinforcement. I got the feeling he wasn't like that. For a kid, he was very self-contained. Never really looking for anyone's approval. Sort of arrogant, even. Maybe that was just me though. Maybe it was my insecurities made me see him that way. He was probably just a normal kid and I was the fucked up one.
I made sure we kept the bottle of booze in play the whole time. I was surprised that he was keeping up with me. I was feeling pretty fucked up by the point when he finally had to lay down. He was looking pretty green around the gills, truthfully. I was starting to think maybe I'd waited too long, that he'd pass out and wouldn't be up for anything. But I was drunk and feeling pretty goofy and uptight and nervous and probably didn't really care anymore. I opened the bottle to take a drink but instead went over to the bed, where he was lying so peacefully and said, "Open wide." While holding the bottle over his face. I expected him to look or something, because I wasn't really gonna do it. I just wanted to freak him out a bit, but he refused to open his eyes and look. He just fucking laid there and ignored me. So I poured it on him, the little prick.
"What the fuck, you fucking arsehole." He said and the jumped off the bed. He was really fucked up; his eyes were glassy and he couldn't even stand up straight. He sat down almost immediately and dropped his head into his hands. "You're a dick." He muttered. Then he fucking vomited all over the place. I swear it was like Niagara Falls. He must've had a gallon of water or juice or something before he came over because all that liquid could not have been in that bottle of Jack. No fucking way. I swear to Christ, it went on forever. When he was done, he apologized, then just sat there.
"What'm I gonna do? How am I gonna clean that shit up?"
He didn't give a shit. He just laid back down with one last lame apology. I spent a good twenty minutes putting vinegar, seltzer water and baking soda on it. All the shit my Mom told me got stains and smells out of stuff. Shit, she couldn't come in here and find the whole room stinking of booze. She'd probably send me back to therapy or something. The whole time I cleaned, Nick just laid on the bed motionless. I started to think he'd passed out on me. I guess I overdid it with the liquor.
Finally when I felt I'd done as much as I could, I jumped on the bed next to him, teased him a bit, asked him if he was okay. I think he was probably embarrassed. Shit, I know I would've been if it had been me barfing all over his room. But, y'know, he didn't really seem all that shook up over it. Weird, but I even got the feeling he was annoyed with me. He acted like he just wanted me to be quiet so he could fucking sleep or something. As a goof, I put my fingers in his mouth and told him to suck on them. I guess I was testing the waters a bit. Not a real smooth move. He started gagging and I gave up on that. It wasn't nearly as erotic as it seems in the movies when they do shit like that anyhow. It was just kind of stupid and lame and gross. Besides, I didn't want him to vomit again.
That's when I decided to just go for it. I turned his face to me and kissed him. Just like that. It was so simple. He wasn't bad for a kid. He must've made out with girls or something already. Not surprising I guess, he was pretty cute [he still is, too]. But it was pretty amazing that he just let me kiss him like that. It wasn't only him just letting me either; he actually responded. He opened his mouth, let me put my tongue in and he put his tongue in my mouth too. I felt like I needed to take it slow. He was young and drunk. I didn't want this to be construed as me taking advantage of him or forcing myself on him or any kind of fucked up shit like that. So I asked him, "How's that feel?"
"Nice." Shit, I was over the moon about now. He was looking me straight in the face and telling me he liked kissing me. That it was nice.
"Can I keep going?" I hoped he knew that this meant I wanted to go further. He's a guy after all. I figured he'd know that's what I meant.
"Yeah." He looked so grave, I almost asked him if he was sure, but didn't want to risk a rejection so I just kind of got on top of him a little and took him in my arms, best I could, and kissed him again. He was holding me too and kissing me real passionately. Like he was turned on too. I was afraid maybe I was imagining it, but I wasn't. Fuck, I know I wasn't. I felt so desperate, like I wanted to swallow him whole. I was trying not to come on too strong but I couldn't really help myself. I couldn't believe it was happening. I had such a hard on for him.
I asked him and he agreed to us jerking each other off. I was all nervous. He didn't do anything at first so I put my dick in his hand and sort of started him off. I jerked him off at the same time. We were facing each other, really close. He was so quiet and he looked all serious and like he wasn't even into it or anything. At one point he almost stopped completely and I had to beg him to finish me off. It's so stupid because it wasn't really that great or anything, but I was so fucking horny. It was the shit. It was pissing me off that he didn't seem to be turned on at all. It was like he was just going through the motions. The only time I saw any response from him was when he came. His face kind of scrunched up and then he let out a little sigh or a moan or something and that was it. I tried to kiss him but he didn't really respond. It was just like my mouth was there on his and nothing, so I gave up. Fuck him, I thought. I decided to finish myself off since he obviously wasn't into it. Looking at him, laying there, so full of himself, I really just wanted to come all over his fucking smug little face. What the fuck, I thought. "Can I come on your face?" I was really, really, really close.
"What?" Asshole. I just jumped up and kind of held him down and came all over him. He was fucking pissed. But it was such a cool fantasy and I got to do it so I was ecstatic. I didn't want him to be pissed at me anyway so I laid down on him and told him how great it was, how cool I thought he was and how long I'd wanted him for. I even told him he was gorgeous. But I'd be lying if I said it was idle flattery because it wasn't. He is gorgeous. He liked hearing that.
After that, he calmed down and I asked if I could see him naked. It was like being with a girl. I had to beg for every fucking thing. He said only if we got naked together which I thought was great. So much can happen when you have two people naked together, y'know? I stripped and, since he was deliberately taking his fucking time, I undressed him mostly, too. He sat there, Indian-style, on the bed, just facing me. He didn't really seem uncomfortable which surprised me. Since he refused to take his clothes off at first, I thought being naked might bother him or something. But, like with everything else, he played it pretty cool. I felt a little funny being naked. I don't think I look that great without my clothes on, mostly. I don't work out or anything and I'm not one of those guys that just has natural muscle tone either so I probably look pretty shitty without my clothes. He just stared for a bit with a blank expression on his face making me feel uncomfortable being naked and stupid for asking to see him naked.
"So, whaddya want to do now?"
He didn't really respond. Just shrugged, a little bored maybe. I got the feeling he was trying to put me on the spot or make me feel weird about the whole thing. Maybe he was still pissed that I'd come on his face or something. I only wished I could tell what he was thinking. That's when I made my biggest mistake. I felt too stupid to tell him to just get dressed now that I'd seen his body. I thought that there needed to be a purpose to this so I asked him if he wanted to try sixty-nine with me. I really wanted that. I really wanted to have some kind of real sex with him, not just kiddie stuff but I hadn't planned for it to happen this early. My hope was that things would progress and eventually he'd let me do other things with him or whatever. But I felt stupid and he put me on the spot and I didn't know what else to say so I asked for that but he refused. So I begged a little. That's when he told me that if he did it, it would make him a faggot and he wasn't a faggot.
I was so pissed and so hurt, I tried to kick him out but we got into a fist fight instead and it was all so fucked up and bad and ugly. I didn't know what else to do. I didn't want to lose his friendship although at that point it didn't seem like there was anything left of it to salvage. I apologized, told him it was the booze. That I hadn't meant to kiss him and touch him and look at him naked and ask if I could suck his dick and if he would suck mine. Well, I didn't actually say all that, but it was implied in what I said. I hated myself for having to take it all back and blame it on my drinking which is a pathetic thing to hide the truth behind. But he forgave me so maybe it was worth it. Maybe.
It's been a few years since then. I still wish that I could kiss him and touch him and see him naked, sometimes I even get to. I still wish I could suck his dick and that he would suck mine, but that, I don't get to do. I still get drunk and misbehave but not like that. When he sees me drunk, I wonder if he knows I still want to. I wonder if someday, when we're alone together I can just pretend the drink's gotten the better of me and ...but no, that'll never happen. I got lucky only the one time. That Saturday.
By Blake Fraina Author of KING OF CATS www.blakefraina.com