This is a complete work of fiction, based on real life events and people. Names have been changed to protect those involved. I do not condone underage drinking or the use of drugs as recreation. Enjoy.
The drive was incredibly long, especially since I was a new driver. I had gotten my license yesterday, and today was my 18th birthday. I hopped out of my car and stretched, shaking my limbs to get the numbness out.
My best friend is grinning ear to ear when he pulls up next to me. He jumps out quickly and the ensuing bro hug is a welcome gift. I hadn't seen him for several years before today.
"Jason, man, it is so good to see you."
I nod, my tired smile showing how glad I was to see him as well. "Logan Parkin. You look good for being a scrawny bastard the last time I saw you."
He scoffed and punched me in the arm. "You know as well as I do that was years ago. We've both grown up now."
I shrugged. I was technically true. 5 years ago, he was scrawny, standing just over 5 feet tall, about a foot shorter than me. He was a chill guy, liked to smoke Mary Jane. Now he looked like a demigod. He was muscular without being disgusting. His hair was still the blond mop I remembered, covered by a hat. He still had the blue eyes I used to drown in. He just turned 19.
I was just slightly different. I'd grown another 3 inches, standing now at 6'2''. My weight revolved around the same 220 pound mark it had been since the sixth grade, plus or minus 15 pounds. My wavy, dirty blond hair was shorter, and my wardrobe had had a bit of a makeover. Ah, the fabric industry, how I love you.
"Whatever.", he continued. "Dinner's on me tonight."
I snorted. "It'd better be. You know how little money I have, and we both know you're fucking loaded."
He just smirks and shakes his head. "Yeah, yeah. Come on college boy. Let's get you one last good meal before you end up eating ramen for the next 10 years."
He was right of course. That was the plan anyway. Funny how plans seem to ah... Fragment when they want to.
Dinner was great. Good Chinese and my favorite Pocatello ice cream shop, down the street from the 50 cent movie theater. We went back to his house, on of the two he owned in town.
I flopped down on his couch, letting out a silent belch so he wouldn't think I was more of a pig than he already probably thought. He rummaged around in one of the closets and came out with a bong and a pipe, and about 5 ounces of pot.
"Feel like taking a few drags?", he asks me, flopping down next to me and pulling out a bud to crush before smoking.
"Maybe a few. Weed makes me sleepy." He stuck the bud in an empty pill bottle with a penny in it. He shook it vigorously, breaking it into smaller, more reasonable pieces.
He put on in and lit up, taking a huge toke I was determined to match, if not surpass. I have fantastic suction capabilities I put to great use on a variety of occasions. It was just a matter of principal for me; I wouldn't let him think he was better than me at sucking. As it would turn out, he was better at sucking than I was, but at the moment, I didn't know that.
He hands it over to me, and I spark up, taking a tremendous hit that used up the rest of the bud and sent me reeling into the atmosphere. "Holy shit...", I slurred. "What the fuck is this stuff?"
He laughed at me. Just laughed. "It's actually pretty potent shit bro... I probably should have warned you about that."
For a while, we just passed the bong around, but then I switched to the pipe. Eventually, I brought out the bottle of apple pie moonshine my uncle gave me for my birthday, and we ended up adding 70% alcohol to our blood along with the THC already there. It was magical in it's own right, hanging out with my best friend, smoking weed, and drinking. Then he said something that blew my mind.
From what you can probably tell already, I'm gay. I spent years in the closet, wrestling with my secret desires, and what I thought was right at the time. My family is Mormon, and I was too at one point. Now I'm okay with who I am, and identify as an agnostic atheist pagan, someone who believes in all the gods/goddesses and doesn't believe in any of them at the same time. It's really confusing sometimes.
Logan however was straight. He was Mormon, just like my family. He'd actually been to church with us on several occasions before he moved to Pocatello. We talked a few months before about his engagement to some chick. It didn't last long, as she stole several thousand dollars from him, but that isn't the point. I was stunned by his sudden sentiment of, "I think I want to kiss you."
I think I remember my mouth falling open, immediately followed by an extremely stunned, "What?!"
"I think I want to kiss you.", he repeated slowly, like I was a young child that was barely learning to talk. "I don't know man... I've just never kissed a guy before, and right now seems like the best time to give it a shot. I'm high, drunk, and most likely, won't remember a think in the morning anyway."
"That's the problem with me.", I replied. "I won't be able to forget." It's the one thing I've always cursed -and praised- about my mind. I have a photographic memory. It allows me to remember things with unerring precision, as long as those things were tied to touch, sight, or sound. Even completely wasted, my mind was working overtime to remember every detail of this conversation.
"I don't know Logan... You might not remember, but I certainly will." I paused, thinking my last few words over as carefully as I could given the circumstances. "If I kissed you, specifically you, I wouldn't want to stop. I might not be able to."
He moved closer to me and threw his arm around my shoulder conspiratorially. "Which is worse? Kissing me and wanting me, or not kissing me and wanting me still?"
It made a kind of perverted sense at the time. He always was a smooth talker, and my inhibitions were already down for the count due to the inebriation. He pulled me closer, his eyes flitting between mind and my lips. I didn't put up any fight; I was frozen by his face so close to mine. It wasn't until his lips touched mine, and his soft, warm breath that smelled like ween and alcohol hit my nose was that I started moving.
It started slow, like these things tend to do. It was our first kiss together, and I didn't want him to pull away from me. People talk about fireworks when they kiss, but this was different. It was a conflagration. A combustion reaction.
Ever touch we gave one another was a spark, an ember flying into the air and landing in a different part of the forest and setting it ablaze. Every sloppy, open mouthed crush of lips, teeth, and tongue was a cooling water that brought the flame down to a tolerable smolder.
The illusion shattered when I pushed him away, finally coming to my senses. I turned away from him so he couldn't see the tears already starting to form in my eyes. I was disturbingly hard.
"What the fuck Logan...?", I whispered in a voice that was altogether too shaky for my liking. "Why would you do that to me? You've known how I've felt about you since day 1. I'm not just a-"
"Jason... Porter... Look at me.", he commanded with a simple sincerity. My head slowly turned back towards him, but I still couldn't look him in the eyes. My own were floodgates. He had to put his hand on my chin and force my head up out of it's stoop. He searches my eyes for a moment, and I see the instant he recognizes just how hurt I am from this current situation.
And then I realized that there was something in his eyes. Compassion? Pity? I know it now to be love. His rough hand cupped my cheek and I couldn't help but lean into the comfort, if only for a moment.
"Jason...", he says one more time, almost silently, and kisses me again, so softly, like a butterfly.
I blacked out after that. The intense rush of emotions was too much for my scattered brain cells to handle.
I woke up with a migraine, my eyes glued shut with sleep dust and tears. At first, I thought I was still in my family home, up to the north, but then I felt something firm against my back, pressing against me. For a moment, I couldn't remember where I was. And then my brain decided to play me a movie.
The previous night flashed behind my eyes with dark colors and faulty sound. Like a video that hadn't been properly synced to the dub. He kissed me, and it spun out of control.
We ended up in his bedroom. Clothes were literally and figuratively torn off. The sex was fucking amazing. I could still feel his touch in my skin.
We were both still naked, his arm wrapped loosely around my portly midsection. I could feel his hot skin pressed firmly against mine. And of course, I panicked.
I got out as fast as I was able to. While at the same time, making sure I didn't wake up Logan. I couldn't face him right then. I wouldn't. I locked the door behind me and ran.
I kept thinking. My mind wouldn't stop. Everything had been so perfect, too perfect, he was perfect. I kept thinking about the way he felt and tasted and his moans in my ears and his breath on my skin and the way he looked with his eyes closed panting on top of me and sleeping soundly with me in his arms.
I drove and kept driving, hoping to run away from my problems. I didn't even see the truck that hit me.