Mary comes over after school. She senses that I had an extraordinary experience. I finally ask her to walk with me to get away from the drugged confusion in a room of heavy metal noise. She listens to my memories from the night in the graveyard and advises me to go slowly with experiencing more. She recites what she calls a Santeria prayer to protect me. I didn’t known how many protectors I have. My confusion is heightened by the fatigue I still feel from the experience. She suggests I go easy on the pot smoking to clear my head. When we return to my room, Robby tries to get me high again.
“I need to cool it for a while,” I tell him.
“You need to maintain your high, man.”
“I’m just trying to maintain my head here.”
“If you come down, man, you won’t be able to return to this high.”
Robby’s theory about getting high is based on maintaining your high. Others use ‘maintaining’ to mean a facade that you have everything under control. Robby means you have to maintain a ‘super’ high and never become sober. He claims your brain creates a new consciousness that helps you operate in the high state. Once you sober up, you lose the ‘super-high’ and that new consciousness. I need to take a break, which pisses him off. Mary takes my side, which only makes matters worse.
“Tomorrow, we begin the Samhain celebration,” he complains, “and both of you want to be straight. Great.”
“I’ve gotta be able to think about all of this, Robby,” I argue. “My head’s really dull.”
“All you gotta do is follow what I say.”
“Let him find his own way, Robby,” Mary adds.
“You’re both fucked, ganging up on me.”
He stomps out of my room, with the others following, knowing where the pot will be. I want to be alone for once. Remembering how swimming clears my head, I grab my suit and head for the University pool. I laugh about searching for my Speedo, when I had never been without it for two years. It is still early and practice wouldn’t start for half an hour. I slip into a lane and begin taking easy, slow strokes. Watching all the air bubbles through my goggles, I’m mesmerized by this underwater world, weightless and incommunicado. My muscles respond to the challenge. After a long layoff, my lungs feel inadequate to the task. I keep my pace slow and easy. It’s Stu who interrupts my reverie, diving into my lane and making faces as we swim together. I stop at the wall so we can talk.
“Hi Tim, can you swim again?”
“I just came to loosen up. What’s going on?”
“I miss you, Tim. Is your back still bad? It’s all my fault.”
“Why is it your fault? I hit my back on the trampoline. Anyway, a lot has happened since then. What’s going on with you?”
“Just the same. Scott and Lydia are ‘going together’ now. He won’t even talk to me.”
“Well, you’ll have a girlfriend someday.”
“But when you were around, it was like I had two brothers. Now I have none.”
I just laugh. Then pushing off the wall, I swim a quick lap with Stu following. I tell Stu I have to go and beat a swift retreat before the others show up. Stu gives me a sad look, having hoped I’d returned for good. After showering and dressing, I watch the group going through their regular warm-up routine. It seems like nothing has changed. Riding my bike home, I know I have changed too much to ever be part of that group again. It isn’t a loss, but growth. I can’t define what I have grown into. My head has cleared but not completely.
Robby is sitting in my window when I get home; no respite here.
“Gonna be a jock-head on us now?” he accuses me when he sees my wet hair.
“No. I know that’s finished. I just needed to clear my head.”
“You still gonna stay straight?”
“Give it a rest, Robby. I’m beat from last night.”
“Well, Mary told me the things you wouldn’t say.”
“You didn’t want to listen, man.”
“No. You just wanna get on Mary’s good side.”
“She was at least willing to listen.” My headache is returning.
“Just remember, man, she’s my girlfriend, not yours.”
“I have a girlfriend, man.”
“Why’d you come over and wait for me, just to put me down?”
“No. I need your little faggot ass to help me with Samhain.”
“I said I would. Why you so jealous?”
“Forget it, man. Listen, tomorrow we’re going to wear the white robes to school. And we’re gonna have a candle ceremony at Nutrition.”
“Whatever. Just tell me what to do, mastah.”
“Shut up. I’m the Drinker of the Blood. Remember””
“Yeah, and I’m the sucker of the cocks.”
“Take this seriously, man. You’re the White One.”
“Guess that makes me the mastah cock sucker.”
We both finally laugh. Robby takes me to the abandoned lot to gather mistletoe. We walk there, avoiding George’s house. After finishing, we sit by the open crypt. Robby takes out a joint. Without a word, he lights it. Before passing it to me, he gives me an inquiring look. Without hesitation, I take it and we both get high. It feels better having a choice.
“What are you gonna do with the mistletoe?” I ask.
“Everything has a role. At tomorrow’s ceremony during Nutrition, we’ll pass out the mistletoe for each of the faithful to wear. Then we’ll light the candle, signifying the start of Samhain. I’ll give you the candle. To get a robe, you’ve got to keep it lit for a whole day. The next day we’ll pass out another candle. If they keep it lit for a day, they get a robe. Each day we’ll pass out candles and robes. All the robed believers will march around school together. On the day before Samhain, we’ll light all our candles, leading to the Samhain celebration at midnight.”
“So, Halloween, the day before Samhain, we’ll all be marching around in robes and candles?”
“Right, but don’t use the word Halloween, it profanes our celebration.”
“You worked all this out yourself?”
“This is an ancient ritual, except I doubt we’ll have a human sacrifice.”
“Well, that’s reassuring.”
“But I still carry my sickle. I may need it.”
I give him a doubtful look, but he is playing it all serious. He asks me to call forth my guardian, but my heart isn’t into it. Nothing happens. He explains that the role of the White One is to speak to the spirits, whereas the Drinker of the Blood has to control the ceremony of sacrifice. I’m glad he understands our separate roles. Just as I’m ready to give up on my guardian, I hear a voice calling out our names. The pot makes me hope it’s the spirits, but I realize the voice was coming from the street, not from in my head. We both answer and soon George appears.
“What are you guys doing?”
“Planning our ceremony. Meet us at Nutrition tomorrow, and you can take part.”
“Really?” he’s so happy to be asked. I realize my doubts won’t be reflected in the others. Robby has the charm to lead others astray.
Next morning I dress in my white robe, feeling as foolish as a kid dressed up as a cowboy. I ignore the weird looks I receive in the halls. In class my teachers avoid singling me out. At ten, Robby and I march into the school cafeteria, where the others wait. He takes the mistletoe out of a book bag, and then pins a sprig on everyone from our stoner group. Without a word, he directs the group outside to the quad. He lines everyone into a semi-circle, facing east. Taking out a large, white devotional candle, he lifts it high over our heads. Pointing to the crescent moon that rises in the morning sky, he dedicates us to the coming Samhain ceremony. Then he lowers the candle to be lighted. Once the ceremony is complete, we march single file out of school. Everyone watches, and no one interferes, including staff. We all march to Jace’s and John’s garage, where we proceed to get high. Robby is in ecstatic about the success of the ceremony. In the ensuing days we hold similar ceremonies, every morning, bringing in someone new with a robe and candle. The moon is yet to rise during the final days. Robby swears we will renew our vows in the light of the full moon on Samhain. Once all the high school stoners are inducted, we march to the junior high and induct Dave, John and Jazz. No one interferes, playing along with our Halloween hi-jinks. On the 31st, we all light our candles and walk single file to Coral Gables Elementary. We form a circle around a bushy tree that grows in the school yard. It is recess time, and at least 200 kids surround us. Robby has us chant a nonsensical phrase, until it reaches a high pitch. Taking his long sickle, he swipes at the purplish flowers growing on the tree. After cutting about a dozen flowers, he motions for me to pick them up. We depart, the kids and teachers applaud our performance. We march single file to the garage. As soon as I pick up the flowers, my feet began to tingle, and I feel a strong foreboding. After we arrive, I tell Robby.
“There’s something wrong with these flowers.”
“The spirits are beginning to speak to you,” he answers.
“But they’re warning me.”
“These flowers are powerful magic. They’re called Deadly Nightshade, or Belladonna. It’s better’n acid, man.”
I understand my foreboding. I haven’t experienced psychedelics. All the others smile knowingly. Robby gets Mary to stand up and says a prayer; he calls her the Lover of the Mother, who will prepare a potion from the flowers. She separates the flowers from the stems, then cut them into bits and places the bits in a large bowl. Robby has her chew a handful of these bits, then spits them back into the bowl. We watch half-disgusted, half-entranced. Jace puts Zeppelin’s ‘Stairway to Heaven” on the stereo.
We all sway to its slow beat. Ricky places his sickle over the bowl, slicing the tip of his middle finger, letting his blood run into the bowl. Motioning to me, he takes my hand. Soon I’m bleeding into the bowl. Everyone follows, until he cuts a finger on each of Mary’s hands. She is mixing the flower, spit, and blood concoction while bleeding into the bowl and absorbing the mixture into her bloodstream. We watch as a transformation comes over Mary. Her eyes are blank as if blind, as if looking inward at her own dreams. She begins chanting her own incantations, with no relation to the heavy metal music blasting on the stereo. Robby takes the concoction away. She is completely unaware. She begins calling out various people. When anyone responds, she ignores them. We realize she’s in her own world, experiencing a reality completely separate from our’s. Her blind eyes are terrifying. I swear that no amount of pot can convince me to take this ‘trip.’ The focus Robby has created all morning remains unbroken by our concentration on her trip. She speaks more and more about her mother. We know she is experiencing a memory or reaction to her feelings about her family life. She alternates between grief and joy, speaking mostly in Spanish. I knew enough of what she is saying to be embarrassed by its personal nature. She is fighting for acceptance from her mother. With my messed up family, I wonder what kind of trip I’ll have. Finally she lapses into a daze. Robby has us lead her outside. We make a sitting circle around her as she lays face down on the ground. Robby invokes the spirits to infuse her with the energy of the Earth, saying from then on she will be known as The Lover of the Mother. First he, then everyone in turn, lays on her and embraces her prone body. He has us remain in a circle contemplating the lit candles. He leads Mary into the garage.
I remain fixated on my candle, until I perceive the flame growing. It appears to flare to a height twice the candle’s length. It looks like an elongated onion, with two peaks at the top and two holes in the middle. Just as the two holes appear to be eyes, it returns to its normal height. I have received a picture and then lost it. Again I fixate until the flame grows to an abnormal height. Flickering, I can see a long face, with twin horns on the head and a goatee on its chin. Below the two eyes a mouth opens and leers at me – the Devil.
“Yes,” it answers my mind, “You call me forth.”
“I don’t want the Devil,” I whine.
The others jump up and gather around me.
“Who are you talking with?” Dave’s voice wavers.
My concentration broken, the vision disappears.
“Did you guys see the flame grow?” I ask.
“Just blowing in the wind.”
“You didn’t see it grow to twice the candle’s height?”
“No way, man. You been doing acid too much?”
“I’ve never done it. But I saw the Devil’s face in the flame.”
“No, man. Let me concentrate again. I’ve seen it twice already.”
“Okay. Shut up you guys,” Dave says, his serious expression exposing his worry.
I fixate on the candle again. As it flickers, I feel myself drawn closer even though I haven’t moved. The flame grows. Again I see the leering face, now with horns and a goatee.
“I’m still here,” it states.
“What do you want?” I ask, barely hearing the others hushing themselves to keep quiet.
“That’s my question. You brought me out. What is it you want?”
“Nothing. I don’t want anything from the Devil.” I hear Dave’s sharp intake of air but it barely touches me. The flame flickers down but grows again.
“You know what my powers are, yet want nothing?”
“I know there’s a price.”
“But what’s my protection worth without a price?”
“I don’t need protection.”
“I am here when you need me.”
The flame abruptly shrinks to its regular height. And I lean back out of the trance.
“What happened?” Dave breathlessly asks.
“The Devil said he’d protect me.”
“Is that good or evil?”
“I guess evil.”
“Then did you accept his help against good?”
“I didn’t accept anything He just said I know how to get him back.”
“Good. Your soul’s safe,” Dave concludes.
Everyone just stares at me. Robby had given me a couple of joints, so I light one and soon we relax. I’m confused by my vision which includes what I, a non-religious type, call the boogeyman. I figure it’s the pot which makes me susceptible to all these religious, pagan and traditional ideas which fascinate Robby, Dave, and Mary. I wonder where Robby is, when he comes stumbling out of the garage.
“Go to her, man,” he tells me. “She won’t speak to me.”
I start questioning him, but he drags me to the garage. Once inside, I see Mary lying on the floor, stripped of her clothes, mumbling incoherently.
“You raped her,” I accuse him.
“She’s my girlfriend, you idiot.”
“So what? You still raped her. Look at her. She hasn’t a clue what’s going on.”
“She’s the Lover of the Mother. She needs love. I tried to have sex, but she rejected me,” he half-cries.
Mary is still in her own world. Her eyes are searching blindly into her imagination. Then she calms down and smiles. I sit and hold her hand. Instead of trying to direct her, I let her take me into her own world. I close my eyes and try to imagine what she is experiencing. Taking my hands, she places them on her large, exposed breasts, having me squeeze and stroke the nipples. It’s not an unpleasant task. Suddenly, I’m pulled away. Robby jerks me to my feet, as I open my eyes.
“You fuck, that’s my girlfriend.”
“Then you make love to her,” I tell him. “Just close your eyes and let her take the lead.” I push him toward her. He sits with her, but soon they are struggling on the ground. Robby won’t let her lead in lovemaking. It’s so typical of him. He tells me to get out, which I’m glad to do.
Outside, everyone is relaxed from the pot, anticipating the trip to come that night. They ask if Mary and Robby are okay. I tell them she is teaching him how to make love, so we should stay out of the garage. Dave and Jazz pull their white robes over their heads and run around pretending they are ghosts.
We all go to my house to eat and finally return to Jace’s garage as it gets dark. In the twilight, we can see kids in their costumes, trick or treating, reassuring us that all we experience is normal. I’m not sure who to worry about more, Robby or Mary. As soon as it’s fully dark, they both appear in their robes. He gets us into a single file. We walk to the deserted graveyard, me leading with a candle in my hands. Following me is Mary, holding the bowl of blood, spit and belladonna. Next comes Robby, with his sickle. The rest of the group all hold lit candles. Once we reach the tombstones and crypt, a circle forms around Mary, Robby, and me. Waiting until we were perfectly still, Robby begins another incantation, mixing English and magic words. He motions for me to sit in front of Mary. Taking a handful of the concoction, he stuffs it into my mouth. It tastes bitter and the thought of blood and spit makes me want to puke. He holds my mouth shut until I swallow.
“Spirits of the other world, Mael, God of Night, God of the Oak, and Great Mother, hear our cries as we beseech thee,” he prays. Then directing the others, a cacophony of cries and howls are screamed by the circle around me.
“Send a vision to our White One. Connect him to the spirit world. Through the divine blood he has received, let him pass the barrier of death and be one with the spirits that guide us.”
More howls and screams ring out, as I sit perfectly still in the circle.
“Let all the followers of this Druid tribe taste the divine blood, connect with the spirits, and help draw the spirits to our seer of visions.”
Robby leads Mary to each robed figure, taking a handful of the elixir and sticking it into their open mouths. After swallowing, the initiates howl or scream. When it comes to Dave’s turn, Robby invokes ‘the father, the son and the holy ghost,’ causing Dave to choke on his unholy Eucharist. All Dave can utter are low moans, not howls or screams. His moans are more eerie than the full-throated screams and howls. At this point, I have full use of my senses, including a clear memory of the events. Soon my perception changes to a more dream-like state. I remember the group dancing around me. As if by some outside direction, I snap my eyes open. Instead of sitting on the ground, I float above the group, yet I see myself still sitting in the circle. I’m in a dream, but I’m hearing the others as they surround me. This split perception breaks when I hear the guardian spirit speak to me. Looking into the trees, I see him on his familiar branch.
“Break free of this world,” he calls to me. “Leave this world of hurt and pain.”
He motions for me to follow him. My head is spinning, but once I lean toward him, my sight blacks out. I feel that I’m falling into a deep well. That sensation fades. I know I’m moving through a light-less tunnel. There is no up, down, or sideways. My guardian is gone; no wispy ghost; no reassuring voice. I’m alone and still moving. At last, I sense wispy arms of clouds moving with me, probing my body as it falls, then holding me by an arm, leg, and under my head. My motion slows to a stop. The probing continues, yet it is without intelligence. Suddenly I feel my arms and legs being pulled in opposite directions, trying to separate from my body. Before ripping apart, I exert my will to draw away from each wispy arm. Once I break free, the falling restarts. Again the arms reach out to me. Instead of pulling away, I concentrate on the arm holding my head, tucking into a fetal position. I’m pulled rapidly in a different directions, until we stop. Checking myself I’m horrified to see my right foot and left hand are gone, yet I can still walk and use my missing hand.
“Talk to me,” I whisper.
At the sound of my voice, light and color return. It resembles the underwater reef I explored with Scott and Stu. I’m weightless and can’t discern up from down.
“You are strongly attached to your body,” A voice booms from everywhere.
“It’s strongly attached to me.”
A great belly laugh shakes my underwater world.
“Am I inside you?” I ask, thinking of Jonah and the whale.
“No. You are we.”
Thinking about this answer, I ask, “Then why am I I?”
“Don’t you mean me?”
“Like we are me?”
“No. You are we. “
“Can we be happy, have feelings?”
The calm blue colors around me change to iridescent pinks, greens and purples. The world moves in sharp bounces, like giggles. My mood irresistibly changes to joy and hilarity. I want to contemplate what I’m seeing, but the changes continue, without explanation.
“What is happening?”
“Life goes on.”
“You mean I’m dead?”
“You died, but we go on.”
“Who are you?”
“You are we.”
“We are Tim?”
“Names have no meaning. Had you followed your leg or hand, you would be they. They are they now.”
“Can I be they?”
“There is no they, I, or you. There is only we.”
“What about me?”
“Once you are fully we, there will no longer be past, present, or future. We will just be?”
“How do I give up time?”
“Forget your body, like you’ve forgotten your hand and leg.”
“Where is my body?”
“With your friends.”
“Are they we?”
“They will be.”
“I thought there is no future?”
“Once they are we, there won’t be.”
“Where are we?”
“There is no space and time.”
“Are we going to talk in riddles forever?”
“There is only forever.”
“But I want to be then.”
“Where my body is.”
“You shall go there as we have other things to do then talk to you.”
I’m hurtling through space again, until I suddenly reappear above the circle of white-robed Druids. But the scene is different. The forest is the same as it appeared in my original vision when we found the Grove. My friends are different. They are grown men. Mary is an old woman, almost a shrew. To my dismay, my body is no longer in the middle. It is stretched between two trees, with my arms and legs tied to separate branches. I watch in horror, as Robby, or the old Druid with a sickle, raises it, and then splits me into two halves, which fall asunder. I feel a rushing sensation dragging me back into the bottomless well. Yet the horror of what I saw done to my body drags me toward the twitching remains on the ground. With a thud, I fall to earth. Opening my eyes, I have returned to my own time, but my friends have gone from the carefully orchestrated ceremony into chaos. No one has their robes on. Their clothes are covered in dirt as they run helter-skelter, crashing into bushes and trees. Most are screaming at no one in particular. I see Robby and Mary huddled inside the crypt. I crawl in with them. We don’t speak, just stare in wide-eyed disbelief at the scene around us. I fall back into my nightmare of death. I watch the old Druid sunder my head into pieces with the sickle. I travel to the underwater reef, which has turned into a primeval soup of surging tides, alive with prehistoric creatures and protozoan. Primitive feelings wash over me, then slow and are extinguished. I absorb the energy of stars and watch this energy flow out of me in many directions. I watch my shadow moving freely away from me. I am no more.
I wake up for good in Mary’s arms, who in turn is wrapped in Robby’s. Looking out of the crypt I see everyone else collapsed in solitary piles, exhausted from their drug-induced trances. I crawl out of the crypt in time to see two faces peering out of the undergrowth.
These are not phantom spirits, but two ten-year-olds in their Halloween costumes. They have discovered our party. Iggy burst out of the brush behind them, scooping them up under each arm and dragging them into the clearing.
“What ho, me droogies, a bit of spy-spies.”
When Robby and Mary emerge from the crypt, the boys start to scream, which awakens the others. Robby leans over my seated body and asks me what to do with the boys. All I can think of is my dream and I mumble, “Tied to branches. Split in two.”
“Grab the ropes,” Robby orders and quickly the two boys are strung up between two trees. We dance around them until Robby holds up the sickle. We chant and urge him on. Tears are running down the boys’ cheeks. Robby holds the sickle aloft and stills the group. He then cuts the boys’ costumes off, leaving them naked in their underwear. He says a deep-throated incantation.
“In the name of Mael and the Great Mother, I liberate your souls.”
He swings the sickle downward four times. With each slice, he cuts a rope that binds the boys to the trees. Both collapse at their release. In the split second it takes them to realize they are not dead, they sweep their eyes over the drug-crazed teenagers circling them. With one look at each other, they jump up and run off into the woods.
Robby gathers everyone quickly, has all the robes and candles collected, and then tells everyone to leave immediately. He wisely says we have been exposed. The cops will not be far behind. We all run across Bird Road without being hit and make for our homes.
I find Jace who looks about as worse for wear as I do and lead him to our room. I need to remember as much as possible about my trip/dream, which I relate to him in detail. He says we need to write a song about my trip. I say it should be about religion and pagan worship. Jace says we’ll call them false gods. I say we’ll be the false gods, and others can foolishly worship us; we’ll live eternally and laugh at others painful screams. Jace gets his guitar and plays a basic E chord, singing ‘We are false gods, we are false gods,’ each word a quarter note. I speed it up with double quarter notes. Dahda dahda, dahda dahda, ‘We are false gods, we are false gods.’ I jump up and sing, “We found your world so meek and blind, We stand here laughing at your kind.” Jace does an A chord slide up and down twice with eight beats. I sing another couplet, ‘We will live eternally and hear your pitiful screams, Just wait 20 years or so and you will know just what we mean.’ Jace switches back to the faster chorus, “We are false gods, we are false gods.” And repeat it over and over, until I can’t sing another note.
“Write it down, write it down,” Jace orders. “It’s our first song other than covers.”
“Robby promised us an amp now that fucking Samhain is over.”
“Maybe not but something with a couple hundred watts to start.”
“We’ve already started. We won’t be stopped.”
“Because we’re false gods.”
“Fall to your knees.”
“You useless fleas.”
We break into hysterics. After, Jace makes me write that stupid fleas lyric as well. I sit on my bed writing. He grabs the notebook, to make sure I copied my own lyrics exactly and throws it on the floor. He jumps me, ripping off my filthy clothes. I kiss him deep into his mouth, sucking his tongue as it thrusts in and out. What the hell, I’ll let him fuck me for five minutes. The serious lovemaking can be done later. I wrap my legs around his waist, pull down his pants, and grab his dick, which is leaking pre-cum like he is ready to blow. I smeared the head against my butthole. He blows about five wads of jism, as I tried to get the Titanic inside me. This is too good to be true. Once he finishes, I jump on his back. With a gob of his own cum, I lubricated myself and his ass, mounting him in one stroke. He moans so loudly, I’m sure my folks can hear what is happening. The door is locked and I won’t stop. As I go in and out several times, he is squirming, trying to accommodate my size. I must’ve hit his prostate because the complaining moans become satisfied sighs. His dick is leaking again. I pull his hair back to get his butt in the extended position perfect for doggy style and proceed to fuck him to a quick climax, which is almost as fast as he was. The little upward twist of my dick when it’s ready to blow must have found his prostate again because his eyes roll back into his head. I kiss him during the final thrusts, and let loose the full arsenal. I’m shaking and shivering by the time I finish. He’s ready to go again and finish what he started but went off too soon. I roll over on my back, with my dick popping as it pulls out. It reminds me that he has just been de-virginized. We don’t stop for a souvenir picture. He jumps on me fully erect. I position my legs up so my feet hang over his shoulders. He takes me as aggressively as I did him. I’m able to slow his rhythm down just a bit, so I can fuck back as he thrusts into me. Looking into his faraway eyes as he mindlessly fucks me is a tremendous turn-on. Too late, I realize I have passed my point of no return and will cum before he does. I grab his head and kiss him as deeply as possible as I squeeze and rock, with the jism spraying everywhere. The look of surprise turns to determination as he hurries to catch up. It feels like I’ve died and come back to life, except I had already done that tonight. My bad habit kicks in after he finished fucking me. The next thing I know I’m waking up at first light. I look over at Jace, a sleeping angel with a goofy grin, and realize I had blown fucking all night long. Then I look at us and the bed covers. Besides the jism stains everywhere, we’re covered in dirt from head to toe. It has soiled the sheets to possibly a point of no return. No regrets, I think. He stirs and opens his eyes.
“You fell asleep,” he notes.
“Yeah, that’s not best practices for mature fucking. Sorry.”
“Who gives a flying fuck about practices. We got off three times in about twenty minutes. Gotta be a record.” He grabs me and I get a morning kiss. We’re setting new firsts left and right.
“That song.” he notes. “We should change it to ‘We are fucking gods’.”
“That’s kinda a mixed message.”
“What, that we’re fags?” Another first.
“No, no. More that we’re so egotistical we think we’re god, like John Lennon.”
“He is god.”
“Maybe now we can write a sex song that’s not a love song.”
“Not yet ‘cause everything I do is to show you I love you.” Too many firsts. Stop!
“How about a love song that talks about sex, but the chorus is “This is not a love song?”
“I think someone else will do that in a few years.”
“I’m still trippin’ space and time, from last night.”
“I’ve forgotten everything from before we got home (home? another first) last night”
“Stop. Before we go any further, let’s check all the things we’ve just done for the first time. 1. Write our first song. 2. You get fucked 3. I finish before you do. 4. I die and go to Hell, in my dreams. 4. You call yourself a fag 5. You call this place home 6. You say you love me. Now I’m going to say it. If you freak out, remember you said it first. I’ve been in love with you since before I broke up with Scott. I love how we got here in our own way. That’s number seven.”
He looks at me, gets the goofy grin going, but then becomes serious.
“Well, maybe I got carried away just now, but 1. We’re going to write lots of songs. 2. I love being fucked, but don’t tell anyone 3. I like fucking until I’m done; none of that 60 minute-man shit. 4. You didn’t die, so don’t let a bad trip stop you from being the sweetest person I’ve ever known, except for Max. 4. I know what I want. If that’s being a fag, that’s fine. 5. Can I really live here? Not all the time but as much as possible; I hate my house since my dad got remarried. 6. We love each other and that will keep us together more than any rules or best practices, as you call them.”
“Man, that was a speech. I agree with everything. But we have totally gotten ahead of ourselves. I don’t think being able to say we love each other changes anything. Let’s not get all gay pride about it. If anyone asks we can tell them but let’s keep it on the down low. I know you prefer it.”
“Yeah, but I ain’t ashamed of being a fag. And I ain’t never had anyone love me before,. You gotta let me handle it. Teach me how you walk into our lives and tell everyone you’re gay, and they don’t hate or kill you.”
“I don’t hate myself, so I don’t attract the haters. Maybe I attract lovers of any sexual preference.”
”Am I a lover.”
“Come here, lover boy.’”
We kiss but cut it short because we really stink up the joint. Showering together rules.