Do you remember -and I bet you do- the first time I got drunk?
It was a Friday night and I came back wasted. I don't know any more who I went out with, maybe I went out alone, but I drank myself stupid that night. I can't even recall why I went out drinking that night. Maybe I went to a party; maybe I was feeling depressed. Whatever; that's not important now. But I came back and you weren't there, which, for whatever reason, left me feeling disappointed. Maybe I wanted to prove to you that I wasn't straight-edge and I could let loose from time to time. I knew how to have fun just as well as you.
Only…It didn't seem very fun, looking back. What was I thinking? I felt terrible by the time you returned with your companion for the evening. You tried to get in, but I was leaning back against the door and you had to push me into the corner to open it because I wouldn't move. Your guest looked at me, visibly disgusted and I…I flipped him off, didn't I? Your lips tightened into a frown, but you didn't reprimand me.
You took care of me instead.
Realizing I was going to be violently ill at some point (you'd seen me a little bit wasted before), you sent him away, then bent over me to help me up. When you pulled me off the floor, I nearly fell over again -right into your arms. You blushed -the first and only time I've ever seen you blush- as I draped myself languidly over you, my head nuzzled up against your neck. "I ruined your fun, didn't I? Do you shtill want to have fun? I can have fun…" I slurred.
You pried me off you; I was being rather clingy. Every time you removed my arms from around you, I put them back, not at all comprehending why you weren't happy about it. I was pawing at you, pulling on your shirt, snuggling up against you. "Don't you like me? I like you. You're a good guy, even if you're really weird. Don't you want to do me? You shaid I was cute…"
I was so out of it that night. I'm glad you didn't take advantage of me. I guess you're a bigger man than that after all. Instead, you told me you knew I didn't mean it; I was drunk, and you took care of me. You made sure my hair stayed out of the toilet while I was puking up my guts, helped me clean myself up and change my clothes, and then put me to bed afterwards. Even though I couldn't look you in the eyes for days after that, I'm grateful you were watching out for me. I think after that was when I first started to see you as a true friend.
I remember lying half-asleep on my bed as you sat there, brushing back my hair. Your hand was soft and smooth; it felt nice against my flushed cheek. I looked up at you and it was one of the first times I saw you without that lusty look in your eyes. You were frowning and you looked almost disappointed in me. You asked me why and I mumbled "I don't know…" My head hurt and my stomach was still jumpy. I had no way to explain myself and wouldn't have had the strength to if I even had an excuse, so I didn't bother.
"I wouldn't mind fucking with you." Your finger traced around my mouth, "But if we ever do it, it's going to be because you really want it. Not because you're bombed. I want you to mean it." You leaned over, forehead resting against mine, stealing a kiss, and I was too drunk to care.
Or maybe I was starting to sober up and I didn't care anyway.
"I want to hurt you." Your voice was positively carnal, "I want you to bleed for me." Your hand was still lovingly caressing my cheek, fingers gentle as you spat out such harsh words, "I want to hear you scream…" You were whispering in my ear as you lay there on your stomach beside me on the bed, "That's what I do to all the others…"
"Go ahead…" I think I mumbled something along those lines, but you shook your head.
"No, not this time. You'd be mad when you realized in the morning." Your hand rested on my forehead, pushing back my bangs, "As much as I'd like it, I don't think you'd be very pleased with me." Your head was beneath my chin, you were snuggled up right next to me. You were probably turned on seeing me so helpless, but you kept your cool. "So why don't you just get some sleep? Maybe you'll feel better in the morning."
You moved to get off the bed then and I was once again clutching you. "Stay…" I must've sounded like the biggest brat. I could easily chalk my actions of that night up to inebriation, but I'm not sure any more. What if I really meant it? Holy shit, then what? I'm still not even sure if it was the booze talking or how I really feel about you.
I wanted you to kiss me again. I wanted you to stay right there with me until I felt better; to be good to me and take care of me as you were. I'm almost certain my brain was working properly again then and I was more scared to admit this to myself than you.
Thinking about this, I'm still terrified. Perhaps that's why I pushed you away earlier. Even now, nearly five months after that first kiss and the others that followed, I still can't tell you -or myself- just how much I need you. I told you to kiss me tonight because I was beginning to forget what it had been like and I don't ever want to forget. You tasted good and I always want to remember… Just one kiss; no more, no less. You ruined it for yourself. If you had just done what I asked, perhaps I would have let you do more. I wouldn't have gotten angry.
I'm distracted from my thoughts when you roll over on your side, facing the wall. I can see you through the silvery moonlight that filters through our window. The pale light makes you look even more spectral; the bare skin of your back is creamy white in contrast to the darkness of the room.
I swallow. Do you have any idea what you do to me? You're not even awake and you're still so sexy. I've always considered myself to be a strong person, but you make me come unraveled. Everything you do is suggestive; I'm certain your goal is to seduce me. You make me think things about myself I never expected to wonder about. When you kiss me, I forget everything. I forget that we're both men, that it's wrong, that my parents would kill me. Nothing else matters. When you kiss me, I want to tell you not to stop, but I'm scared to death of what you'll do if I let you continue. This is all new to me. But you….You know what you're doing,
That scares me the most.
I hate being afraid like this. I wish I knew what I wanted from you and myself. I feel like such a fucking coward, scared of the things I shouldn't care about at all. It's really no big deal, right? I mean, you're open about it. You know exactly what you want, and when, and have no problems telling the world. I can't even tell you that I enjoy being kissed and you're the one who kisses me.
God, am I pathetic or what?
There's so much I want to tell you and I can't bring myself to do it, even though I trust you more than any one else in this world. I want to let you know all of my greatest fears; all of the things which cause me the most worry. I want to tell you that I'm scared of what will happen when I finally find the courage to act on my feelings. Even if you don't know my feelings -I couldn't tell you if I wanted to; I'm unsure myself- you would surely understand my fear. You must have felt the same things at some point in your life.
I want you to wake up now and realize that I'm awake as well. Maybe you'll tell me you're lonely and you want to talk. Maybe you'll have a bad dream and I can keep you safe. Maybe you'll finally stop fucking with my mind and finally fuck with…Dear God; did I really just think that??
I'm a mess. I think I was better off that night when I was drunk. I think I was thinking more clearly then than I am now. I bury my face back in my arms, wishing I wasn't thinking these things at all. What kind of circumstances had led me to this train of thought? I'm a victim of my own uncertainty; how much longer will it be before I break? I know for certain that I only want you around when it happens.
Sometimes, I want you to be the one to break me.
That night I was drunk, you showed me a side of you I hadn't seen ever before. You showed me that you truly care about me; that my welfare is a true concern. I knew we were friends before that, but I thought that you put yourself first. But you sent away some one you planned to sleep with to take care of me, even though it was my own stupidity which led to my state of being that night. You're a very loyal person. You said we would be the best of friends and now we are. I guess those words were more than just words to you.
This is torture.
Have I been such a good friend to you? Have I been there for you when you needed me and taken care of you when you were down in the dumps? When people are cruel to you, when you do badly in a class, when things don't go your way, do I put aside my own selfishness for you? When you're excited about something I could care less about, do I listen as you tell me about it?
I can't recall everything from that night so many Fridays ago. I'm sure my tongue had been loosened as one of the affects of the alcohol. Did I say anything I shouldn't have that night? I didn't tell you, did I, that sometimes I bang a girl because I feel it's expected of me. I didn't tell you that I do it because I don't want to admit things about myself. I don't like it, but it's normal, right? I didn't tell you that I feel like a fucking disappointment to my parents because they're so old fashioned and want to know why I don't have a girlfriend yet. I didn't tell you that I used to get wasted like this at home when they berated me, that I've considered suicide just so they would shut up. And I sure as hell hope I didn't tell you that I thought you were beautiful when you get angry.
I love to see you angry. You said it wasn't pretty, but I think you're glorious in your anger. You're such a sadist; you love making people hurt. When you get aggravated, you begin with a pout and your face scrunches up. Then you go into tantrum mode, ranting and raving, until finally you reach pure anger. You get a twisted expression on your face; your oily eyes seem to be even darker than usual. Your brow furrows, your pupils constrict and I can practically see the steam rising from your head. It's wonderful sight.
I wish you had been angry with me that night. I hated that damn disappointed expression on your face, as if you expected better of me. Just like my mother and I couldn't stand it. You looked sort of sad, as if I had let you down somehow. Maybe it was because I didn't invite you along. You said once you liked to go drinking with me; that I was a fun drunk. Were you upset that I went alone? I know that wasn't very smart; I could have gotten myself in trouble.
I fell asleep while you were over at your desk, doing something on your laptop. The furious clacking of the keys sort of lulled me to sleep; I could hear that type-type-type as your fingers flew across the keyboard. I knew you were updating your on-line journal; you do that every night before bed. It was kind of soothing to hear the sound, it meant you were nearby if I needed you.
That was a comforting thought.
I drifted off that night, happy even though my head was pounding and my stomach still churned. I think I was happy because I knew you cared about me, even if you had an odd way of showing it.
But do you know that I care just as much about you?
