What was it like?
What was it like?
What does it feel like to kiss another boy?
Girls crowded him, wanting more, always wanting to know more.
Stop asking, you're gross.
Of course, you'd think we're gross, Kyle.
You interrogating me is gross.
But we want to know what it was like.
Cold leather cradled the back of his neck. The power was out- wind rattled the window pane, and snow leveled at their front door, flurries chasing after one another. Candles were alight on the coffee table. Stan's parents were stuck across town, staying in a hotel, the roads too packed with snow to travel.
Under the weight of Stan and three blankets, Kyle's heart beat faster. Stan kissed his pale chest, the large scar between his nipples, the softness of his belly, before returning to his face; cupping it in his hands.
"Kyle, you're crying," he wiped a tear with his thumb.
"I'm just… happy."
Stan kissed him with cool lips and his pink kitten's tongue. Kyle's fingers traced Stan's spine, feeling every small bump.
What was it like?
He laid on the couch now with the weight of an ice pack on his face, the sounds of Randy yelling at Gerald on the sidewalk.
What was it like, assaulting your own father?
Their voices swelled: My son's fucking funeral is today!
What was it like watching your brother almost drown?
Sounds of Sharon in the kitchen, clattering pots and pans in between sobs.
What was it like seeing your boyfriend cold and dead on a metal table?
Sparky whined, sniffed around Kyle's clothes. Shelly at the window, watching.
What was it like having your life fall apart?
Stan was on him again, in him again, kissing his face, telling him not to cry.
What was it like?
Please stop asking me.