You have to be careful how you answer some questions or at least make sure you understand what is being asked. The question in my case was answered based on the knowledge of an eighteen year old kid; not knowing what was really implied or how it would change my perception of sex. The question has also brought about many of the stories that I write -- many of them being true fantasy built on the situation that was presented to me with the question -- trying in a way to recapture that moment when everything changed; well, at least the way I looked at sex.
It was a day similar to many other days since I'd turned eighteen, starting when I woke up sometime around 1:00 in the afternoon at my friend Kenny's house. Kenny and I had hung out the previous night after I got off work at 10:00. The two of us had each taken a hit of ecstasy and smoked an awful lot of pot; which is a vacation for me, since I didn't have the money to spend on drugs and Kenny -- coming from a wealthy family with parents that give him anything he wants, including money -- always seemed to have the best of everything -- including hard drugs and marijuana.
After getting up, I put on the same clothes I'd been wearing the night before when I'd left work -- they were the only clothes I had with me -- and drove home to get ready for my shift that day. My mom, bless her overbearing heart, had washed one of my other uniforms. This allowed me to take a shower without worrying if I had a uniform that was clean enough to go to work and not get hassled by my manager.
Friday evenings were always my long shift of the week and I wasn't scheduled off until 2:00 a.m. since I had to help clean the place and get it ready for the next day. After closing at 1:00 a.m., the only thought I had was getting done with my side work and getting the hell out of there; which ended up being forty minutes later when our manager let everyone leave early -- I think he had a date or something - but this was a rare occurrence on his part.
The only thing I had to look forward to was one of the two ecstasy tabs Kenny had given me -- since he wasn't going to be around -- before I left his house earlier that day. As I started my piece of crap car, I downed a tab with the Coke I'd poured just before leaving work and sat for a moment thinking that I didn't really want to go home (where have you been thinking of going all day) and headed to the one place I knew would still be open -- the only place beside home, that I could get into at this time of night -- the Adult Bookstore I had been going to off and on since turning eighteen.
The back parking area -- where everyone going into the bookstore parked -- was pretty much deserted, except for a blue '70s Chevy van parked near the back entrance and an old green Cadillac (fishing trawler) backed into a stall halfway between the rear entrance and the end of the building.
The bookstore was situated in an area of town that had once been known for a lot of distribution businesses; wholesale flowers and fruit, clothe distributers and even an egg company that I tried to get a part time job at a few years back while I was in high school. Now most of the businesses were closed or greatly reduced in size, and none -- except the bookstore which stayed open 24 hours a night -- we're doing well economically. So there wasn't usually much traffic in the area, unless it was around the bookstore.
As usual, I parked in the last stall furthest away from the entrance, so I could pull out the back alley right onto the main road which had quick access to the freeway. The space behind the store was about the size of a small country road that opened up into ten or so parking spaces. There was a chain link fence that marked the boundaries of the property and on the other side of the fence was an open field running back about a hundred yards to a river where some of the towns homeless camped out.
Many times after leaving the bookstore early in the morning and driving across the bridge that spanned the river, I'd seen a few small fires burning along one of the banks of the river and wondered about the person -- or persons -- that were camped near that fire. We're they happy? Did they hang down there most of the time or were they just stopping for a couple days before they moved on. Was it a full family or just...(there's someone in that car) I was walking toward the entrance of the store and just passing the green Cadillac when I noticed the glow of a cigarette. Through the front windshield, I could see the outline of someone in the driver's seat.
For some reason, I always get a nervous reaction when there is someone else in the parking lot at the same time as me (keep your head up) and found myself shoving my hands into my pockets and starring down at the ground. It didn't help that the ecstasy was starting to kick in and I even tripped a little as I walked (get a grip) and had to slow down to keep from falling. I heard the familiar sound of an electric car window lowering.
"Hey, buddy..." it was a male voice coming from the car, "...hey, dude...hey..."
"Yeah?" I said as I turned around trying to stay steady on my feet.
"Hey man, you cool?" His question didn't make a lot of sense to me.
"Cool?" I asked, wishing I could lean against something.
"Yeah, man...um...you know...can you smoke a joint?" He said the magic "word," because smoking pot would just intensify my high.
"Yeah...I smoke..." I walked over to his car -- if I wasn't high, I probably wouldn't have approached him so openly-- and put my hand on the roof to steady myself, "you have some pot?"
"Cool, dude..." he motioned with his hand, "come on around and let me get you high."
Again, if I was sober, I couldn't imagine that I would get into a car with someone I didn't know, but I was feeling the drugs and it did have a tendency to loosen me up. It actually felt more like a dream then real life as I walked over and opened the passenger door; I melted into the seat.
It took a few attempts to close the door. On the first try I missed the door handle and my hand grabbed nothing as it flew through the air. The second time I was able to grab the handle, but pulling it closed was another matter as it pulled halfway and then sprang back open; third time was the charm.
"Looks like you're already a little high, friend." He took a puff of his cigarette and flicked it out his window as the smoke slid out of his mouth.
"Yeah, I am." I punched him on the arm and laughed. He looked a little surprised by my forward action -- and even I couldn't believe I just did that -- but he laughed.
"Why don't we pull into the alley over here where it might be a more private place for you to smoke my joint?" (For me?) it seemed he was thinking (to smoke) the dark alley would shield us better from anyone (his joint?) driving into the parking lot and I shook my head in agreement.
The ally that he spoke of was one of the ways to drive out and exit the back parking lot -- it was the way I usually exited, but I think most people went out the other way -- so he had to park with my side of the car just a few inches away from the building so if another car did use the alley, they could pass us as they went out. It reminded me that I had driven out this way and seen cars parked in the alley as I slowly went out -- trying not to hit the other car -- I'd always wondered why they'd park in the alley instead of the back parking lot.
