High school is such a drag. I only have one or two close friends to hang out with; and they are into getting into college, or into their girlfriends. At eighteen, and seniors, we are at the height of our sexual curiosity; yet most of us have never fucked.
"It's just a dance, you'll do fine." Howard loves to encourage me, but it seldom works. I feel lost in this life, but something inside of me keeps zeroing in on guys, like they have a magnetic pull or something. He has no idea.
"I don't dance. You know that. Why would I go?" He is my friend, and I love him, but he is not the quickest with his words.
"Ah...maybe...maybe you'll get a girl." He's smiling because that's what he wants for himself, I'm sure of that. He's straight, I think. I tried to get into his pants one night on a sleepover. He just said: 'No.' so I dropped it. His mom had us sleeping together in his twin bed. It was summer, so we only had our briefs on. She kind of beamed as she said good night to us. I'll always wonder if she planned for us to make out. Maybe she knew something about her son that I didn't.
"Come with me, please." I can't say no to him, though it starts a certain terror in my mind. I want stability. I can't deal with change. I always feel outside of everything. I want in. I'm being ripped apart!
"Okay. But only for an hour or two." Maybe I can contain my misery for that long. I can pretend to be interested in the girls. I can shuffle my feet with them and smile. I can snatch a glimpse of the hot and well groomed young studs as desperate as I am for a hookup. They want a girl. I want a man. I want to be left alone. I hate being lonely. I'm going to go crazy! I've been glued to this chair for twenty minutes now.
"Come on." Howie has me by the arm. He's pretty much dragging me into the hallway; and there are way too many eyes watching as we pass. "Sit." Around the bend there is a small bench near the offices. It's nightime, and except for the dance, the building is empty. "Talk to me." He looks part angry and part concerned. I want to cry.
Part 2 -
Suicide is not an option for me. I know that no matter how long I live, or how miserable I become, I will always fight (a losing battle?) to be better. I imprinted on failure. I am better than that. My life is pulling me apart in an inner war that I can neither lose nor win. WTF can I do?
"Do you want to leave?" As I nod, a few tears fall onto my chin. He has his arm around my shoulder. I desperately want to cuddle him. I'm terrified that he'll push me away. I must look awful. "I'm sorry, Kim. Let's go."
He drives us back to his house. His mom and dad are away for the weekend. We enter through the kitchen door. I have been here so often that it feels like home; and I feel safe here. While I head for a seat at the table, Howie makes his way to the fridge. He scoops up some ice from the freezer and fills a couple of glasses; then he leaves the room. I have a moment to compose myself, and it's working. He and I have shared enough about my depression that I know I can talk, and that he will listen. Thank God for his friendship.
"Here. This will help us both." He is holding up a big bottle of rum. Each glass gets half way filled, then in goes the cola. He holds a glass out to me, and I take it.
"What. No lime?" Clowns like me always laugh... on the outside.
""Fuck you." He is saying it with a grin.
"Yes, please." I am serious. His grin evaporates; and he pulls a chair next to mine.
"I could. It's just sex. Would that make you feel better?" He looks serious.
"Howie. You're not gay." He probably knows that I am, but it's still unconfirmed.
"No, but you are, right?" This is it. Half of me wants to let it all out; and half of me is terrified of losing my friend. The seconds take an eternity.
"Maybe bi." It's a lie. I am not a good liar. He doesn't buy it.
"Bullshit. Look. This is just you and me, Kim. How many times in how many places have I seen you in heat over a guy...over me." I can't read his mood. Will he start to beat up on me? Where is this going? Gotta change the subject.
"Fuck you. Let's drink to good times and good sex!" He is unmoved, But we clink glasses and each down the hooch.
"What kind of sex, Kim?" He says this as he refills our glasses. Humor is failing me.
"Howie...I..."
"NO! You owe this to me! You owe this to yourself! What kind of sex? WHAT KIND?" I am hanging my head and fighting back tears. I've just enough strength to put the glass onto the table and grab hold of my head in an attempt to stay steady. Just before I devolve into a catatonic state, Howie leans in and embraces me. Que the waterworks.
"Kimmie. I love you, man. Stop doing this to yourself. Have you ever actually been with a guy?" I manage to shake my head. "Well, neither have I, nor a girl for that matter."
"But you told the guys..."
"Lies." I look up at him. As soon as we are eye to eye, Howie leans in and kisses me.
"That was fun." He says this to me, and leans back in his chair. The kiss lasted for maybe five seconds.
"What are you doing, How?"
