#fiveminutestories

(A Five-Minute Story)

Warren was my best friend, and had been since kindergarten, and the time this story takes place we were both fifteen. We were all the time sleeping over at each others houses, and you seldom saw one of us without the other. My mom called us the ”Terrible Two”, more so for the alliteration than anything else.

Warren was a little shorter than me, with a lean tight body. His eyes were bright blue, his skin pale. His hair was a dark sandy blond/light brown color that defied categorization. His lips were full and very red. It all became a beautiful combination when he smiled.

I loved him like a brother. The only thing was that lately I was starting to love him in quite another way.

Warren was straight (as far as I knew). He was all the time talking about girls and what he wanted to do with them.

The liar that I was, I would agree that so-and-so chick was hot, when I really felt no desire at all toward them.

Spending the night at his house, or him camping out at mine had lately held both joy and slight edge of terror.

We both had single beds, and since before we had even learned to read we had slept in the same bed together. Like brothers

A single bed is quite a cramped place to sleep for two teenage boys. Especially if one has a major lust for the other one.

I remember waking up with Warren asleep right beside me.

I was on the right side of the bed facing left and Warren was on the left, also facing left. If our bodies were any closer, we would have been spooning.

The morning sun was shining through his bedroom window behind us, bathing us both in golden light.

Warren's hair glowed in the light like a halo, and all I kept thinking of was what it would be like to run my fingers through it.

To kiss his smooth neck, the small of his back, to wrap my arms around him and pull him close to me. To actually smell the scent of his skin. For my lips to taste it.  Mmmmmm.

If I did, would he reject me? (Call me a faggot, queer, cocksucker? Our freindship would go up in smoke as though it never existed. That would hurt.)

OR maybe he would pull me toward him, wrap his arms around me, look deeply into my eyes. Kiss me on my lips, my neck, my chest like I had been fantasizing he would. (Please, please please. Oh, please.)

Maybe he feels like I do and is afraid to tell me. (Me! As if he couldn't tell me anything -- absoloutely anything.)

As I was lost in these thoughts, his alarm clock rang and, big fat liar that I am, I quickly closed my eyes.

Warren slapped the snooze button, rolled over and shook my shoulder.

"Hey, are you awake?" he asked.

"I am now." I answered, yawning and rubbing the sleep out of my eyes.

  (As though I hadn't been awake for at least an hour or more thinking those thoughts and drinking in the vision of him bathed in morning sunlight.)

(A Five-Minute Story)

He walked with his head down, eyes slightly unfocused, shuffling along like one of them, so no one would suspect. He passed Cassie, the street whore shooting up on her stoop, who would've been kind of pretty if she washed her greasy-looking hair and without the track marks all over her arms, between her fingers, anyplace she could find a vein. "You wanna . . . date?" she slurred, with her eyes glassy and half-open as he walked past. He ignored her and continued walking, past the vending machines with their vials of crack and packets of joints, beyond the billboards advertising a new brand of cocaine ("Toot! The best for your buzz!"). The garbage that littered the streets was ridiculous. Newspapers, old bottles of Buzz cola, disposable syringes and other unrecognizable bits of trash were everywhere. Everything looked in disrepair, looked like it was covered in grime, in filth. He walked through the park with its drinking fountains, the water laced with amphetamines, past the group of young thugs with their THC cigarettes dangling out of the corner of their mouths, their eyes permanently red, bloodshot. In the center of the park a vendor was giving away little yellow pills with a smiley face stamped on them. "Get your free sample of ‘Happy’ here!" he shouted, "Free samples!" and people shuffled up to take what he handed them. He finally reached his destination. He walked up to the door of the closed-down shop, its windows boarded up, and the whole block abandoned, derelict.  He knocked three times, pasued, then twice more. "Who is it?" came the bark of a voice behind the door. "It’s your brother." he answered, the code-phrase a permanent part of his memory now. The door opened and he darted in quickly.  He greeted Silvio and his brother Tony, the two burly twins that guarded the door. "Where's Chris?" he asked them. "Downstairs," Silvio told him, "Tending the Garden." The Garden, he thought with reverence, was a minor miracle. The Garden where they grew their organic food -- natural food without drugs or chemicals. Carrots, lettuce, beans tomatoes, potatoes.  All natural, like the barely-remembered Old Times. He started to walk towards the steps that led downstairs when Tony poured him a tall glass of pure, untainted, water from a pitcher and handed it to him.  

(A Five Minute Story)

Stubby was my partner, which was perfect because we had our special signals.

It's not really cheating. 

Well, technically it is, but is it our fault we can read each other so well?

It was my turn to shuffle. I've never been really good at this, my big paws awkward and clumsy with the cards, but I got the job done.

We were playing against Howie and Mook who made an absolutely lousy team. You'd think they'd realize that by now. Howie would throw his best cards away and Mook always underbid terribly.

The game was Spades and we played every Monday.

"You gonna deal them cards, Eyeball?" Mook said and took a long pull on his beer. "Yeah, I'm dealin' 'em. I'm dealin' 'em. Keep yer pants on, Mookie." I said. 

I offered the deck to Howie to cut, but he waved it away as I knew he would. He had this strange superstition that cutting the deck was bad luck or something. So I dealt. Mook would pick up each his cards as soon as they were put in front of him, pissing me off to no end.

"Mook, you don't pick up yer cards 'till their all dealt," I said, "You'd get shot for that in the Old West." "Yeah, well in case ya hadn't guessed, this ain't the Old West." Mook said, cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth. I decided to let that one go.

Stubby had already picked up his pile of cards and was sorting them, so I did too. It was a pretty good hand.

Howie was looking at his cards and squinting, sorting them and resorting them. In about ten minutes he would be done and ready to place his bid. He wasn't the sharpest knife in the drawer.

That was OK, though. It gave Stubby and me time to strategize.

I looked over at Stubby. He was rubbing his nose with his index finger and his thumb and second finger were extended. He looked at me and raised his left eyebrow. I tapped my cigarette in the ashtray four times and looked over at him to see if he caught it. He winked back at me. We knew exactly what to do.

(A Five Minute Story)

It was way past time for a vacation, so I took a half-day off and went to Jolly Jo's Garden of Dreams off Central Avenue. All the Direct Interface emporiums are pretty much the same anyway, and Jolly Jo's is located in the same mall that I lived in. How convenient is that? I walked through the front entrance and I was greeted by Jolly Jo herself. She was a short asian woman of undeterminable age wearing an Old Earth style costume of a silk kimono and sash and her black hair was pulled up in a bun. "Welcome to Jolly Jo's." she said. and with short hobbling steps led me to a D.I. booth. 

I sat down in the padded chair and let the cushions conform to my body as I sank in. Heavenly.

"What kind of program would you like?" Jolly asked. as she strapped down my ankles and wrists with the soft simulated-leather restraints. "We have some new erotics that you might enjoy." "Uh, no thanks." I replied. 

I wasn't in the mood for that, not that it would matter once I was plugged in. "Nothing erotic." I told her. "A sensual. Something from Old Earth. Twentieth Century, I think. Surprise me."

She smiled at me, reclined the chair back and then pulled a wire from the back of the chair and inserted the plug at it's end into the socket at the base of my skull.

"I have just the thing." she said, "I think you'll enjoy this. One moment, please." and she exited. Not a minute later the red light on the arm of the chair winked on indicating the sequence was ready. "Program start." I said. The booth and Jolly Jo's faded and . . .

. . . I noticed how hot it was. 

I looked around, and I was on a beach. Sunbathers lounged here and there, bodies all oiled up. Others sat under huge umbrellas and drank from tall glasses, also with umbrellas. The "sun" shown brighly down on me, but I knew better than to look up at it. I did that the first time I tried an Old Earth program and saw purple spots for hours afterward. If the simulation was accurate you had to wonder how the Old Earthers prevented permanent retinal damage with that bright thing hanging over them.

A tall slender young man appeared at my side holding a tray with a drink on it. I had no idea what it was. but it was pink and had some kind of fruit in it. I took a sip and was overwhelmed by the the exotic flavors. I had never tasted anything so wonderful and refreshing. I dug my toes into the soft warm sand. The sun beat down and a soft breeze was blowing.

(A Five Minute Story)

It had started out pretty typical. Staring and smiling at one another across the bar.  I knew how it was going to end the minute our eyes locked.  Or, at least I thought so at the time.

He was sexy in that all-American boy-next-door kind of way.  Blond hair, blue eyes, lean and toned body. He was easily the best looking guy there.

He was sitting right by the juke box, and after several minutes of the staring game, I took a dollar out of my jeans and walked over near where he was “to play the jukebox.” Uh-Huh.  Someone had to make the first move, and it might as well be me.  The ritual of cruising is like a dance, or perhaps more like a game of chess.  The next move was his.

"Hey," he said to me, tugging on my belt loop. I turned to face him, and he said, "You're cute." "You're pretty cute, yourself." I replied. That's how it began.

I don't recall there being much conversation. We sat next to one another, drinking our cocktails, smoking cigarettes, and swapping spit. "Get a room!" someone shouted across the bar at us. "Let's go to my place" he said, "I only live two blocks from here."  Fine by me.

I noticed him swaying in kind of a weaving motion as we walked along, and it took him forever to find the key to his front door.

 How much has this guy had to drink?   I wondered.

But, he seemed OK after we entered  his apartment.  He fixed us some cocktails, we both lit cigarettes and we started making out on his sofa.  

Kiss me the right way and it's like setting me on fire. It's all about passion. Feeling someone wanting me makes me want them even more, and it just builds. The man knew how to kiss, that much was certain. He left me breathless. After a few minutes, he said to make myself at home, he would be right back.

I sipped my drink and lit a cigarette and tried to catch my breath.  I noticed a CD player and several towers of CDs.  I looked through them, selected one, put it in and pressed play.   He had said to make myself at home, hadn't he?

The CD was nearly half over, and he still hadn't come back. What could be keeping him?  I contemplated lighting another cigarette and waiting, but I decided to investigate. I walked past the bathroom; the door was open and a night light was on, so I knew he wasn't in there. There was only one other room, and that was the bedroom.  And the door was open. I stepped inside.

Well, well, well! I thought, What have we here?!

He was lying naked and face down on top of rumpled sheets. He looked so adorable lying there. Lightly tanned body, with an ass that was as white as milk. 

I ran my hand along his smooth warm back.  No response. I turned him over and he mumbled something, but otherwise he didn't stir. I knelt down between his legs and began working on him with my mouth for several minutes.  No response at all.   He was as soft and limp as overcooked macaroni.

I paused and stared at him. God, he was beautiful. Sigh.

I scribbled my name and number on a paper towel  (the only paper I saw lying around) and left it on his kitchen table where he'd be sure to see it.

You were pretty out of it, so I left. Here's my number.  Maybe we can get together again sometime.

(A Five Minute Story)

On the way to the “After-The Club-Closes Party” at Evan's place, I knew I shouldn't have had those last two shots. My stomach was weaving and lurching in my torso and I could almost hear all the liquor I'd consumed sloshing around inside. Josh's driving didn't help any either. With a great effort, I managed to unroll the window of the truck, and the cool breeze chilled the sweat on my face and forehead but did little to invigorate me.

"You OK?" Josh asked. "I think I drank too much" I managed to mumble. "We'll be there soon."

There were three carloads of us going to Evan's. Of the dozen or so going, I knew only Josh. I had wanted to go home, it was Josh's idea to go to this thing. "Come on! It'll be fun." Josh pleaded, "Smoke a little weed, have a few beers, meet some new people! You're always saying you never meet anybody new." It's true, I did say that all the time. 

Memories of getting out of the truck and into the house are hazy. Everybody was being introduced to everyone and Evan, the host, was passing beers around. Someone else was kneeling at the coffee table rolling joints. I waved the beer Evan offered me away and asked where the bathroom was. "Down the hall, the last door on the left."

I was kneeling on the bathroom floor, forehead resting on the cool porcelain bowl, my breath coming in ragged gasps. I could smell that sick odor of vomit in my nose, and taste it in my mouth, and I sincerely hoped I was done. I think I might have passed out for a couple of minutes there, hugging the toilet bowl, head resting on my arm. 

When it was obvious it was over, I wiped my mouth and chin with some toilet paper and wiped off the toilet bowl and flushed the disgusting mess away. Luckily, I had managed to hit my target and there was nothing on the floor or the bathroom carpet to clean up or apologize for. I freshened myself up the best that I could (soap, hot water and one of Evan’s “guest towels” and Thank God there were Dixie cups and Listerine in the medicine cabinet), and walked back to the living room.

The "party" had devolved into a full-blown orgy. A porn video of some sort was playing on the large screen TV and the living room was a sea of naked bodies and sexual positions, like an obscene game of Naked Twister. And the only light, besides a few nightlights, came from that large-screen TV, so everyone was a shade of blue, mostly.

A guy (cute, blond) at the edge of the fray but closest to me, grabbed my crotch and then tried to unzip my jeans. Someone else (brawny, dark hair, goatee) grabbed me from behind and took my t-shirt off over my head, and then started playing with my nipples. I saw Josh standing across the room, totally oblivious to everything but the two guys kneeling at his feet, one in front and the other behind.