If there’s anything I miss about my party days, it’s not feeling like I want to burst out of my own skin. I miss losing myself in a sea of strangers, dancing in the chaos, feeling the crowd's energy instead of standing away from it, fearful that my brain will melt if anything or anybody touches me.
The others don’t mind or don’t notice my off-kilter mood, but no one is drinking as much as I know they normally would. Or maybe they assume that I’m struggling with cravings. I don’t know how to tell them it’s okay to let loose. Knowing my presence is a burden only makes me feel worse, and I don’t need even one more thought in my head right now.
Even if they are holding back on purpose, they’ve all still managed to find their respective distractions. Naz is grinning salaciously at something a pretty twink is whispering in his ear.Ari is chatting with a guy sitting on the other side of our booth, turned fully around like he’s not even with us. And Will is lost in his own world. He’s got a beautiful woman straddling his lap, but he keeps flicking his eyes towards his brother. Will’s always been protective of Ari, but I still find the way he’s glaring at the guy he’s talking to amusing. Meanwhile, the girl in his lap is staring right at me.
She’s hot, I’ll give her that. Smooth tan skin wrapped in a pink bandage dress that leaves little to the imagination. Her blonde hair is pulled over one shoulder, her eyes rimmed with dark blue eyeliner that complements her eyes. It wouldn’t be the first time Will and I have shared a woman, if that’s what she’s hinting at. I consider it, just for the release, if only to shut off my brain for a while. As hot as she is, there’s nothing in me that feels interested enough to risk being touched. Even her pink tongue darting out to lick her blood-red lips isn’t enough to make me want it. I look away before I give her any ideas.
It takes effort, but I find small, singular things to focus on to calm myself down. I sip my club soda and let the bubbles fizz over my tongue, memorize the rhythm of a single flashing light, find shapes in the haze of smoke. I light a clove cigarette, inhale the spicy smoke, and slowly start to relax.
A flicker catches my eye, and I look over to find Naz watching something on his phone. It looks to be sports highlights of a football game.
My nose crinkles. “Are you that bored?”
A smirk tugs at his mouth. “Just checking some highlights and stats from last year so I can finalize my fantasy roster for this season.”
I blink at him slowly, conveying my lack of interest. I’ve never been much of a sports fan, although I do strangely enjoy watching random obscure Olympic events, like speed walking and break dancing. Also curling. That is a weirdly entertaining sport for no good reason.
There’s a flash of a football player on the screen that registers as familiar. He’s probably super famous, but I have no idea who he is. I can’t even see his face through the helmet while he sprints down the field, but something about him feels familiar. It unsettles me.
When I drag my eyes away, I notice movement under the table. My eyebrow raises and I look at Naz with a deadpan expression. “Really?” Naz shrugs and keeps talking, like there isn’t a guy under the table sucking his dick.
“Have you given any thought to Gavin’s pitch?”
Our new manager won’t shut up about it.“It’s the biggest stage in America! The biggest audience you’ll ever have! An opportunity to immortalize your music.”
I scoff and shrug. “You know I don’t give a shit about the Super Bowl.”
If the guys want to do it, I’ll agree to it whether I really want to or not. I don’t care.
Truth is, I don’t care about much lately. The stage, the crowds, the screaming. It doesn’t have the same sparkle it once did. I don’t think it’s because I stopped taking drugs, either, because it’s not like I needed to be drunk or high all the time–that wasn’t my problem. My problem is that it all gets to be too much sometimes. Everything is too much, too loud, too crowded, tooexcessive. And I’m not sure how much longer I can keep it up, as much as I love it at the same time.
I stub out my clove and make my escape under the pretense of taking a piss. The bathroom’s just as overdone as the rest of the place. Gleaming marble sinks lined with hand towels, lotion, and tiny bottles of mouthwash are on one side of the room, coke lines dusting the counter like it’s a regular complimentary offering. Mirrored walls reflect warped images of myself. A stranger I barely recognize, with hollow eyes and shit posture, stares back at me. I put a piece of cinnamon candy in my mouth and turn away.
The door swings open, and the girl who was on Will’s lap strolls in. She grins and walks towards me, hips swaying, eyes on me. She drops to her knees in front of me like she’s been invited.
I let her open the front of my jeans, surrendering to the moment, hoping for a fleeting escape from the tangled mess of my thoughts. She’s barely gotten started, but I’m already bored and feeling restless. She moans as she discovers the row of piercings along the underside of my cock, and rubs her tongue over them, which usually does it for me. Instead, the desire to push her off me slithers beneath my skin. I grit my teeth and try to give my body a chance to react. Her mouth is warm and wet and likely skilled, but I feel nothing. No desire. No ache. Nothing.
The door swings open again, and Will strolls in, grinning when he sees us. “Damn, Jess,” he laughs, feigning disappointment. “Always stealing girls from me, and guys from my brother.”
I chuckle humorlessly, pat the girl on the shoulder, then turn her towards him. “She’s all yours.” Maybe I should feel badabout treating her like something to be passed around, but she goes happily enough.
Will quirks an eyebrow and starts to say something, but is quickly distracted by the girl’s enthusiastic mouth. Not wanting to engage and risk any questions or another invitation, I turn towards the sink and wash my hands, feeling the water rush through my fingers and imagining it rinsing away the whole interaction. I unwrap another cinnamon candy, and I’m gone before Will can so much as moan, the weight of the night pressing down on me.
I wake the next morning with a start, lungs pulling in air like I’ve been underwater. Sweat clings to my skin, images from a dream flashing in my mind like a strobe light. Memories of pale moonlight casting shadows over tanned skin, desperate gasps for breath, hands gripping my body with a need that left behind more than just marks on my flesh.
Dropping my head, I groan into the pillow I’m clutching so hard I’m surprised it’s still intact. Memories of that night still haunt me, sliding into my thoughts and dreams at will, uninvited and relentless. I chase them even when I know I shouldn’t, like a moth drawn to a flame–dangerous and painful, yet impossible to resist.
My body stirs, heat building low in my gut as I replay the scenes over and over. The memories are vivid despite it being so many years ago. Almost six years to be exact. I’m probably remembering it being better than it was, over-inflating the raw energy between us. But I still close my eyes and sink into the memory of a feeling that was more than pleasure.
I find myself shifting, absentmindedly rubbing my morning wood into the mattress and imagining I can feel him beneath me. I reach for the top edge of the mattress, remembering the way I’d held his hands above his head as I laid over him and rolled my hips, fucking myself between the globes of his firm, round ass. I’d already had him once, and he’d just finished taking me, his cum dripping down the cleft of my ass, but I was desperate with need all over again. It was like that the whole night, and the next morning when I woke to him in my arms.
I roll onto my back, eyes clenched shut, remembering myself reaching for another condom and pulling him down on top of me. My hand moves down my stomach and grips my cock, slowly sliding up and down the length as I recall the feeling of wrapping my arms around him and holding his body against mine while I slowly fucked him until he got comfortable enough to ride me. The sight of his handsome face, his pouty pink lips open and gasping as he sat up and rocked himself on my cock, will live in my brain rent-free for the rest of my life. I remember it so vividly I almost believe I can feel the weight of him again, and if I open my eyes, I’ll see–
Not this.
The sight of smeared lipstick staining my dick makes me freeze. Revulsion claws at my throat, a bitter reminder of all the ways my past has tainted me. A reminder that it’s been almost six years, and I likely wouldn’t have had a chance even if I had stayed. Why do I keep thinking of him?
It’s worse since I got sober. Without distractions and drugs to dull my brain, the memory of that one random night seems to creep up on me more than what feels reasonable. Then again, it felt anything but random at the time. I’ve never thought twice about a hookup before or since, but I have never been able toforget the stranger from the beach party. Maybe the only way I stopped myself from thinking of him this much before was staying buried balls deep in another person and numbing myself brainless.
