21-Year-Old Scotch: Chapter 4

By Cris Kane - citizencriskane@yahoo.com
published January 27, 2017
8016 words
Summary

After attempting to apologize to his girlfriend, Scott is shanghaied to a drama department party, where he doesn’t recognize anyone but starts to make friends.

As he rang the doorbell of Amanda’s sorority house, Scott realized he hadn’t scrubbed off the hand stamp from the Rusty Nail. He quickly stuffed his hand into his pocket to hide the incriminating evidence, vowing to duck into the bathroom and rub it away as soon as possible. He stood tall and attempted to appear relaxed, having practiced multiple versions of what he would say on the walk over.

Lights flicked on in the entryway and Scott heard several latches being unlocked. As the door swung open, Scott saw the one person he had hoped to avoid, Amanda’s ultra-serious sorority sister, Patty. It had been many years since he had seen her in the future, but Patty looked just as unhappy and disapproving as she had on the day when she served as Amanda’s maid of honor. Patty glowered at him and said flatly in her perpetually hoarse voice, “Oh, look. It’s you.”

Scott put on a smile. “Hey, Pepp…uh, Patty!” Damn Todd for sticking that Peppermint Patty image in his mind. Now that’s all he could see when looking at the androgynous woman before him. He was tempted to refer to her as “Sir,” but doubted that she would get the joke, and was positive she wouldn’t appreciate it. Instead, he asked, “Is Amanda here?”

“Yes, but she’s not taking visitors at this time. Especially visitors who stand her up.” Patty attempted to shut the door, but Scott wedged himself in the doorway.

“Come on, Patty. I’m here to apologize. I truly don’t know what happened. It must have slipped my mind that we had plans tonight.”

“It just slipped your mind that you were supposed to meet your girlfriend for dinner on your twenty-first birthday? Yeah, I can see how an unremarkable event like that might not really stick in your head.”

Scott nodded. “I know. There’s no excuse.”

“So, where were you? Off with your stoner pal getting high?”

“No,” he said, deciding not to mention that his “stoner pal” had actually been at the apartment waiting with Amanda in hopes that Scott would show up. Scott figured that would only make him sound even less dependable than a pothead. He’d be on sturdier ground if he just flat out told Patty he had time-traveled from his fiftieth birthday and landed flat on his back in a gay bar with no memory. At least then, she’d just think he was mentally ill instead of a flaming asshole. “If I could just talk to her for five min…”

“It’s after midnight,” Patty said. “No men allowed inside after hours.”

“Can’t you bend that rule just once?”, Scott pleaded. His request was met with a stone face. “Okay, will you at least tell her I came by and…and ask if she’ll meet me for breakfast tomorrow at eleven at the Pancake Pagoda? My treat!”

Patty repeated the key information robotically. “Pancake Pagoda. Eleven o’clock. Your treat…obviously. I’ll tell her. Good night.” She pushed against the door and Scott stepped backwards onto the stoop. She had already shut the door by the time he could say, “Thank you.”

Scott walked backwards down the front steps, then crossed the lawn until he was below the second-story window that looked out from Amanda’s bedroom. The drapes were closed, but Scott cupped his hands around his mouth and spoke as loudly as he felt he could without invoking the wrath of her sorority sisters. “Amanda, I’m sorry.” He waited with nervous anticipation for her to open the drapes, turn on a light, flip him the bird, do anything to indicate that she had heard him.

Instead, the sprinkler system came on, drenching him thoroughly in a matter of seconds. He knew the sprinklers did not go on automatically but were controlled by a switch next to the front door, so he took this as a clear message from Patty to get lost. He trudged across the soggy lawn until he was safely out of the sprinklers’ line of fire on the front sidewalk.

Scott shook his head vigorously like a dog who just climbed out of a swimming pool. His nimbus of soaked curls now hung limply to his shoulders and clung to his face like strands of seaweed. His already tight-fitting shirt was now plastered to his skin and, as he walked away, he heard his Topsiders squish with every step. In an instant, he had gone from looking like a Hollister-clad surfer boy to resembling a blond, waterlogged “Weird Al” Yankovic.

Scott headed back toward campus, unable to stop his teeth from chattering. All he wanted was to get back to the apartment, crawl under the blankets and fall into a deep slumber. Maybe if he was lucky, he’d wake up in the morning and be fifty years old again, because being twenty-one again wasn’t quite turning out to be the dream come true he had hoped.

As he hit the campus business district, weaving his way through the pedestrians careening from one bar to another, Scott heard a feminine voice shout from behind him, “I see you, you asshole!” Man, Scott thought, I’d hate to be HER boyfriend. Then the same voice cried out, “Scotty Mitchell, I’m talking to you!”

Scott froze in his tracks. He knew that was voice far too squeaky and shrill to be Amanda’s, and a couple of octaves too high to be Patty’s, but it was definitely the sound of a woman scorned. Was another of the night’s surprises going to be that he’d been seeing another woman besides Amanda?

He took a deep breath and turned around, but the only person looking in his direction was a pale, scrawny waif in a tiny white t-shirt and narrow-legged red jeans, with dark eye shadow, maroon lipstick, and dyed black hair with bangs that descended in an arc like a crashing wave. Either this was a guy in makeup or a girl with the flattest chest that Scott had ever seen.

Scott’s taunter got nearer, shouting, “You jerk, you took off without even telling me!”, and slapping a palm onto Scott’s chest with so little force that Scott barely felt the impact. “Euh, you’re moist! Where have you been, a wet gingham shirt contest?”

“I’m sorry, but do I know you?”, Scott asked, deciding from the prominent Adam’s apple and razor-burnt cheeks that this must be a guy.

The scarecrow slung a bony arm around Scott’s neck. He was about three inches taller than Scott, but half his weight. “Very funny, Scotty. I guess I can’t blame you too much. Who wouldn’t ditch me for a quick BJ in the alley with Art Concrete?”

Whoever this was, Scott realized he must have been at the club if he knew about Scott sneaking out the emergency exit with Art. “Is that really his last name? Concrete?”

The gangly boy rolled his eyes and clucked his tongue. “Of course not, silly. That’s just the nickname we all gave him at the Nail because his body is so hard. Well, MOST of it, anyway.” He emitted a high-pitched giggle that sounded like an exotic bird’s mating call and drew sidelong glances from the passing pedestrians.

Scott’s discomfort was visible from space.

Scott tried his best to politely extricate himself from this situation. “I apologize for being rude, but I’ve had a…really bizarre night and I’m…kinda drunk and I…HONESTLY…can’t remember…” He was about to say “who the fuck you are”, but switched at the last moment to the more diplomatic “…your name.”

The thin man put on a meek expression and lowered his voice as deep as it would go, delivering a fairly accurate impersonation of Scott. “I apologize for being rude, but…” Returning to his higher voice, he said, “God, you are so fucking…appropriate! But don’t worry, we’ll suck that insufferable politeness and goody-goodyness out of you yet.” He gave Scott’s arm a feeble swat and declared, “I’m Phillipe, you fuckface!”

The name meant zilch to Scott, but he could tell he was not going to shake this guy easily. He decided to play along as best he could. “Phillipe U. Fuckface, eh? Is that really your name?”

“Oh, yes,” Phillipe said, quickly returning serve on Scott’s sarcasm. Holding the back of his hand against his forehead, he said dramatically, “I come from a long distinguished line of Fuckfaces. We came on the Mayflower with the Pilgrims. Actually, most of the time, the Pilgrims came on us.” He tittered again at himself. “So tell me, Scotty, what does Artie have that I don’t, I mean besides a pretty face, great big muscles, and a teeny-weenie weenie?”

“To tell the truth,” Scott admitted, somehow not embarrassed to be discussing such matters on a public street with a total stranger, “things went south pretty quickly. I never got to see his ‘weenie.’”

Phillipe “tsk”-ed with his tongue. “What was the problem? Did he come too fast? That’s what happened with me.”

“You gave him a blowjob?”, Scott said, louder than he expected, surprised by the intensity of his own curiosity.

Phillipe seemed offended by the suggestion. “No way. The arrogant prick refuses to use protection. Just because he can do a couple of handstands, he thinks he’s invincible? No, I just jerked him off. Believe me, you didn’t miss much.” Phillipe held up his thumb and forefinger with a two-inch gap between them. “Boy needs to start lifting weights with that dinky so it can get as jacked as the rest of him.”

Despite himself, Scott snorted a laugh. This guy was a bit too fixated on trying to be outrageous, but Scott had to admit that he was entertaining. Still, he seemed like he was best taken in small doses, and Scott felt like he’d about reached his limit. “Well, I am sorry if I left you high and dry at the club. I haven’t really been acting like myself tonight. In fact, I think I’d better be calling it a night.”

Scott tried to extricate himself from Phillipe’s chokehold, but Phillipe resisted Scott’s attempt to pull free with all the strength in his frail body. “Oh, no, sweetie, you’re not gonna squirm away from me twice in one night. You are coming with me to Jared’s party.”

Another new name. “Jared?”

Phillipe lowered his chin and gave Scott the side-eye. “Okay, now I know you’re just fucking with me!” Scott shook his head and shrugged apologeticaly. “He played Alan in ‘Equus’? He rode naked on your back for nine performances?” Scott’s expression remained blank. “Did somebody drop you on your pretty little head tonight? I certainly wouldn’t be able to forget having Jared Taylor naked on MY back.”

Scott wondered if this was what the early stages of Alzheimer’s felt like. He still had crystal clear memories of his earlier life, but in this plane of existence, he couldn’t recall anything he had supposedly done more than a few hours ago. He had to trust that what people were telling him was the truth. He felt like that guy in “Memento” and wondered if he would need to start getting tattoos as crib notes for his new life.

As Phillipe dragged Scott onward in the direction of off-campus housing. Scott kept waiting for a chance to wriggle out of Phillipe’s grip and bolt toward home, although he had to admit he was now curious to see this Jared guy. It felt so strange to be told he wasn’t just studying theater but had actually been in a play where he gave a naked man a piggyback ride. He wondered if Amanda or his family or his roommates had come to the play. From Phillipe’s description, he doubted it would have been quite their speed. Kevin surely would have used this as exhibit A that Scott had come down with a severe case of the gays.

Phillipe twisted a long strand of Scott’s hair on his index finger and clucked his tongue. “So, when are you gonna let me do something with this hideous mop you’ve got on your head? I know it was supposed to be your ‘mane’ in the play, but the play’s over, honey.”

“I dunno, I kinda like it,” Scott said. In fact, having a thick head of hair again was Scott’s second favorite aspect of tonight’s transformation, although it trailed several miles behind having a killer bod.

Scott had totally lost track of where they were when Phillipe pulled them down a side street. Even from a block away, it was easy to figure out which house was holding the party. It was the one where colored lights bathed the curtains of every window, and drunken laughter and synth-driven beats were seeping throughout the neighborhood, the volume ebbing and flowing each time a guest used the front door. Scott made one last attempt to resist, dragging his feet while Phillipe kept walking. He would up toppling to his knees and tearing a gash in his painter’s pants.

Phillipe turned around and loomed over Scott’s crouched figure on the pavement. Arms crossed, he asked with irritation, “What is your major malfunction, numbnuts?”

Scott looked up and pleaded to the beanpole towering above him. “Please, just let me go home, okay? I’m drunk. I’m tired. And I really don’t want to go to some party where I don’t know anyone.”

Phillipe’s patience had run out. “What’s gotten into you tonight? Why are you suddenly so uptight? This isn’t like you!” Scott thought it sounded exactly like him. "You know me, you know Jared, you’re gonna know most of the boys there. It’s gonna be a blast! Don’t be such a wuss, for fuck’s sake.

Scott felt his masculinity was being challenged. He wasn’t about to let some sassy little snot tell him he wasn’t man enough to go to a gay party. He rose to his feet defiantly and stared Phillipe in the eyes. “Fine, then, let’s go.”

“Yay!”, Phillipe shrieked, hooking a skinny arm around Scott’s elbow and ushering him toward the lively house.

Walking arm in arm like this gave Scott a strange sensation of intimacy. “So, Phillipe, pardon me for asking, but are you and I…like…a couple?”

“A couple of what?”, Phillipe replied flippantly, before offering a real response. “Oh, sweetie, you’re awfully cute, but you are much too butch for me. Plus your whole monogamy trip is way too kinky. No, dear, I’m afraid you’ll just have to settle for being my arm candy.” He brushed aside some of Scott’s straggling hair and gave Scott a platonic peck on the cheek. Scott blushed as they walked up the steps of Jared’s porch and entered the house.

Compared to what Scott witnessed as he stepped into Jared’s house, the Rusty Nail seemed as tame as a middle-school sock hop. The foyer was dark except for two spotlights trained on two bowls, one full of Skittles, the other stocked with condoms in bright colors identical to the hard-shell candies. Phillipe grabbed a fistful of each and gestured for Scott to do the same. Scott took a few Skittles and popped them into this mouth, then followed Phillipe into the darkened living room.

Black lights cast their spell over this room, bringing a brilliant glow to anything white, such as Scott’s pants, Phillipe’s t-shirt…and the tighty-whitey underpants which were all that many of the guests were wearing. A Twister mat had been spread out in the middle of the floor, its white surface gleaming with fluorescence. Two slim young men in their underwear were pretzeled around each other, while the crowd surrounding them passed around the spinner to determine the players’ next moves. Scott noticed that, in addition to hands and feet, someone had added the options of “ass” and “cock” to the spinner wheel.

Strobe lights flashed in the dining room beyond, which was filled with dancing men at various stages of undress. Scott vaguely recognized the pulsing synthpop song that was cranked to eleven, with its singer’s falsetto urging, “Run away, turn away, run away, turn away, run away.” Some small part of Scott wanted to take that advice, but he was mainly exhilarated to be here, surrounded by people so uninhibited and unashamed to be themselves.

Philippe took Scott’s hand and pulled him onward to the kitchen, the most brightly lit room in the place, where guests were snacking on potato chips and congealed pizza and ladling out drinks from a plastic trash container in the center of the floor. A dark-haired young man, shirtless and barefoot in tuxedo pants held up by suspenders, noticed Phillipe entering and expressed his exasperation. “Well, it’s about goddamn time, Phil!”

Phillipe leaned close and spoke as softly as he could while still being audible over the music, dropping his affectations and speaking with wounded sincerity, “I told you, I wanna be called Phillipe now, remember?”

Jared nodded, understanding his fellow actor’s needs. “Oh, right. Thank you, Phil-LEAP! Glad you have finally deigned to grace us with your…” He stopped as he noticed Scott lurking in the shadows behind Phillipe. “Equus! My Equus!”, he shouted theatrically and rushed over to wrap Scott in a fond embrace. Scott stood rigid and glanced for help from Phillipe, who pointed to the hugger and mouthed “Jared”.

“Hey there, Jared,” Scott said, feigning familiarity, patting him on his bare back between his suspender straps. Any smugness which Scott had developed over his appearance tonight was obliterated the moment he had caught sight of Jared. He was the definition of “movie-star handsome”, with short, carefully tousled brown hair, a perfectly straight nose, geometric cheekbones, delicate lips that verged on feminine, and a cleft chin that seemed bottomless, a seamless mash-up of young Travolta and prime Cary Grant. If Scott held any advantage, it was in his defined physique compared to Jared’s softer lines, but he had no doubt that Jared had the potential to become a ripped god given the slightest amount of effort. Pressed against Jared’s cheek, nose buried in his hair, Scott thought Jared even smelled like he imagined a movie star would, an intoxicating amalgam of Drakkar Noir, cinnamon rolls, suntan oil, and gin and tonic.

Jared released Scott from his grip and leaned back to take in the newest arrival with his crystal blue eyes. “Why are you sopping wet? Is it raining out?”

“Only on the lawn of Delta Zeta,” Scott said.

Jared stared at him blankly. “I have no idea what that means. Well, take off that shirt and stay awhile. I’ll toss that in the dryer for you.”

Scott hesitated and raised his hands. “I’m fine.”

“Oooh, Scotty, we all KNOW you’re fine,” Phillipe said with a sly grin, to a chorus of enthusiastic “mmm-hmmms”. Phillipe started to chant, “Take! It! Off!”, which was quickly taken up around the room and throughout the rest of the house, even from people who had no idea what it was in regard to.

Jared placed his hands gently on Scott’s chest and spoke breathily. “You’re not gonna tell me you had no trouble being topless onstage in front of four hundred strangers every night, but you’re too shy to take off your shirt around your closest friends. Here, I’ll help you.”

Jared drunkenly undid the third button on Scott’s shirt, rendering him officially slutty. As Jared moved along to button number four and into uncharted open-shirt territory, Scott squirmed and said, “That’s okay, I can do it.”

“No, I got it!”, Jared insisted, pulling abruptly on the two sides of the shirt, popping the remaining buttons and shredding the fabric. He backed away, clutching red-and-white-checked tatters in his hands. “Oops. Sorry. I may be a tiny bit intoximicated.”

“Don’t worry, we can’t tell, hon,” Phillipe said, bringing over two cups full of the purple concoction from the trash can and handing one to Scott. “Chug it. We’ve got a lot of catching up to do.”

Scott took a whiff as he raised it to his lips. “What’s in it?”

“Everything,” Jared assured him with a wicked grin, tilting the cup to force its contents into Scott’s mouth. The overwhelming flavor was grape Hi-C, but it burned enough going down Scott’s throat to reveal a lethal combo of every variety of liquor represented in the empty bottles lined up like trophies along the kitchen counter, from Courvoisier to Peppermint Schnapps. Scott felt himself growing drunker before it even completed the journey to his stomach.

Jared draped an arm over Scott’s shoulder. “I’m so delighted that you came, Nugget.”

“Nugget?”, Scott asked, taking another sip of his drink, this time voluntarily.

“You gotta forgive Scotty,” Phillipe informed Jared. “He seems to have developed a case of amnesia.”

“Oh, poor Nugget,” Jared said, brushing through the limp strands of Scott’s wet hair. “Nugget was the horse you played in ‘Equus’, remember? You were my faaaa-vorite,” he purred, a blast of his hot boozy breath warming Scott’s skin, “and I rode you every night!” Jared straddled himself over Scott’s left leg and slid briskly up and down. That friction and Jared’s bare chest rubbing along his arm combined to rouse Scott’s erection back to life after the cold shower it had gotten from Patty.

“Don’t you think Nugget could use a trim to that mane of his?”, Phillipe asked.

“I dunno,” Jared said, tangling his fingers in Scott’s blond curls. “I’ve kinda grown attached to it.” Leaning back to study Scott’s appearance more critically, Jared reevaluated. “Then again, it is a pity to hide that magnificent face.” He swept his hands through Scott’s hair, pulling it back to fully reveal Scott’s cheeks and forehead, and nodded approvingly. “Oh, yes, you are one fine piece of horseflesh.”

Phillipe rummaged noisily through the kitchen drawers. “You got any scissors in here?”

“Hold on a second,” Scott said, backing away unsteadily on suddenly wobbly legs. “I don’t think he’s in any shape to cut my hair.”

“There’s nothing to worry about, Scotty,” Phillipe said reassuringly, victoriously holding aloft a pair of scissors he had located. “I’m a professional. I cut my own hair all the time.”

Scott looked with concern at the clump of black hair hanging past Phillipe’s left eye, but Jared rubbed a soothing hand along Scott’s arm. “Relaaaaxx,” he cooed into Scott’s ear. “Phil-LEAP has done all of our hair. He’s quite the gay blade.”

Slightly assuaged, Scott allowed himself to be led to one of the kitchen chairs. Jared pulled off what remained of Scott’s torn shirt and tied it around his neck to act as a barber cloth. Scott reluctantly sat down and watched nervously as his barber took another slug from the potent punch. Scott raised a finger of warning. “You nick me once and I’m outta here.”

“Just close your eyes and place yourself in my skilled hands,” Phillipe said, passing a hand across Scott’s eyelids as if to hypnotize him.

Scott shut his eyes and settled back. He felt a wave of pleasant warmth flood his system as the booze kicked in. His mind began to drift, and he focused less on the tug of Phillipe’s fingers and the metallic sound of snipping than on the music flooding in from the next room. The vocalist was singing, “I don’t want to look like some kind of fool,” and Scott knew exactly how the singer felt. But Scott also found something calming about Phillipe’s gentle touch. A smile crossed his face as he realized that, unlike suddenly inhabiting a fit young body or realizing to his surprise that he was now a drama major, he was actually getting to experience this part of his transformation. He could sense his anxieties ebbing and almost felt as if he were melting into the chair.

The next thing he knew, Phillipe was jostling him by the shoulder. “All done, Scotty.” Scott’s eyes flickered open and he saw every guy in the room huddled around him, with Phillipe and Jared front and center.

“Most definitely hotter,” Jared said. The rest of the room nodded their approval.

“I gotta see this,” Scott said, attempting to stand but losing his balance.

Jared moved quickly, grabbing Scott by the shoulders and steadying him. “Whoa! Stay, Equus! No one said go.”

Scott couldn’t place them, but he could swear he’d heard those precise words many times. Looking down, he watched a pile of blond curls slide away from his makeshift bib, landing in a clump at his feet. It appeared that Phillipe had just chopped away more hair than Scott would even possess on his fiftieth birthday. Scott asked Jared with a noticeable slur, “Where’s there a mirror?”

“Onward, to the lavatory!”, Jared declared theatrically, hopping onto Scott’s back with panache and extending an arm forward, pointing toward the dining room. Scott adjusted quickly to the excess weight on his back and teetered into the next room, offering his apologies as he pinballed through the dancers. He and Jared acted as a well-practiced unit, and Scott knew in his bones, if not yet in his memory, that they had done this before. The feel of Jared’s legs wrapped around his hips, the warmth of Jared’s skin pressed against his back, the sound of Jared’s commanding voice bellowing just behind his ears, all felt familiar.

“And the king rides out on Equus, the mightiest of horses,” Jared shouted as Scott picked up speed, galloping into the living room. “Only I can ride him! He lets me turn him, this way and that!” Jared applied pressure on Scott’s shoulders to veer him away from the nearly-naked Twister game, which had apparently abandoned all pretense of rules and devolved into an aggressive four-man tickle fight.

Scott saw the open door of the darkened bathroom on the other side of the foyer and barrelled toward it headlong. “Whoa, mighty Equus!”, Jared cried, digging his fingers into Scott’s neck as the wall approached. As Scott reared to avoid a collision, Jared tumbled to the floor, taking the remaining scraps of Scott’s shirt with him and landing with a reverberant thud.

Scott spun around, bracing himself against the sides of the bathroom doorway. He extended an arm to Jared. “I’m so sorry, Jared.”

The thrown rider smiled as Scott hoisted him to his feet. “Never fear, brave Equus. You know what they say, the best thing to do if a horse throws you is to climb right back on!” He leapt onto Scott again, and the pair careened into the bathroom.

Jared extended his arm to flip on the lights and Scott turned to check out his new do. It took a moment for his bleary eyes to adjust, but when he saw his reflection, he was first puzzled, then horrified, and eventually amused. Phillipe had indeed trimmed away Scott’s bangs and much of the hair on the sides, so what remained was a classic “business in the front, party in the back” hairstyle. He started to laugh. “You gave me a mullet?”

Phillipe had caught up to them and was perturbed by Scott’s laughter. “What’s so funny? Don’t you like it?”

“I think it looks smokin’ hot,” Jared assured Scott.

And, to be honest, the longer he soaked it in, the more the look appealed to Scott. Of course, he wouldn’t be caught dead sporting this haircut in the future, even if he still had enough hair to pull it off, but here in the Eighties, he had to admit it made him fit right in. He smiled at Phillipe and told him, “It’s rad.”

Phillipe grinned with satisfaction and asked Jared if he had any gel. Jared quickly produced a tube of L.A. Looks, and Phillipe set about touching up Scott’s coif until he had the full MacGyver.

As they stepped out of the bathroom, Scott heard a loud yelp coming from a room down the hall. “What was that?”

Jared told him, “Oh, Stuart brought a piercing gun. He’s been doing guys’ ears all night.”

Phillipe’s eyes lit up. “I’ve been dying to get my ears pierced for like forever. I’m gonna do it!” He turned toward Scott and said, “Scotty, you should get pierced too, for your birthday!”

As Scott shook his head, Jared gasped. “It’s your birthday? Why didn’t you say something? How old are you, Nugget?”

Without thinking, Scott said, “Twenty-one.” It hadn’t even entered his mind to answer “fifty”. Without being aware of the change, he was finally thinking of tonight in the present tense.

“I thought you were going to stamp it out with your hoof,” Jared said teasingly, then more fondly, “My little Nugget, all growned up!” He placed his hands on either side of Scott’s face and pulled him in for a long kiss.

Scott grew lightheaded as Jared’s soft lips pressed against his. Jared’s tongue pushed against Scott’s teeth, which willingly parted to allow entrance. Scott’s knees buckled and he grabbed tightly onto Jared’s arms to remain erect. He was having no such trouble in his pants, where his cock turned to granite, despite the best efforts of the alcohol in his system to keep it flaccid. Scott could feel a similar bulge in Jared’s pants pressing against his thigh, and it delighted him to get such immediate physical confirmation that the person he was kissing was just as aroused as he was. During his marriage to Amanda, the best indicator that he’d satisfied her was usually a Post-It on the bathroom mirror the next morning, notifying him in her precise penmanship that she’d had a good time.

Jared pulled away from the kiss to shout, “Oh my god, now you absolutely HAVE to get a piercing to commumma…amumma…comma-memorate your birthday!” He poked a finger against Scott’s bare chest. “Whattaya say? A stud for the stud?” Scott grimaced. The haircut was already a pretty major step for him. An earring seemed a bit too much. Jared upped the ante. “I’ll get one if you do.”

Scott couldn’t get over the fact that this incredibly handsome young guy was falling all over him. His erection throbbed as he gazed into Jared’s astonishingly blue eyes. At this moment, Scott was willing to do anything to please him. “Okay. But I’m gonna need another drink.”

“Sounds good,” Jared declared. “Get me one while you’re at it.” He swatted Scott on the ass and commanded, “Fly, Nugget, fly!”

Scott took a serpentine route back to the kitchen, where he dipped a ladle into the almost empty trash can and filled two plastic cups to the brim with the grape-flavored anesthetic. He had no idea whether alcohol was heavier than Hi-C, so he didn’t know if the dregs of the punch would be thoroughly watered down or 200 proof. He took a sip from one of the cups and found it delightfully tasty.

On his way back to the bathroom, easily a third of each cup sloshed out, splattering the purple liquid onto his hands, down his arms and across his torso. “I’m so embarrassed,” Scott said, handing a cup to Jared.

“You got nothing to be embarrassed about,” Jared reassured Scott, his eyes fixed on the punch glistening on Scott’s chest and abs. “Lemme help you clean that up.”

Scott appreciated the offer and took a step toward the bathroom, but Jared pushed Scott against the hallway wall, extended his tongue in the valley between Scott’s pecs, and began to lick away the sticky mess. Scott leaned his head back against the wall, eyelids fluttering as he gazed at the ceiling. He’d never felt so turned on in his life. As the tip of Jared’s tongue slowly traced circles around Scott’s right nipple, an area that Scott didn’t even think had been been affected in the spill, he decided Jared deserved some reciprocal action.

Scott raised his cup and trickled a bit of the punch onto Jared’s shoulder. Jared shivered as the liquid hit him. “Oops. Sorry,” Scott said, lowering his head and gliding his tongue along the curve of Jared’s deltoid to mop up his “accidental” spill. Encouraged by Jared’s moaning, Scott tipped his drink above Jared’s ear. With another “Oops. Sorry,” he applied his front teeth to Jared’s earlobe, tugging gently before licking it clean, then following the purple trail with a series of nibbles down the length of Jared’s neck.

Jared gasped and smiled at Scott. With a gleam in his eye, Jared splashed some of his own drink onto Scott’s face, said, “Oops. Sorry,” then ferociously slurped it away as it trickled down the length of his nose and clung to his lips.

Scott was euphoric. When Jared had finished his tongue bath, Scott held a cup waist-high and doused his own crotch with punch, creating an enormous wet spot on his white pants which highlighted his erection in vivid purple. “Oops,” he said with a mischievous grin. “Not sorry.” The corners of Jared’s mouth rose with delight.

A loud pained shriek from the bedroom broke their concentration, followed by a shout of “Who’s next?”

“Scotty! You’re up!”, Phillipe shouted down the hallway, now sporting freshly installed silver studs in both earlobes. Scott and Jared were reluctant to interrupt their syrupy foreplay, but Phillipe was insistent. “Come on, guys. Stuart’s gotta be heading home soon.”

Scott looked to Jared for a signal. Jared shrugged and nudged Scott in the direction of the bedroom. “When Stuart’s gotta go, he’s gotta go.”

The two men entered the bedroom. As they passed Phillipe, he noticed the revealing splotch on Scott’s pants and asked, “What happened to you? Looks like the Great Grape Ape just jizzed in your pants.”

Scott took a seat on the edge of the bed as Stuart, a burly guy with a full beard and a KISS Army tattoo on his shoulder, reloaded his weapon. Having second thoughts, Scott looked warily at Jared, who gave a thumbs up and declared, “You’re gonna look so hot.”

Stuart asked impatiently, “Which ear?”

Scott grimaced, trying to remember in his drunkenness which ear was the “gay” one and which one was “straight”. He figured he was going to get enough shit from Amanda and his roommates for getting a piercing at all, so he’d better not launch World War Three by getting one in the “wrong” ear. He knew there was a mnemonic device, but it had slipped his mnemory. He was pretty sure it included “right is right”, so he told Stuart, “Right,” then looked to Jared and Phillipe for confirmation. “Right, right?”

In unison, Jared and Phillipe nodded and said, “Right.”

“Right it is,” Stuart said. “Now this could hurt, but it’ll be over in a snap. You ready?”

Scott chugged down the rest of his drink, took a deep breath, braced his hands against the mattress, grit his teeth and nodded. Stuart slipped Scott’s right earlobe into the gap in the device and fired. One quick zing and it was over. He lifted his fingers to his earlobe and felt the metal stud on the front and the clasp on the rear. Holy shit, he thought, I really did it.

Scott stood up to make way for Jared, barely listening to Stuart’s instructions for taking care of the piercing. He was too curious to see how his new accessory looked. He shuffled down the hallway to the bathroom and stared into the mirror over the sink. “Who is that sexy hunk with the blond mullet and the earring?,” Scott thought with a grin. “Whoever he is, I’D fuck him.” Seeing his reflection, he was fairly confident he’d picked the “safe” ear. It looked right to him.

The pressure in his cock, which had been ebbing and flowing all night, was now so great, he considered closing the door to jack off. But he instantly put that thought out of his head as he remembered that, for the first time in his life, he had a guy down the hall not only willing but apparently eager to help him “solve” this particular “problem”. Just the anticipation of what he and Jared might do next caused a bit of cum to ooze into the center of the purple stain on his trousers.

Having spilled most of his last drink, mostly on purpose, Scott made his way back to the kitchen, scraping the ladle along the bottom of the garbage can to dredge up the final remaining drops of the powerful concoction, desperate to keep his buzz going as long as he could. He chugged down what he was able to extract and crumpled the empty cup. Looking for someplace to throw it away, he eventually setted on the now-empty garbage can, restoring it to its primary mission in life.

Euphoric but growing a bit drowsy, Scott took a seat on the arm of an upholstered sofa in the living room and watched the lethargic conclusion of another Underwear Twister match. The crowd had thinned since he and Phillipe arrived, but at least a dozen guys were still dancing in the dining room. The singer of the current song was asking repeatedly, “What have I, what have I, what have I done to deserve this?”, and Scott found himself wondering the same thing. It had been an evening of ups and downs, but he finally liked the direction it seemed to be heading.

“There you are, Nugget!”, Jared shouted as he entered the living room, spreading his legs to take a seat on Scott’s left thigh. The dance-floor strobe light from the next room made it look like his new silver stud was flashing in the dark. “Whattaya think, stud-dy buddy?”

Scott thought the new earring didn’t look half bad, but Jared really didn’t need jewelry distracting from the beauty of his natural features. Still, Scott had enough wits about him not to say anything but, “It looks great!” Yet something did strike him as off. Jared’s stud was on the same side as it had been in Scott’s mirror image. “I think you got it on the wrong side. It’s on your left ear.”

“Yeah, I know,” Jared said, turning his head to check out the two dudes flopping about sleepily on the Twister mat.

“But you told me to get mine on the right.”

Jared explained offhandedly, clearly having thought his decision through well before tonight. “I couldn’t get one on the right. After I graduate, I’m moving to Hollywood, and if I want to get cast as a straight guy, I can’t go walkin’ into auditions with a hole in my ‘gay’ ear, can I?”

Scott gave it some thought and realized that, unfortunately, it did make a kind of sense. After all, even three decades later, it wasn’t a settled issue whether openly gay actors would be widely accepted playing heterosexual romantic leads. However, it did raise another question for Scott. “But wait, how about if I want to get cast as a straight guy?”

Jared hadn’t been paying attention to Scott’s question. His focus had returned to the Twister game. “You guys are pathetic. Clear off and let me show you how it’s done.” He stood up and unsnapped his suspenders. His black trousers plummeted to the floor, leaving him in nothing but black bikini briefs. As the remaining guests cheered and wolf-whistled, Jared acknowledged their ovation with a brief curtsy, then turned to Scott, beckoning with a wave of his fingers. “Join me, Nugget. Let us twist!”

Scott shook his head and waved off the suggestion. The crowd booed. Phillipe, submerged in a beanbag chair across the room, seemed particularly disappointed. “Do it, Scotty. We know you got the goods! Show off those gams!” But Scott refused to budge.

Jared knelt beside the sofa and asked quietly, “What’s the matter? Why the cold feet?”

Embarrassed, Scott leaned over and muttered in Jared’s ear, “I’m not wearing any underwear.”

Jared smirked and announced, “My noble stallion Nugget informs me has no covering for his loins.” Reactions ranged from “Awww” to “Ooh!” to “So?”

“Have him cover up with this,” Phillipe shouted, flinging a purple condom through the air. It landed perfectly in Scott’s lap.

“There you go,” said Jared. “It’s even coloco…corolco…” He closed his eyes to focus on his diction. “Co-lor-co-or-di-na-ted!”

Scott still was hesitant, softly pleading, “Can’t we just go somewhere to be together…alone?”

Jared gave him a light punch on the shoulder. “Aw, don’t be scared. It’ll be a riot. Tell you what, just to be fair…” He looked toward Phillipe, “You got any more of those suckers?”

“More than I’ll ever use,” Phillipe replied. “What flavor do you want?”

“Got anything in a banana?”, Jared asked.

Phillipe dug through his pockets and sailed a yellow condom across the room into Jared’s hands. Jared ripped open the packet with his teeth and extracted the condom, then shimmied free of his briefs. He received polite applause, although a few of his castmates from “Equus” moaned wearily, “Seen it.” After (un)dress rehearsal and three weeks of performances, seeing Jared’s winkie had become old hat.

Scott was slightly disappointed by Jared’s endowment, especially because it was totally flaccid, which gave him trouble as he tried to slip his flopping member into its yellow slicker. Still, Scott realized that, if he didn’t leap at this chance, someone else would volunteer to grapple with their almost-nude host and he might regret this moment for the rest of his life.

Scott stood up, facing the wall in order to preserve a small degree of dignity and privacy. He unbuttoned his pants and let them slide down his firm legs, offering the others a clear view of his solid glutes while he tugged the purple sheath into place onto his hard-on. “Uh, Phillipe, I think you gave me one that’s more your size,” Scott said, turning around to reveal that the condom only reached halfway down the length of his prodigious shaft.

Laughter at the remark gave way to an enthusiastic ovation for the public debut of Scott’s erect cock. Scott had always thought of his dick as average or maybe slightly below, but it occurred to him he had mainly been comparing himself against what he had seen in whatever gay porn he had gotten his hands on over the years. He now realized that might be something of a skewed sample. An impressed murmur was spreading through the crowd, and Jared, though also impressed, found himself in the rare position of being upstaged. Seizing the high road, he announced, “To quote Stanislavski, ‘There are no small parts…’”

“…only actors with small parts,” Scott said. And the crowd went wild. Scott smirked, pleased with himself.

“Touche,” Jared mumbled to Scott as they walked toward the Twister mat. “My dick may look smaller than yours at the moment, but just wait, it’ll grow on you.”

“I look forward to that,” Scott said, kicking out of his Topsiders and taking a position at one end of the mat, placing his bare feet on the yellow and blue circles. Jared walked to the opposite end and they bowed to each other like sumo wrestlers.

Phillipe flailed his way out of his beanbag and commandeered the spinner, announcing its first result, “Right hand, yellow.” A fairly easy task for both Scott and Jared to accomplish. They now looked like football players facing each other across the line of scrimmage…that is, if the Vikings and Packers uniforms consisted solely of condoms in team colors.

“Left foot, red.” Another easy move for Jared, but it forced Scott to pivot so his bare ass was now aimed directly toward Jared.

“Take your time, Phil-LEAP. I’m fine if we stay like this for a while,” Jared declared.

Phillipe spun again, delighted by the result. “Next move: cock, blue! Ha!”

Now the contestants struggled to adjust their stances low enough that their dicks made contact with a blue circle. When Scott limboed just enough for the tip of his cock to brush the mat, Jared griped, “No fair! It’s like playing against someone who’s got a longer arm!”

“Aww, Jared, do you need a fluffer?”, Phillipe asked, generating laughter. “I think we’ve got plenty of volunteers.”

Scott looked upside down between his legs and saw Jared wobbling as he strained to lower his scrotum toward a blue spot. “Careful, that’s a good way to get blue balls,” he said, earning another round of laughs. None of the other guests looked familiar to him, but he definitely seemed to be winning them over. He figured booze deserved a lot of credit for his behavior tonight, but he was convinced that something had changed in his mind. He no longer felt hemmed in by caution and fear. He felt confident and free to be himself. He also felt increasingly dizzy.

Phillipe got on his knees like a boxing ref and examined the gap between Jared’s scrotum and the Twister mat. He declared, “Close enough!”, and flicked the arrow on the modified spinner again. This time, it landed on “Ass, green!”

Both Scott and Jared were confused about how to accomplish this move. “Oh, come on,” Jared griped. “Even HIS dick’s not long enough to reach blue with his ass on green!”

Phillipe agreed it was physically impossible and declared a respin. And so it went for several more rounds until Jared found himself shakily hovering over Scott’s contorted form.

“This is more like it, Equus,” Jared whispered, his voice sounding slurred but wistful. “I wish I could spend the rest of my life on your back.”

A warm feeling spread across Scott’s chest. It wasn’t the most conventional expression of affection, but it meant so much to hear those words, to feel so desired, to feel worthy of love. “You really mean that?”, he whispered to Jared.

It sounded like Jared was trying to whisper something back, but a slight whistle turned into a wheeze and he collapsed onto Scott, sending both of their bodies thudding onto the mat. The crowd cheered Scott’s victory, but the only sound Scott heard was Jared snoring loudly into his ear.

Spread-eagled across Scott’s body, his limp be-condomed cock squashed against the small of Scott’s back, Jared had passed out.

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