Erogenous Zones

by Angela

12-11-04

I cupped my hand against the back of his neck and kissed him. For the barest instant he hesitated, his spine stiff and his mouth tight. He always did that - wasted a moment being surprised - before relaxing into letting me kiss him. I opened my eyes, admiring Mikey's long lashes before catching Ben's glower over his shoulder. The professor's scowl made me smile against Michael's mouth. I deepened the kiss.

His hands came up against my back, hot and dry as they slid beneath the hem of my shirt. That feeling - the friction of his rough fingertips against my skin - made me shudder. I remembered the first time I'd felt that, the first time I'd realized how much the touch of another person could pull me out of myself. "Remember that first time?" I asked, nuzzling his ear and tasting the sweat that clung to his hair. The strobe lights pulsed and the techno music throbbed around us, but when Mikey looked into my eyes, I was fifteen again.

xxx

It was at a football game in October. The air was crisp enough that I wished I'd brought a sweatshirt, but as usual I was too cool to own up to my mistake. Michael was bundled up in his school jacket, a blue stocking cap pulled low enough to cover his ears. His breath puffed in white clouds as he fished around in his jeans pockets for enough cash to buy two hot dogs.

Neither of us cared much for football, but during the fall, games were the only place to hang out on Friday nights. "You got a quarter?" he asked me, still searching for change. "I know Ma gave me five bucks, but I can't remember what I did with it."

I was flat broke and he knew it. Unlike Deb, my mother wasn't too keen on giving me money for dumb shit like hanging out - you'd never guess that Michael's mom worked her ass off for every dime, the way she pushed cash into his hands. I smirked at the woman behind the concession counter. "Looks like we'll be taking only one," I explained, already reaching for the mustard. The Band Booster parent, or whatever she was, heaved a sigh and counted back seventy-five cents.

Michael tore the hot dog in half, still complaining about the money he lost. I walked ahead, around the stadium to where the kids - and some parents - stole away for a quick cigarette or a hit of something stronger. There were only a few kids back there; I guessed it was a close game or something; I wasn't paying attention. Some girls huddled in a tight circle, giggling and passing around what I assumed was a joint. A guy from my math class had his hands beneath some girl's sweater, and I wondered if it wasn't too cold for that kind of fun.

"It's probably still on your dresser," I told Michael, crumpling the napkin he'd given me and tossing it onto the ground. "You were in such a hurry to get out of there, it's no wonder you forgot it."

"You were the one who kept rushing me," he protested. "If you hadn't been so anxious to leave . . . ."

"I got us something."

Michael's attempt to blame me ended. His eyes lit with curiosity. "What?" he asked, his shoulder bumping mine.

I glanced around. Some guys from beyond the fence were trying to coax the high girls into leaving the game with them. The make-out couple were still oblivious, eyes closed and mouths open. I knew that no one would bother us back there, but it still seemed too exposed. One curious parent or police officer was all it would take to end our fun.

On the off chance that it was open, I reached for the door to the tiny weight room where the football players worked out. The knob turned. "Follow me," I told Mikey.

"How'd you know that was unlocked?" he hissed as we darted through the doorway.

I glanced over our shoulder to make sure we hadn't been noticed. "I gave the coach head so he would leave it open," I said sarcastically.

Michael's eyes widened. He believed me. I wanted to laugh, but thought it'd be better if he just kept on believing it. I closed the door behind us.

It was pitch black in the weight room. I reached out to hold onto Michael's arm while my eyes adjusted. A little light shone in through the door's frosted window, and before long I could see his face, just a little away from mine

"So what are we doing here?" Michael asked. His breath was warm and smelled faintly of hot dogs. "What'd you get?"

I fumbled in my pocket, relieved to discover that it wasn't broken. "This," I announced, holding up a joint.

"A cigarette?" he asked in disbelief. "We're hiding in this stinky weight room to smoke a cigarette?"

This time I did laugh. "God, you're pathetic, Mikey," I scolded. I pulled my lighter from my pocket and lit the end, breathing in. "It's pot."

His eyes went wide again and his smile trembled in the corners. "How'd you get that?" he demanded.

I didn't want to tell the truth, that it'd been kind of tossed down at me after I'd sucked off some college guy behind a campus bar. "I have my ways," I said instead, hoping that he didn't mind a bit of mystery and wouldn't ask any more questions.

"Can I try it?" His voice sounded timid, but eager.

I passed him the joint. His fingers shook as he lifted it to his lips. I watched his eyes close as he inhaled, watched the slight suction of his cheeks, feeling the rise of his chest against my arm. He blew the smoke out in a long stream and looked at me, his mouth curving into a goofy sort of grin.

"It's not bad," he commented.

There was no way he could be feeling the effects yet, but I didn't say anything. I took another drag, this time blowing the smoke into Mikey's face. He laughed. By the time the joint had been smoked down to a little nub, we were both feeling a bit giddy. Michael talked about the latest Green Arrow comic and giggled. I listened, because that's what I do - I listen while Mikey talks to me.

It was while he was trying to think of a certain character's name that the idea first struck me. He bit his lip; his teeth were shiny in the darkness. I noticed how his teeth made a lingering impression in the skin of his bottom lip. I wondered if they were as soft as they looked. My brain buzzed like background static, but one thought was crystal clear. I want to kiss Mikey.

I'd kissed guys before. Plenty of them. I'd done a lot more, too, but I knew that Michael hadn't. In the year we'd been friends, we hadn't exactly even talked about the fact that he was gay, too. I mean, I knew it, and Mikey knew I knew it, but neither of us had ever come out and said it. I thought about it a lot, particularly on the nights I stayed over - we always ended up twining together when we slept, and I was afraid that, if we ever talked about the fact that we both preferred boys to girls, it would get too weird between us for us to sleep in the same bed anymore.

And weird was the last thing I wanted. That's partly why we'd been best friends for over a year and we hadn't kissed yet. It wasn't that I never wanted to - I usually wanted to at least a little - just that I didn't know if Mikey wanted to. With me.

But now we'd just shared a joint. We were both a bit buzzy and relaxed and standing really close together, even for us. If we were under the influence, then we couldn't really be held accountable for what happened. Not all the way.

I flicked the butt onto the floor and put my hand on Michael's shoulder. He looked at me curiously, and just as he was about to ask me a question, I moved. I pressed my mouth against his, forever silencing whatever question he'd been meaning to ask.

His whole body stiffened. Through my eyelashes I could see that his eyes were open, startled and confused. His mouth was tight and unyielding, and for a second I was sure he would struggle, maybe even push me away. In that instant I was terrified that I'd been totally wrong, that I'd gone and ruined everything between us.

But then, when his hesitation was about to become a full-fledged rejection, he relaxed. His eyes fluttered closed and his mouth opened. He kissed me back, his body leaning just enough closer that I could feel his warmth through my clothes. His hands fumbled against my shoulders and moved down to my waist, where his fingers curled into the fabric of my shirt.

I was getting hard.

By now I had my hand on the back of his neck, holding him close and not letting either of us end the kiss. His fingertips brushed against the skin above the back of my jeans; I almost groaned.

When we finally pulled back, we were both panting. Michael grinned, his swollen lips and bright eyes making him look particularly silly. "That stuff was pretty strong," he said, blaming the pot for our kiss.

If that's what he wanted, I could play along. "Yeah, " I agreed, reluctantly sliding my hand off of his shoulder and stepping back a half step. Suddenly not touching him, I felt bereft. Of course, there was no way I'd admit it.

After that, we were different, though only in the tiniest way. We still hung out every day, sharing just about everything. He was still my favorite person on the planet. But we no longer dodged the issue of Mikey being gay. We stopped pretending that it was normal for best friends to sleep curled up in each other's arms, but decided that it was normal for us, so the rest of the world could go to hell.

Still, the biggest change was in Michael's eyes. After that night, he looked at me as though he'd figured something out, and the admiration that usually shined from them had somehow evolved into something more adult. It scared me, and I reacted, strangely, by kissing him more often. I hoped that, maybe, if our kisses became a common greeting between best friends, then they wouldn't be as emotionally heavy as that first one. One kiss wasn't nearly enough for me, but I didn't want to change the way he looked at me anymore, so I made up a new unspoken rule - Brian always kisses Mikey.

xxx

And it had worked. Years later, we're both involved in serious relationships, both supposedly in love with our partners, and yet we still manage to kiss hello and goodbye and for no reason at all - it was far more than I would've imagined, had I been able to imagine this scenario at all.

On the dance floor, Michael flattened his hand against my back, his palm pressed to the skin. I hissed between my teeth, trying to curb my surge of arousal.

"Of course I remember," he murmured, his lips brushing the sensitive skin of my ear. "You got hard." He laughed, not seeming to notice my surprise. "I was as high as a kite and so turned on that I thought I'd burst, but I wasn't worried because you got hard, too."

It was my turn to be incredulous. I almost stopped dancing. "You knew?"

He kissed me, his hesitation gone. His fingers flicked at the sensitive skin of my lower back. "Why do you think," he asked, tracing tiny spirals, "I always make a point of touching you here?"

I laughed and ground my hips against his under the pretense of dancing. Two could play at that game. I could make him writhe with need until nothing the professor could do would satisfy him.

We danced like that for ages - long after Ben's glower faded into an expression of irritated acceptance. I pretended not to notice Justin disappear into the back room on three separate occasions after failing to catch my eye. I knew there would be consequences, but I didn't care—I had Mikey's fingers twisting in the fabric of my shirt, his nails brushing the skin beneath, sometimes dipping below the waistband of my jeans. It was enough to make me crazy. I loved it.