They called me Spig. Short for my last name, which was Italian, and very long. So was my... oh, never mind for now. And I hated my first name, which was worse than Spig. So go figure. The ironic thing was, while my name was eminently Italian, I was pale-blond with strong blue eyes, a pale complexion, and even at sixteen, not much body hair - all of which was pale and fine. And no facial hair. Same for my dad. Go figure.
I had just turned sixteen, gotten my license, and my folks had gotten me an old car. Two cute girls at school were paying me tons of attention, and my friends were asking which one would be the first in the back of my love machine. Life was great. Mostly. It was made a little harder by having to hide how gay I was from everyone. I was doing a great job of it, too.
I'd been working at the restaurant a few blocks from house since I was fourteen. Most of my friends were at work. I had a couple friends at school, but me and my friends weren't very popular. There were a couple of high-school guys and just a bit older guys working at the restaurant too, and one of them was Brian. He was the cool one, as far as I was concerned. The other guys, and the girls, were mostly stuck-ups or jocks.
Brian was a stoner. Not totally, but he wore the hair and clothes, and we all knew he partied. But he treated me and my friend Tim like we were normal dudes. He was almost twenty, and just gorgeous. Shaggy brown hair, brown eyes, nice lips, strong nose and chin, and a tight, lean bod. Oh, man, how those uniform pants made his crotch so bulgy and hot. They also hugged his fine ass. Geeze. He also had another job, so he worked at the restaurant less than I or Tim did.
By the time I got my license, Brian was inviting us to come party at his place once in a while. Tim and I, I mean. We were both goody-goodies, and politely declined. But the time came, shortly after we'd gotten our licenses, that we decided to take Brian up on his offer. He had an apartment in one of the tiny, cheap, crappy apartment rows down by the railroad. He promised no one would bug us, and he wouldn't make us drink or smoke if we didn't want to. And if we got a little too drunk or stoned, we could sleep it off on his couch.
Tim and I were both pretty nervous about it. We decided we would try some beer, and maybe a hit from a joint, and probably go home early. We decided to drive our own cars, of course.
Well, the party wasn't bad at all. We played CDs and watched MTV, drank beers, and smoked some pot. We also played some poker.
Tim and I were getting teased about being lightweights. Of course. Tim took it different than I did. He just said he wasn't going to get drunk and wreck his car. Brian told him it was okay if he got too drunk and slept it off on the couch. He still stayed to sipping his beer and only hit the joint a couple times over the course of the night.
I took it differently. I drank my beer quicker, and I hit the joint more often. I wasn't stupid, though. When I'd go to the john, I'd pour out the beer and replace it with water. When I toked the joint, I actually only took a tiny bit of smoke. Still, I was feeling the beer and the pot.
Pretty soon I was acting like I was far drunker and higher than I really was. I'd laugh harder, and I'd make stupid jokes, and I often pretended to stumble around on my way to the john and back and to get a fresh beer. I was still having a great time. Brian thought I was keeping up with him, and I wasn't any lightweight after all. Tim took more teasing and grief about being a lightweight, and wasn't having all that great a time.
When it got late, Brian reminded Tim and I we could use his couch if we wanted. Tim said he hadn't drank much, and didn't smoke much at all, and was just fine.
Me, though, I was stuck pretending I was drunk and stoned. I said I might take him up on his offer. We'd see.
Well, it got later, and Tim left, after making sure I wasn't going to drive home.
Brian and I sat down and watched a movie and drank and smoked some more. I drank just a bit of the beer, having poured most of it down the toilet. I seemed to puff on the joint, but I actually was blowing through it gently.
Brian said he was impressed at my partying abilities. I felt proud of myself.
Pretty soon he was daring me to down a beer with him. Slam one. Man, I tried, but I couldn't do it. I had some of it down, but it was too nasty to get the rest down. I panicked and pretended I was going to throw up. I ran to the bathroom and pretended to yak. When I came back out, I did my best stagger and bumble, and told Brian I was so wasted I couldn't drink any more.
He said that was cool. He told me to take a couple aspirin so i wouldn't have a headache and hangover in the morning. He got a couple from the bathroom and handed them to me. They didn't look like aspirin. I was really suspicious. They were little blue pills.
"Just fancy aspirin," he said.
I doubted it, though.
So I said I needed some water to swallow them with, and went to the kitchen. I tossed the pills down the sink. When I got back, he said I should lay down on the couch and get comfortable, because as much as I drank and smoked, I was going to pass out pretty soon.
It was late, and I did have some beer and some pot, and so, yeah, I did get really sleepy. I did get comfy on the couch, and I did pass out. I tossed an arm over my eyes to block the light from the television and the table lamp, and fell asleep.
I was woken up by Brian saying, "Hey, you awake?"
I thought, no, I'm passed out, dummy. I knew not to react or anything. I just laid there.
"Can you wake up?" he asked, gently shaking me.
Nope. Apparently.
He started untying my shoes, then took them off. Okay. Then he lifted the bottom of my shirt up to my neck. Well, okay, I guess. Then I felt him touching my chest. Then my stomach. And then my nipples.
I was so shocked I almost forgot to be passed out.
