Narrator: Leslie Defiere
My tongue left his mouth and his cock no longer touched me. There was violent coughing in the background and I froze. We both froze. Having sex with a man who is not your boyfriend, and hot-boxing a bathroom meant deep shit.
“Who the hell is in here?!” Adam shouted; the haze of the marijuana prohibiting any view and the curtain didn’t help either.
“It’s CJ!” What the fuck is CJ’s problem? It’s always him. Always trying to find me, fight me and fix me – in that order.
“What the fuck?” Adam opened the shower curtain, unbothered with the fact that there was no towel wrapped around him and therefore, butt naked, and about to face another of the same sex. I can’t say if that should be called courage or stupidity.
The coughing lessened, but I noticed CJ constantly rubbing his eyes. He glanced at me desperately, as though he wished his cock was in my mouth, rather than Adam’s. Whether this was true or not, it made me smile; CJ jealous was a rare one. He was too caring to be capable of those vile emotions.
“Fucking hell, put on something!”
CJ said as Adam’s body came into his clear vision. Junior threw him a towel which Adam wrapped around his waist. I checked that the shower curtain was fulfilling its duty of hiding me properly, except for my face. I laughed at CJ’s disgusted expression; the image of Adam’s cock would leave a permanent scar and taunt him every time he went to the pool and saw men in Speedos.
“Ding-dong!” I announced cheerfully, CJ looked at me disapprovingly; the innuendo became clear to him.
Out of nowhere, cackles of laughter gushed out of me uncontrollably, adding a “ding-dong” wherever I could catch a breath. Adam laughed with me silently, finding amusement in my response to the marijuana. Junior was abhorred at my animalistic act, and I didn’t need 20/20 vision or a limpid room to know that – I could sense it. Perhaps that was what made me stop, the suddenly looming presence of him.
“Wow Leslie, calm down,” Adam said, his smile clearly displaying his mirth. With a more serious expression, he turned to Junior. “What the fuck is the problem?”
He completely ignored Adam’s reproachful tone and looked directly at me. His expression was no longer that of repugnance, but graveness and caution.
“Lawrence is in the hospital, Leslie. And he doesn’t look good. They say it was a cocaine overdose, and he might not make it. You have to go – now.”
CJ stared at me, intent. No spark of sympathy crept into his eyes. He made no attempt to comfort me, or rush me along. He merely stood there; instead Adam’s face bore all the concern, pity and support.
I don’t know what my face said, but I think there were tears as Adam wrapped a towel around me and got my bag. He took me to the living room bathroom. The one that wasn’t hot-boxed, air clear and warm light – but for some reason, it was hazier than the basement. There was smoke, then there was a black net, and soon, it was neither black nor white – blank.