In Between Days: Raising Jordan (boyxman)✅

Love is the Drug

Jordan

The first time I heard the word "fag," I was in the fourth grade. Sophie Georgio was my number one bully. She sat behind me on the bus and we'd had the same teacher since kindergarten. She always picked on me. One time, while sitting behind me, she whispered, "Your parents hate you. They never wanted you. Everyone knows your mom is crazy. I hope she kills herself." And she didn't stop there. "No one likes you," she went on and on. "You have no friends. I hope you kill yourself." She made me so mad and upset, I refused to get off the bus. The big fat principal called Mom so she showed up, her hair newly dyed bright pink on one side, turquoise on the other side. Her pink lipstick was smudged around her lips, her dyed hair sticking up everywhere. I couldn't have been more embarrassed. There was no way I was getting off the bus for her. After several minutes of her attempting to persuade me to get off the bus, she called Tim. If Tim couldn't get me off the bus, then they'd call the police. I knew the drill. When Tim showed up, he wasn't as patient as everyone else. He picked me up and hung me over his shoulder while I kicked and screamed like a toddler having a temper tantrum when I was actually ten years old.

The teachers didn't believe me when I told them that Sophie said all those things to me. She was considered a "nice girl" while I was considered the boy "with issues." Mom and Tim believed me, though. Still, that didn't make me feel any better.

Of all the memories to remember, why that one? I hated that memory. Because I wouldn't get off the bus, kids stared and laughed at me. They laughed at Mom, too. I bet teachers even laughed at her. Why did I have to re-live that horrible memory right now when I was so happy a few minutes ago? Why couldn't I re-live a good memory like my first kiss? I loved that day, out in the rain, singing to Jamie. That was perhaps the best moment of my life, up until then, anyway.

Lying beside me, his arm draped over my lap, Jamie dozed off. I didn't want him to sleep. I couldn't sleep, so why should he? Besides, it was only 9:30.

Jamie lay on his stomach, hugging the pillows like he usually did. My fingers trailed up his sides and under his arms. He stirred, laughing a little, slowly waking up as my fingers played with his arm hair. I liked touching him there.

"Jordan" he said quietly.

"Jamie," I said.

Pressing my hands under his arms, I kissed the back of his shoulder, getting on top of him.

"No," I said as he went to bring his arms down.

"You're so gay," he said as I kept my hands under his arms, kissing his shoulder blade as I grinded against him, moving my lips to his neck. "So, so gay," he said as my lips inched down the middle of his back, all the way down to his tailbone. I wasn't exactly sure what he meant by "so, so gay," but I didn't ask, either. I was too busy thinking about other things.

"Do you want to top me?" he asked, looking over his shoulder at me. I shrugged, kissing him well below his tailbone. He liked it when I did that.

Maybe, I thought.

"I want you to," he said. "I really want you to." He reached for the tube on the nightstand and handed it to me. But I wasn't so sure I wanted to do it like this so I got off him. "Hey," he said, rolling over. Sprawled out on his back, he placed his hands behind his head. "Why'd you stop?" he asked.

"I want to look at you," I said, kneeling between his legs at the foot of the bed. "Are you ticklish?" I asked, picking up his foot. He didn't seem to be ticklish under his arms.