[Featured in FreetheLGBT: Diverse Literature reading list and Humor: Young. Dumb. Full of Fun list]
Colin Mitchell, a photographer at a well-known store, Snapshot, is openly gay--mostly. His ideal experiences are sexcapades that are always subtle, n...
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What Peter felt, he couldn't describe. It was after they had gotten back to the apartment, after they had eaten dinner-- chicken parmesan pasta, even though he'd have been fine with just pop tarts-- and after he had crawled into bed that it all surfaced. Doubt. Guilt. Uncertainty.
He was bordering on what felt like remorse for his actions, for encouraging something he didn't want, but even that coiled and twisted into pangs of anger. Anger at Colin for initiating anything and everything. Anger at himself for not pulling back, for giving in.
Even with the wind that blew through the open windows, making its presence known through the blinds that tapped at the sill, the room felt stuffy. Too small, too humid.
Yet, Peter covered his head with the sheets and willed himself to stop thinking and fall asleep. It took a while, but he did eventually.
But even that didn't help because his thoughts had morphed into dreams that went with him into unconsciousness.
As if that wasn't bad enough, he had to walk around the apartment the next morning as if nothing had happened. It was harder than he thought even with Colin also brushing the past event under the rug. Peter was thankful Colin didn't bring it up when they had walked past each other on his way to the bathroom. He was very considerate.
That was part of the problem. Colin was too nice to him. Peter wanted nothing more than to loathe him, to hate what they had done. He didn't even feel comfortable in his own body now because all he could see, all he could feel, were Colin's touches.
In the shower, the warmth of the water that beat down at him felt like the same warmth that engulfed him when they were pressed together. The shower curtain brushing him when he stepped out also reminded him on the light caresses when Colin's fingers lightly danced on his skin. Peter shuddered at the images that ran in his mind. Him kissing Colin back. Him allowing Colin to pull down his jeans. All because of his impulsive mouth that just won't stop running.
Make me.
And Colin did make him. He made Peter feel all this torrent of emotions which left his insides a gooey mess. Worse, that gooey mess had managed to seep out of his body and into his boxers. The thought of it alone haunted him like a bad dream.
Peter couldn't stay in this cramped space anymore, the apartment, it was all too overbearing. He wanted-- needed-- to get out. To distract himself or better yet, occupy himself with something. Or someone. Whichever worked best.
It seemed luck had smiled down on him because as soon as he opened Instagram, he found a photo in his feed mentioning a party. It mentioned a place in Crystal Cove-- a neighbourhood where everyone who resided there was either stinking rich or flipping famous.
Peter scrolled through the tags on the post and realized it was being thrown by someone in his college-- 90 percent of the people who bragged that they were invited were from there. The party was scheduled for the 18th. He checked the date on his phone and realized it was the 18th; the party was happening tonight. He wasn't invited but that wouldn't stop him. Crashers were the best part of parties anyway.
