That was only the beginning. The halls of Pinchot were filled with revelers. I walked past pirates and devils, hippies (probably uncostumed), and Gandalfs. On the second floor landing, I encountered two Richard Nixons sharing a joint. And in my own room I discovered Jack laying out some items he was pulling from a brown paper bag.
"What's that stuff?" I asked him, eyeing the goods warily.
"Our costumes," he said proudly. "We're going to a party."
"We are?"
He nodded. "Andy invited us. It's at the house of some friend of his. Off campus."
I didn't want to go to a Halloween party. Correction—I did want to go to a Halloween party. Just not one that Andy would be at. I couldn't tell Jack that, though, not after he'd gone to the trouble of actually buying us costumes.
"What are we going as?" I asked, resigned to spending a night dressed like who-knew-what. Jack held up a cowboy hat. "Butch," he said. "Let me guess," I said. "I'm…"
"Sundance," he said, holding up a second hat.
He'd also found some vests, chaps, and cheap plastic spurs, all of which we put on. When we were done, we looked like the world's worst cowboys. Jack handed me a toy pistol. "Don't forget this," he said. "Now you look like the real thing." The final step was to paint on moustaches. We'd been growing our own out since the beginning of the semester, but the results had been unimpressive. At least mine had. Jack's was thicker, but because it was blond, it looked a little scraggly. We fixed that with some greasepaint. We also painted on heavy beard growth, smearing our cheeks with the stuff. The combined effect of the makeup and the getups was presentable, if a little haphazard.
Andy had given Jack the address of the party, and we drove over there in Jack's Fairlane. Things were already in full swing, even though night had barely fallen. A grinning jack-o'-lantern greeted us on the front porch, a flickering candle lighting up its eyes and mouth. A paper skeleton hung on the front door, flanked on either side by arching black cats.
Our knock on the door was answered by a young woman dressed as a witch. When we told her that we were friends of Andy, she showed us in, saying, "Andy's over there talking to the milkmaid."
She pointed to a couch on one side of the room. We saw the milkmaid, all breasts and pigtails, and we saw Andy. He was shirtless, and his pants were covered in what looked like clumps of fur. On his head he wore what appeared to be a fur hat with pointed ears affixed to it. It wasn't immediately clear what he was supposed to be.
We worked our way through the crowd of people standing around with beer bottles and plastic cups in their hands. There were perhaps twenty people crowded into the house's living room, and the din of their voices, combined with the Cream album being played on an invisible stereo, made it difficult to hear anything. When we reached Andy and the girl, it was all we could do to say hello.
"Look at you two," Andy said. "Git along, little doggies. Who-hoo!"
"What are you?" I asked.
"What?" Andy mouthed.
"What are you?" I shouted.
Andy lifted his head and howled. "A-woooooooo. A-a-a-woooooooo."
"The Wolfman!" Jack exclaimed. "Cool."
"I hope you brought a silver bullet," Andy said to the girl, biting her neck. The girl laughed. Andy grinned. "Guys, this is Melanie. How do you like her milk pails?"
Melanie laughed again. I could tell she was high, or drunk, or probably both. Andy, too, seemed to be stoned. He squeezed one of Melanie's breasts and stood up.
"Come on," he said, putting an arm around each of us. "You guys need a drink." He led us back through the crowd to the kitchen, where a table was piled with cookies, candy, and other assorted treats. Andy picked up two brownies and handed one to me and one to Jack. "Try these," he said. "They'll start you off right."
While Jack and I ate the brownies, Andy procured three beers from the refrigerator. He popped the tops off and handed us each one.
"That's good shit," he said, nodding at the brownies, which we'd almost finished eating. "Premium California weed. I've had two already." The pot was good shit. Within minutes, all my worries about Andy, the party, and Jack were gone. I was laughing at everything Andy said, and when we returned to the living room to see what was happening, I even found myself in conversation with a mummy about the films of Franco Zeffirelli, none of which I'd actually seen. The mummy, most likely as high or higher than I was, didn't seem to notice. He (or she, I never saw the face behind the toilet paper wrappings) nodded a lot and said very little. I know I went back for at least one more brownie, and possibly more. Having skipped dinner, I was easily wasted, and soon I had no idea of the time or much of anything else. When Andy came over and guided me back into the kitchen, I went willingly. He'd brought Jack as well.
"Here," he said, handing us each a small square piece of paper.
"You've got to try this. Don't eat it. Jut put it on your tongue."
I didn't ask what it was. I placed the paper on my tongue and waited for something to happen. Nothing did. I looked at Jack. He, too, was holding his paper on his tongue, looking from me to Andy and back again.
"What's it supposed to do?" I asked.
"Just wait," Andy said. "It takes awhile to kick in." He put a tab on his own tongue, then motioned for us to follow him. We went upstairs to the second floor, where Andy led us down a hallway and into a bedroom. The lights were off, but several lava lamps glowed in the corners, the purple, blue, and yellow blobs inside them bubbling thickly. In their glow I could see that the floor had been covered with several mattresses, on which nude bodies were writhing. Their moans mingled with the music of the Beatles as Abbey Road played in the background.
"Come on," Andy said, stepping over a pair of legs and heading for a bare mattress. I hesitated, unsure of what was going on. I saw full well what was happening in the room, but I didn't know what we were doing there. But I was also high enough that it all suddenly seemed perfectly ordinary. I took Jack's hand and walked to where Andy had seated himself. He was stretched out in the middle of the mattress, arms behind his head. Jack and I took up positions on either side of him.
"Just listen to the music," Andy instructed us. "Let it talk to you."
I stared at the ceiling, where the light from the lava lamps swirled in slowly-changing patterns. I watched circles form and stretch, becoming ovals that eventually broke into two. It reminded me of viewing amoebas under a microscope in biology class. As George Harrison sang "Here Comes the Sun," the amoebas danced joyfully above me, changing shape and color. I became lost in them, following each one's birth, halving, and death with intense interest.
I don't know how long I lay there. I remember at one point looking to my left and seeing a man with his head between a woman's legs as another man pumped his penis between her breasts. I was sure I could see writing on the men's skin, and I was trying to read it when I felt someone take my hand
"Do you feel it?" Andy asked. I turned to look at him and saw the face of the Wolfman, all hair and teeth and dark eyes. But I wasn't afraid. I reached out and stroked the soft fur of his cheek. He leaned forward and kissed me with his lupine mouth, his tongue slipping inside and exploring as I ran my hands down his hairy chest. I paused at his stomach, but with a firm hand he pushed me lower.
I felt something hard and pulled away, looking down. Jack's face was buried in Andy's lap, moving up and down slowly. What I'd felt had been the crown of his head. I watched, not comprehending. Jack was naked, and I realized with surprise that I, too, had somehow lost my costume. We were all three of us bare.
I felt something grab hold of my cock and begin stroking me. It was Andy. I bent my mouth to his stomach and kissed it, feeling hair beneath my lips. Slowly, I worked my way up his abdomen to his chest, taking a nipple between my lips and sucking. I lay beside him and wrapped one leg around his. I could feel his heart beating beneath me, a steady pounding that seemed to be driving the music that played in my head.
Jack moved up on Andy's other side and the three o
f us lay entwined. I kissed Andy's mouth, then made way for Jack. I kissed Jack, our heads meeting over Andy's chest as he stroked us both. It felt as if the three of us were becoming one creature. I saw us joining, splitting apart, and coming back together until none of us were comprised of our original cells. We had melded into something new. Hours seemed to pass, during which we changed our configuration many times. First, I would be between Jack's legs, feasting on him, and then I would be on my back, Andy's mouth drawing me in. Mouths, hands, and cocks came into contact with one another like colliding asteroids, connecting and going off in new directions, only to collide again. The whole time, a kaleidoscope turned in my mind, the images and colors shifting continuously. For a moment, a pattern would freeze and I would be looking as if through a stained-glass window in a church. Then it would melt away, becoming something new before I could make out what I had been looking at. At one point, I was turned onto my stomach and someone—I don't remember if it was Jack or Andy—entered me from behind. A burst of colors flashed across my vision like thousands of tiny butterflies, and I found myself laughing as I was fucked, reaching out to try to catch the fluttering insects in my hands.
I don't know how many times we came, or if we even came at all. At some point, I fell asleep, and when I woke up, it was with Andy on one side and Jack on the other. My head aching, I looked around the room and saw half a dozen other naked, snoring bodies scattered in various poses on the mattresses. The lava lamps continued to bubble, and somewhere nearby a record needle unable to lift itself from the final groove of an album repeatedly voiced its distress. It took me a few minutes to remember where I was and what had happened. When I did, I wished I hadn't. I looked at Andy. His Wolfman hat had fallen off and was lying beside the mattress along with my vest, chaps, hat, and spurs. His face and chest were smeared with the greasepaint Jack and I had used to draw on our facial hair. Jack's costume was at the foot of the mattress, apparently where he'd taken it off. My ass hurt, and my nipples were raw.
I carefully stood up and tiptoed around the sleepers into the hall. Trying not to make any noise, I searched for the bathroom, which I found I badly needed. Fortunately, it was nearby. I went in, shut the door, and pissed forcefully and long into the toilet. Afterward, I looked at myself in the mirror over the sink. My makeup was smeared, making me look bruised, and there were two huge hickeys on my neck, one on either side, as if I had been the victim of twin vampires. I ran the water in the sink and cleaned myself up with a washcloth borrowed from the bathroom's owner. Feeling marginally better, I walked back to the room with the mattresses and retrieved my clothes. As I was dressing, Jack woke up. Rubbing his eyes, he looked around and asked, "What happened?"
I couldn't think of a good answer to that, so I said nothing. Jack sat up, looked over at Andy, and then back at me. "You okay?" he asked, perhaps beginning to remember. "Yeah," I said. "I'm fine."
Jack nodded.
"I'll be outside," I said, gathering up my costume and standing. I went downstairs, where more sleeping bodies filled the couches and even some spots on the floor. Outside, I breathed in the fresh air of a bright, clear All Saints' Day and felt not the least bit better. My head was still cloudy, and the events of the previous night shrouded in mysteries I was almost sure would never be fully revealed. But one thing I knew for sure—things between Jack, Andy, and myself could never be the same again.
CHAPTER 14
The weeks between Halloween and Thanksgiving break were tense ones. Jack and I didn't talk about what had happened. We rode home the morning after in silence and spent the rest of the day at our desks working on term papers, our backs to each other and our thoughts private. I don't even know that Jack thought about it much at all. I, however, thought about everything, as I am wont to do. At least, as much as I could remember. The specifics were fuzzy, but I knew that both Jack and I had given ourselves to Andy during the course of the night, and that was really the bone I worried like a dog, gnawing at it until there was only gristle remaining.
I know there are couples on both sides of the sexual fence (I suppose I should also include those sitting in the middle) who advocate non-monogamy, or at least view it as a harmless diversion. At my age, I find the whole idea of it tiring. Who has the time or energy to deal with one lover, let alone a multitude? I'm afraid it's beyond me. I told Thayer on our first date that I was looking for one man to spend the rest of my life with, both in and out of bed, and that if he wanted to keep his options open, he should look elsewhere. I believe his answer was, "I'm going to look around for an hour or two. If I don't get a better offer, I'll take you up on yours."
I've heard it argued that men aren't physically wired to be with only one person. We have a built-in biological need to scatter our seed as far and as wide as possible. Something about survival of our gene strain. It doesn't matter if you're gay or straight, they say, you just can't help yourself. Perhaps not. If left to my own devices, though, I'd also eat Ben & Jerry's brownie batter ice cream until I weighed six hundred pounds, but somehow I manage to stop myself when my pants start to get a little tight around the middle. But to each his own. And if you're going to do something that might piss off your partner, you might as well have science on your side.
At 19, I hadn't even heard the term "non-monogamy." All I knew was that Jack and I had had sex with someone other than each other. At first I blamed the drugs. Without their influence, I told myself, nothing would have happened. Then I reminded myself that when Jack had slept with girls in high school I hadn't gotten upset about it. Finally, I tried arguing that because we'd done it together, it couldn't be cheating.
But that ignored the fact that I would have done it whether Jack was there or not, and even if I hadn't been high, I knew that if Andy had asked I would have done anything he wanted me to. That left only myself and Jack to blame, and that was a no-win situation.
It didn't help when, on Monday, Andy sat next to me in our philosophy class. He seemed not the slightest bit uneasy about seeing me, acting as if the last time we'd seen each other I hadn't been kissing him while my boyfriend gave him a blow job. I sat through class trying to avoid looking at him, and when his knee accidentally brushed against mine, I gave such a start my books fell to the floor with a thunderous crash.
Afterward, he walked with me back to the dorm. Only when we were in the elevator, alone and as far apart as I could make us, did he bring up Halloween night. "How'd you like acid?" he asked.
"Is that what that was?" I said. "Those little squares of paper?"
Andy nodded. "That's LSD, man," he said. "Did you see anything cool?"
"I don't really remember," I answered honestly. "I just remember feeling like I was, well, sort of melting."
Andy laughed. "That's it , man. That's what you're supposed to feel." The elevator stopped at my floor and the doors opened. As I stepped out, Andy put his hand on the door to prevent it from closing. "I had fun," he said. "And you know, if you ever want to do it again, it's cool. I mean, I'm not queer or anything, but if you want to help me out sometime, I'd be up for it." He cupped his crotch with his hand and squeezed, showing me the outline of his cock. I stood looking at him. I did want to. I wanted to do it right then, right there. I wanted to get back in the elevator, drop to my knees, and take him in my mouth. But I couldn't answer him. I could only stand there, trying to get my lips to form words, until finally the elevator began buzzing angrily and Andy had to let the door close.
I went to my room and tried to work. Jack was in class, so I had no distractions. Still, I couldn't concentrate. I kept thinking about Andy's words. He'd said he wasn't queer. Did that mean that he thought I was? That Jack was? Did it even matter? He'd extended the invitation. All I had to do was accept it.
I waited another half an hour before going up to his room, ostensibly to talk about our homework assignment. That we did, for all of fifteen minutes. But I couldn't stop thinking about Andy's earlier offer, and my eyes kept darting to his crotch. When he leaned back on h
is bed, putting his hands behind his head and cocking his head to the side, I hesitated only a moment before falling between his legs. My fingers fumbled with the zipper of his jeans. As I slid it open, his erect dick sprang out from the V
formed by the spreading teeth. I put my mouth over the head, sliding down the length of his shaft even before his pants were off. Anxious to have him inside of me, I pulled his jeans down only as far as his thighs, resting my body on his pinned left leg as I sucked him. I held his heavy balls in one hand, caressing them while I attempted to force him all the way into my throat. When I hesitated, afraid I wouldn't be able to take his whole cock without gagging, Andy placed a hand on my head and pushed me down until my nose met the rough hair of his belly and I smelled the musky scent of his crotch. I rested there as long as I could, enjoying the way he filled me with his thickness, then had to come up for air, the taste and smell of him lingering along with a faint and not unpleasant soreness.
Michael Thomas Ford - Full Circle Page 11
