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Adult situations, yadda yadda yadda.
I was only 9 or 10, and didn't think anything of it at the time. I still think nothing of it. I don't feel used, or abused, or raped, or... Whatever I should feel. But it seems, as usual, I've gotten ahead of myself.
Like I've said, I was only 9 or 10, and my parents had just gotten a new pool. It was real nice. In-ground. About 13 feet by 5 feet. I would invite all my friends over, and we'd swim all day, and dream about when we would be teenagers. Yeah. We'd pretend to smoke cigarettes, and hit on invisible women, who would give themselves up to us. Heh... We dreamed big.
There's this guy, Aron Ralston. He was out rock climbing one day, and his arm got smashed by a boulder. He was trapped for around 5 days, before eventually breaking his arm, cutting it off with a dull pocketknife, and walking away from the scene. Rescuers freed his arm, cremated it, and sent it back to him. What a fucking trophy. What a conversation piece.
'Hey, wanna see my heroic story?
'Hey, wanna see my survival instinct?'
'Wanna see why I can never play a guitar, or hold my first-born child?'
No matter what he does, for the rest of his life, he'll always be the 127 Hours guy. He'll always be remembered as the guy who cut his own arm off to escape a boulder. I wonder how I'll be remembered...
So there was this one day, warm, but overcast. A few solitary drops of rain fell every now and again. Most of my friends didn't want to come over. And there was this kid, Matt. I didn't know him that well, he was a few grades above me. 7th or 8th or so. And he says he'll come. I'm ecstatic, really.
No one was home. No one would be home. That was the key, here. At least, no one should. There wasn't anything definitive to say that no one would be home. So there was that to consider.
I could never figure out if there was a word for the way people feel when they're all alone, in a quite place. That kind of abnormal intimacy that blows in on the breeze. That kind of abnormal intimacy that causes a 9 year old boy to slide out of his swimming trunks with only light persuasion by the 14 year old boy swimming with him. The kind of intimacy that makes you lose track of time, skinny-dipping, until you hear your front door close. Until you hear your mom calling for you.
I was on the city strip, one day, and I met this girl there. This whore. Whore. She went on about how attractive I was. How big my dick, probably was. I told her, why not let me sample the product before I buy it, I said. She slinked over to me, with her lynx-form movements. This panther. This beautiful jungle cat. She grabs my cock, and whispers into my ear, 'Nothing's free these days. Not even true love'
Until you forget you aren't wearing your swimming trunks. Oh. Until you can't find them. Oh. Yeah. That. Matt, I say, help me find them. Nothing's free these days. Matt says he knows where they are, but it's gonna cost me. I've gotta hug him, he says. He wants to feel my dick on his stomach, he says. I have no problem with this. I didn't think anything of it at the time. I still think nothing of it. I don't feel used, or abused, or raped, or... Whatever I should feel.
I wrap my arms around him and press my little, white, slippery dick onto his stomach. I couldn't really tell why he wanted that, but he did. He handed me my swimming trunks, and I slid them on just in time for my mom to see my playing with one of my friends. Not me getting taken advantage of, if you wanted to call that.
Even to this day... Even now, it doesn't bother me. But I'll never forget it. Every time I get into a pool, it's overcast, and I'm naked. And every time I wait for those bleak, gray clouds to pass.
They'll never pass for me.
I'll never forget that day.
I wounder, though. How will Matt remember me?
Disclaimer:
This is an homage to Mr. Chuck Palahniuk. How did I do?
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