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It's amazing how high up stairs can be once you start to dread going down them. Yesterday they were only a dozen and a half steps or so. Now, I might as well be on the top of Mt. Everest and I'll be damned if I wasn't tempted to go get a pair of hiking boots and rope from the storage closet down the hall. 'God, I don't want to climb on down there.' Yeah, I know, a silent but futile prayer. I would have to swallow the lump in my throat eventually, but for now, it was being too persistent to leave. I took hold of the railing and squeezed it until my knuckles turned white, then back to peach again as they flexed. "I can do this......" I murmured to myself, "Just mind over....." I slowly sifted my foot towards to edge and let the toes escape the safety of the floor. And all I could do was stare at it. After pausing for a moment, I dared to let the rest of the foot slide so it would hover over the first step down. I suppose it snuck up on me, because all of a sudden, I couldn't breathe. It seemed as air was sucked out of my lungs and the only way to cure it was to go back. My foot jerked back, leaving my where I had started, but this time, even worse because I had been foolish and got excited. I drew in a big breath and stumbled backwards until my heels met the hallway wall opposite of the stairs. I looked across the hall to the new terror in my eyes. 'Lord, when did these ever get so high?' Realizing that I had been holding my breath, I released it in an powerful rush of air and sank into the wall. That's where I decided to sit, raising my knees so the touched my chest and wrapped my arms around them in some kind of hopeless attempt to feel comforted. That's the problem of being partially introverted. You can't seem to find enough humility to ask for help; even when you know there's a necessity for it, even a silent desperation for it. You didn't know I was such a fucking poet did you? Just as well I suppose. I brought it upon myself I guess. Don't ask me how, but instinct says it's true, and that's something I've always trusted. Although lately, I've been doubting that too. See where it has me now? At the top of a set of stairs I hardly had a problem with before almost to the point of a mental breakdown. Knowing you, you'd probably want to cure me. Well, maybe I don't want to be cured. You ever thought of that? Perhaps not. It's just always easier to picture me as someone who doesn't think of depressing things or being scared shitless about something as simple as a set of stairs with a hand railing. But really, do you want to think of me as someone weak in a shrink's office where you know that they only charge so much extra money because you have to make up for them having to listen to your boring sob stories about how someone deprived you of a chocolate chip cookie when you were two. So maybe I'm not the happy-go-lucky type person that people expect in our business to be but certainly not some sort of sociophobic freak. You know I'm stronger than that. Or at least I always try to be. But then again, half the time, it's an act. Call it the thespian in me, but I have to make people believe that the world turns in rhythm for me, and it won't change easily or won't seem to. Yep, and you always thought that you were the psychology scholar. Little you know. Want to know the truth? It's not the stairs that scare me. Surprise! It's what's at the end of it. There's a door to the outside. A bright sun, birds singing, white fluffy clouds and the smells of fresh rainfalls and maybe even girls in white dresses with blue satin sashes. It's hard to appreciate these things, or even except them when all you want is to sink into some sort of mental abyss. But today the stairs' journey to hell is drastically shortened. And whose brilliant idea was it to have a party? Ah, hell I know that you're behind all this. Don't deny it, I know you. I've know you since fucking 1995. I've learned a few things about you. You hide. There I said it. Want to know something else? You can't stand to show how weak you get when someone is in trouble. You get this look. Don't ask me to describe it because I can't. I kills you to see someone suffer when you know you can help, and sometimes even when you can't help. You're the unofficial crying shoulder because you have the uncanny way of making a crappy joke or even give a warm-hearted hug when you think no one's looking. Was it a big surprise that you planned a party? It shouldn't have been, but I guess I got so wrapped up in my own thoughts that I didn't notice the secret phone conversations and the way I was left alone for a few minutes at a time. Either left in a hotel room during a nap or at a bar when I desperately had to relieve my bladder because of a few to many drinks to try to numb myself. When I was first told about the party, I tried opting that I didn't really feel up to partying, and that I would just work on my company, or something along those lines. You tried protesting, and I was being stubborn. Unlike you, you backed down after awhile, but true to form, not without 'the look' like I mentioned earlier. In the end, management made me go. If there was one thing I learned from 'Big Lou', is that you never say "no" to going to a management-endorsed party. You know how tabloids can get if you don't show up to your own party. I know that you convinced them to make me come knowing that I wouldn't go against them. That's a policy that I'm seriously considering breaking. God, I don't want to face the crowds. "Lance?" I turn my head slightly. It's against my better judgment, because I can feel the tears forming behind my eyelids, but it comes naturally. So I only look as far up as the knee. Who knows what the hell you would see if I actually looked you straight in the eye. "Chris?" More of a simple acknowledgment than a question really. Since when did I become wary of that name? Since when did my voice become so hurt, shaken, and somehow, slightly terrified at the same time? For a moment, the only thing I heard was a tired sigh and a short shuffle of feet. I watched your feet for a second, but then looked ahead in some sort of trace, listening to the rhythms of the bass and loud talking of the people having the time of their lives, and not for the first time since I slipped into this sad mood, I didn't envy or care that they were doing something I wasn't; being people I wasn't. I more hated the idea that they expected me to join them. That was a connection of fame I no longer liked. "Lance?" No answer. I didn't want to talk. Dammit Chris don't make me talk because I don't fucking want to talk. There's nothing to talk about. More shuffling of feet. Maybe you left, but I still feel your presence. Instead, you sat down next to me and adjusted yourself to get more comfortable. You lay a hand on my shoulder. "Lance?" I jerk away because you know that I can't stand to be touched on my back like that. That part of me is nothing new. You know that, my parents know that. Hell, even our teenybopper fans know that. What made you forget? "Lance?" I grunt so I can let you know that I'm listening, but no encouragement. "Lance, I'm scared." I cringe. You would never admit you're scared of anything. Not openly like that. I make another grunt; this one with more encouragement for you to continue. "I don't know what's wrong with you......" Damn. "Lance?" God Chris, my eyes. Everything is clouding up. My world is getting blurry. I think I'm going loose my control that I hold so dear right now. Don't make me loose that. "Lance!" You grab my face between your hands and turn my head so I can't help but looking into your eyes, no matter how much I want to break away. Did you just get stronger, or did I just get incredibly weaker? Your voice suddenly drops to calming but firm tone. "Talk to me." Suddenly, something bursts and I shake. So hard that I might just explode. Then those clouds in my eyes break and a big fat tear broke its way from my defenses and reveilles itself to your opportunity for a cruel joke. "Lance?" I sobbed. After that first tear, a dam must have broken, because they wouldn't stop. It just seemed the more I tried to hold back, the worse they got. "Alright buddy, let's get you out of here." You grab my arm and drag me to my feet. An arm is wrapped around my waist and I'm practically carried down the hall towards the bedrooms. Someone walks by, and asks what's wrong with me. JC maybe, but my head is swelled with tears and is almost pounding from the sudden burst of release. Thank God you're so quick with the excuses. "He had too much to drink." My head is bowed so whoever it was couldn't see that I was being a baby. I somehow calmed down enough to stay relatively still. We keep moving. I can't wait to lie down so I can rest a little. How long is this hallway anyway? You lead me to the right and you knock on a door. There's a response from the other side and you move to the next and the next until you find one without somebody fucking in it. You push it open a drag me to the bed. I lie down on my back and let the tears pour. You lock the door and sit on the edge of the bed and watch me cry. I feel the bed shift slightly and you're so much closer now, practically hovering over me. But I won't look at you. I just stare at the ceiling and continue to slap my heart right on my sleeve. It seemed like hours, but I finally stopped. My nose is running and my eyes are wet and sore. I shift my head and felt how wet the pillow had gotten against my cheek. I look over at you, almost with resentment with the fact that you deliberately set me up for this. "Chris?" "Lance?" "Go ahead. Say it." "Say what?" "That I'm weak. Sissy, wuss, pussy, idiot, Poofu, a fucking baby......... whatever it is that you intend to call me." "Alright, but yours aren't what I had in mind." "What did you have in mind then?" "How about 'freakishly depressing'?" "Alright." That part was true at least. You reach out and wipe my cheek with your thumb. It comes back wet. You hand me pack of pocket tissues and I pull one out to wipe my face. "Aren't you going to ask, Chris?" "No. Should I?" "I guess not. Your guess is as good as mine. That sounds stupid doesn't it?" "Yes it does, but I won't press it." I nod and I look up at the ceiling again, staring blankly at the overhead light. "You know Lance, it's not like I haven't felt like that too." I look at you again, this time is some kind of mild shock. 'Did I just hear right that Mr. Practical Jokester has actually cried shamelessly for no reason and actually admit it?' "But, I didn't cry. Well, not like that at least." "You cried?" You nod. So maybe you aren't as mentally invisible as I always thought. "Alone?" You nod again, this time you're the one who isn't looking directly at me. Please tell me it's a joke, please. "Why?" "I'm not asking any questions and neither should you," you snap at me. "Sorry. But it's just not like you." "It isn't like you either." Then came the unbearable silence. I lie back down and listen to the sounds of the party downstairs. Chris not being at a party, there was something new. "You can go to the party if you want to Chris. I'll be fine." "But what if I don't want to?" Your eyes meet mine for an instant and I start to have a stupid notion that you don't want to be there just as badly as I do. "Then you can stay here if you want." You nod in thanks and let yourself fall again the soft comforter. Then you let out this earth-shattering sigh. "Chris?" "Uh huh?" "You ok?" "Yep." "Bull shit." I lift myself upright and look down at you. Your eyes are closed and your face is unreadable. Damn, this isn't Chris Kirkpatrick. "So what if it's bullshit," you mumble as if you were talking in your sleep, not changing your emotional wall. "It doesn't matter." "Does so." I look at you and somehow, I'm drawn in by some vague force or desire. I'm leaning in so your face and mine aren't so far apart anymore. I thought that you wouldn't be so surprised when our lips met because I was sure that my breath was too heavy and my heart rate going a little faster for some unknown reason. But you didn't because that's when your eyes sprang open in surprise. Funny that you welcomed it a began to kiss back. I heard a groan. Deep and thick and nowhere near what I had expected to come from you, but it was actually a pretty good turn on. How long did it last? Somewhere between thirty seconds and thirty hours. When I pulled away, your eyes are closed again in some kind of relishing trance. I'll be damned if that wasn't a turn on too. Your eyes open again and there's a confused look gracing your face, but it slowly eases into a look of pure lust. Our eyes are still together when your hand starts to move. It first glorifies my face, breezing over my cheek bones and jaw and around my lips. It slowly makes its way down my throat, arm, chest.... tickling them lightly. It was weird how good it felt when I know it should freak me out. Then your hand goes lower. It reaches my waist and makes a trail straight to my crotch. All of a sudden a delicious pressure is cupping my growing bulge, and before I know it, your rubbing it with increasing intensity and I just melt. I moan. My elbows unlock and I collapse. That's when you take control and flip me over on my back so you're on top. You pull at the hem of my shirt and bunch it up so you have access to my stomach and part of my chest. Your nose grazes over my torso. That was a big turn on too. In fact, it blew the others out of the water. I feel my pants being toyed with. Finally, the fly goes down and the button is unsnapped and I'm being pulled out of my boxers. Thanks a lot Chris; my lungs don't want to work anymore. This sweaty heat is invading the room and it seems to be wrapped around my manhood. You kiss my lips as I get the best hand job that I've had in forever. Too long. There are thousands of shivers creeping through my body and they seem to all gather at the pit of my stomach. God, just let me cum. I scream and my back arches at least a foot off the bed in pleasure and release and I cum all over the place. Thank you God. You lean again as you wipe your hand off on the sheets to kiss me. I grab your lips before I loose them and give you a deep kiss. "Where'd you learn that?" I ask breathlessly. "Trust me, you don't want to know." A laugh cracks. For the first time in ages I smile. "There's the old Chris I remember." "What did you expect? You think I'd want to fuck you with a rubber chicken or something?" Another laugh. I grin foolishly, but it quickly turns to something that creates an even more intense hard-on than I had a few short minutes ago. You give me a somewhat frightened look. "Dude, I was just kidding. I don't even own a rubber chicken." "I know that. But a fuck......." You grow wide-eyed. Interesting thing for a man to do when he just gave a hand job. "But I've never really.... with another... I mean........" "Want me to......" "Dear God yes." I slowly lift my body up and slowly turn you on your back. I lay across you so my newly formed erection is pressing into my thigh, and from what I'm feeling, you harder than I am now. I kiss you and work your loose pants down your hips with hardly a problem. You're free now and at full attention. I rub our erections together in an unbearable friction. You groan and I know that I'm the one who's in control. It's amazing how we traded places. After a minute of grinding, I hear something between a coherent sentence and a moan. You raise your head off the pillow. "Lllllaaaannnnnnccccceeeeeeee........ please." "Please what?" I groan as I attach my lips to your neck. "Just screw me already." "You sure......?" "Yes dammit!" Enough questions. I get off of you momentarily and motion a hand towards the end of the bed. You crawl in a speedy pace and bend so your lower half is lying normally across the bed and your torso is head downwards an vertical with the height of the mattress. You support yourself with your arms pressed firmly into the carpet. "Come on already," you order. Who am I to go against a command? I go over to you and start licking your ass with big, sloppy motions. My tongue slowly zeroes in on your asshole and it glides over it seamlessly. You press up again my face and I have to hold you down. I reach down to my stomach where some of my cum had escaped earlier and I use it as poor excuse for a lubricant. I push a finger in slowly and let you adjust to it. "Go on," you groan. So I slide it in and out slowly. "Damn it Lance. That feels so good." I remove my hand and press my dick right to your entrance. "Chris, this might hurt for a second." You nod hurriedly. Enough stalling. I push forward and ease in. You raise you ass and hiss in response. I stay there for a moment for you to get used to the feel. After a minutes, you nod again and I start to pump in and out. "Damn it Lance. That feels so good." I laugh. You're turning into a broken record you know. I keep going, the need to release is getting worse. You breath is getting shallower and shallower. I reach around you and fondle your balls knowing that I was going to cum soon and you had better too. Then you cry out, your body freezes, then relaxes in relief. I give a few more rough thrusts and finally cum in you. I fall on top of you and we fall to the floor in a heap. We look at each other and share a smile of ironic amusement and kiss. Right now this feels perfect and I don't feel quite so sociophobic. Well Chris, I guess finding a friend to share a good fuck with is just one of those effects of self-isolation. |
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