The Year I Stopped Being Invisible - 11. Chapter 11

It was Saturday afternoon, and I was practicing my Humorous Interpretation piece for the next week's Chamberlain tournament in my bedroom, trying to keep my mind off of the previous night's party and how much I missed Taine. As I finished my fifth run-through of the cutting from Christopher Durang's Titanic, I felt as if I finally remembered all the lines, had the three characters down, and had smoothed the transition between those characters to an acceptable level.

"Rick!" Rex barked from the kitchen. "Telephone!"

All the Drama kids got a sheet with everyone else's phone numbers and addresses on it, in case we needed a ride to rehearsal or to a local tournament, so I shouldn't have been as surprised as I was when I rushed to the wall-phone in the living room and heard Jeff Salzburg's voice.

"Is this Rick?" the voice sang with mock childish innocence.

I laughed and plopped down into the La-Z-Boy as Rex grabbed a beer and went out the kitchen door into the garage.

"Jeff? Is that you?"

"Come over to my house, fucker! I have an idea!"

"Uhm, okay," I said. "Where do you live?" Jeff's address was on the sheet with the phone numbers, but I was still relatively new to the area and didn't know all the side street names.

"Two blocks behind the school. Hurry up. I've got a surprise for you."

I hung up the phone and checked with Tynah to see if it was all right, then hopped on my bicycle and pedaled off down the street. As I passed the driveway, I saw Rex standing in front of the house with his beer can, directing Foxy to "bite Hector's balls off!"

Hector Rodriguez was our 350-lb. Hispanic neighbor, who was on permanent disability from the government. It was supposedly due to a bad back, although his back never seemed to stop him from boating at Marble Falls or working on any of the five dilapidated cars and trucks in his driveway and the street in front of his house. He had a horrible fat wife, Maria, and four kids. The oldest of his litter was Jimmy, who had shown me around Polk on the first day of school, but had kept his distance since, presumably because of the simmering Cold War between his dad and Rex.

Hector made a dismissive gesture to Rex and went into his house, as Rex drunkenly called him a cocksucker and watched Foxy romp through the front yard, chasing butterflies and barking happily.

I pedaled further down the street, suddenly escorted by a barking Meatball. Not a real meatball, but a tiny, bedraggled Scotch terrier who looked as if he'd been through a meat-grinder. Nobody knew if Meatball had a home, but anyone who jogged or bicycled down my suburban street found themselves accompanied by the scruffy, scarred little dog. He had more than earned his name, as the little fella was a complete disaster, having been run over by passing cars at least three times that anyone knew about. Meatball yipped and barked, following me as far as his stubby, gimpy little legs would allow, and then trotted off in the other direction, apparently satisfied with his work.

I sped around the corner and pedaled along up Walden Road toward the school, wondering why Jeff had even called me. He was almost seventeen, and I was only a freshman. Also, he had something of a reputation as the school libertine, carrying on with people of both sexes, including a few college students and at least one guy in his thirties. That being said, although he certainly seemed to be into Mark Urrutia the night before, and had made out with Kathy Witcher after I had been locked out of the car, he was the only one in that VW bug to have not done a single thing with me. I assured myself that whatever Jeff had in store was purely platonic, probably something to do with Drama.

* * * * *

An hour later, Jeff and I were in his bedroom, improvising insanely dirty comedy sketches into a small cassette tape recorder. Far from the distant and unapproachable enigma that Jeff seemed to be in school, he delighted me by being as absolutely silly and ridiculous in his sense of humor as I was.

We were able to riff off each other like a professional comedy team which had been together for years, and our wild young imaginations created crazy characters and outlandish situations effortlessly and repeatedly.

As our improvised "show" reached its conclusion, Jeff grinned at me mischievously and shut off the tape recorder. I was sitting on the edge of his large, comfortable bed, and he sat in a sleek aluminum chair at his modern, pricey desk. Jeff wore cuffed blue jeans, stylish alligator shoes, and a simple black t-shirt, which showed off his bulging biceps and well- developed, muscular torso. The shirt also matched his close-cropped, jet-black hair and set off his piercing steel-grey-blue eyes. He was quite handsome in a cold, fashion-model way, with a chiseled jaw, aquiline nose, high cheekbones and somewhat cruel, thin lips.

"That was great," I told him. "We really played off each other well."

"I've got something to show you," he said.

I looked around the walls of his room, which were covered with art prints by Patrick Nagel and movie posters -- Rocky Horror, Pink Flamingos -- as well as sexy and alluring covers of record albums by artists which were unfamiliar to me. What was Kraftwerk, I wondered, and who was Patrick Cowley.

Jeff seemed unbelievably cool to me, and I wondered if he would be my passport into a strange but tempting new world.

Jeff stood up from his chair and went to the door of his closet, which was covered by a poster for a film called Jubilee, which I had never seen. He pulled open the door, grinning back over his shoulder at me, and bent slightly at the waist. I stealthily scoped out his ass, which was full, round and firm in his jeans, but my eyes were drawn more toward his muscular back and shoulders, rippling under the thin black t-shirt.

Jeff emerged from the closet with a small metal cart, on which was mounted what looked like a hospital oxygen tank, about two feet high with a release valve and some kind of monitor gauge on top. He had a naughty grin on his face.

"What's that?" I asked.

"Ether!" Jeff giggled. "I got it from Harold. He's a dentist!"

Harold was Jeff's infamous older boyfriend, whom I had never seen. The mention of him reminded me of why I had wanted to become friends with Jeff in the first place. I wanted to ask him some questions. After all, I was in love with a guy -- Taine Maxwell -- and I knew what that made me, and I knew that Jeff might be the only person I knew who could shed some light on what it all meant.

"Jeff," I ventured. "Can I ask you a question?"

"You just did," he said with a slow smile. "Hush. Just trust me. You're going to like this."

Jeff removed a large balloon from a drawer in his desk. The sides of it were ridged, and it was thicker than most I had seen. It looked more like a hot-water pouch than a balloon, but Jeff tested it and blew it up fairly easily, then let the air back out. He gave me a sidelong look and went to the tank, turning the valve until the balloon filled with gas.

I knew that gas couldn't possibly be ether, as Jeff had a lit cigarette dangling from his lips which would have caused a huge and lethal explosion. I decided that the tank was probably filled with nitrous oxide, what was generally called "laughing gas." I'd been given nitrous at the dentist before, so I figured it couldn't be too bad and decided to roll with it.

* * * * *

I don't remember exactly how it happened, or much of what actually did happen, and an hour later, I wasn't sure exactly how I felt about it. I do know that after I took a hit of the gas in that balloon, I felt things in my mind and body which I had never felt before.

I remember that I laughed a lot, giggling hysterically from the effects of the gas, Jeff just observing me and smiling a strange little grin. We listened to a few select bits from the cassette we had made, nodding and laughing with the growing conviction that we had actually made a fantastically funny tape. I also remember checking out Jeff's muscular torso and the obvious bulge in his jeans as he sat back in the desk chair, legs wide apart.

I sobered up for a moment and said, "Jeff, what's it like to have sex with another guy?"

Jeff smiled. "You never have before? You mean...with your dirty little mind, you're a virgin?"

I nodded, sighing heavily before another wave of druggy laughter swept through me and I fell back on Jeff's bed, helpless to fight off the giggles. Jeff stood up from the chair and put on a record, the Rocky Horror Picture Show soundtrack album. Then he walked over to the tank, refilled the balloon and brought it over to the bed.

"Have some more," he said softly, holding the balloon to my lips.

I inhaled the gas, and started to feel myself drifting, all my skin and nerves feeling both relaxed and heightened simultaneously. I raised my head groggily, noticing a piece of black cloth in Jeff's hand.

"What's that?" I managed, as waves of sensation spread through my body, all the way to my fingers and the tips of my toes. I didn't feel like laughing anymore, instead riding a crest of drowsy pleasure although I was wide awake.

Jeff indicated the Rocky Horror record playing on the stereo.

"This is how we initiate virgins," he murmured, and kneeled on the bed on top of me, slipping the blindfold gently over my eyes, lifting my head with one hand and making sure the strap was secure at the back.

As Jeff lowered my head back down to the bed, I gave a slight moan. I could feel him straddling my chest, and instinctively began caressing his muscular thighs through his jeans. I thought I knew what was about to happen, and although I was powerless to prevent it, I wasn't sure whether I wanted it to stop or not. I tried to relax and listen to the music.

Jeff lightly grasped my wrists, removing them from his thighs and lifting them back over my head. I heard a sound of clicking metal, and realized that I was being handcuffed. Somewhere, deep in my drugged mind, I felt as if I should protest this development, but the thought came and went fairly quickly. I felt Jeff getting up from the bed, and although I was a little uneasy, I felt some disappointment. I wanted him back.

I heard some other sounds, which barely registered as my mind swam in the blindfolded darkness. They might have been the sounds of a belt buckle being undone, and a zipper, and jeans being removed. I recognized the hiss of the gas tank as the balloon was being refilled, and then Jeff was next to me on the bed, gently stroking my chest as the end of the balloon went between my lips.

"Relax," Jeff whispered raspily in my ear as my lungs filled again with the sweet, druggy gas. "Lift up."

I did as instructed, and he supported my back with one muscular arm as he tugged my black Izod over my head with expert speed, not disturbing the blindfold as he pulled the shirt across my upraised arms, all the way to where they were joined at the wrists by the steel handcuffs.

I felt a twinge of embarrassment as the shirt was bunched against my cuffed wrists, knowing that Jeff could now see my smooth, hairless armpits and flat, boyish chest and belly.

Jeff's warm, large hand began moving across my chest, an index finger tracing my small, hardening nipples. The finger slowly moved down my chest, sending druggy electric sparks firing across every nerve in my young body. That was when I felt the mattress shift beneath me as Jeff moved.
I wasn't actually sure if he was moving or whether I was just imagining things from the effects of the nitrous, but then I felt his naked thighs straddling my chest and felt the mattress move next to me as he supported his muscular weight on one arm. I felt Jeff's fingers part my quivering lips and insert the end of the balloon. I smiled groggily at the squeaky noise as he released more of the intoxicating gas, which I dutifully inhaled.

The balloon was removed, and I trembled a bit. The room was a little cold from the air-conditioning being cranked on high, and Jeff's warm body lifted away from my chest, giving me a slight chill. I felt my lips being parted again, by something warm and spongy and thick, but it was not Jeff's finger. I knew that I was about to give my first blowjob, after having just received my own the previous night.

Tentatively, I opened my mouth a little and slowly inhaled, my arousal, curiosity and anticipation overcoming the shivery coldness of my slender torso and my nervousness about what was happening. As Jeff's manly, somewhat musky but exciting scent filled my nostrils, I tensed my wrists against the cuffs and extended my tongue to taste him. He tasted good, smooth, with just a hint of saltiness. I licked the thick, warm head of his boyhood, slicking it to allow Jeff to slowly push more of himself into my virgin mouth. It filled my intoxicated, attenuated senses with contradictions. It was hard, yet silky smooth, rigid but rubbery, insistent yet friendly.

He began to thrust then, gently, and I allowed him to as I struggled to contain his thick, pulsing cock. Allowed him to! It wasn't as if -- drugged, handcuffed, blindfolded and held down by his strong thighs -- I had any choice in the matter, but it also wasn't as if I would have had much objection anyway. I had, after all, asked the question: "What's it like to have sex with another guy?" I was about to find out.

Suddenly, Jeff removed his throbbing cock from my lips and dismounted. Confused and somewhat disappointed, I licked my lips and let myself float on pure sensation, hearing the sensual music and feeling the gooseflesh breaking out on my thin chest, which was cold once again without Jeff's warmth on top of me.

Then I felt hands on my stomach, undoing my belt-buckle -- which, predictably, was a tacky metal KISS logo -- and opening the button of my tight Calvin Klein jeans. I felt my zipper going down, but in my intoxicated state, didn't think to raise my butt to allow for removal.

Jeff didn't seem to care, peeling my jeans off in what seemed to be a single, deft motion and taking my tighty-whities with them.

I heard my jeans tossed to the floor of Jeff's room. There was a pause, and then I heard the gasping sounds which I recognized as a plastic bottle of hand-lotion. I had been an enthusiastic consumer of hand lotion for my solo sexual explorations since the age of about ten, so to say the sound was familiar would be an understatement.

That was when I realized I was completely naked, and felt my long, slim legs being spread gently apart by the backs of Jeff's muscular arms. One of his large, warm hands began stroking my cock, which was strangely soft from the frigid room, the gas, and my confused apprehension.

I heard the gasping of the bottle again, and there was a cold, wet sensation between my cheeks, as Jeff's lotion-slicked fingers began probing my tight virgin boyhole. The coldness soon turned warm as Jeff began gently rubbing his fingertips across my pink, hairless pucker.

It felt good, strangely erotic, and was entirely new to me, as I had never explored back there despite my extensive masturbatory history. Bolts of pleasure shot through my body and my cock began to lengthen and pulse as Jeff's skilled fingers worked both it and my sensitive young opening. The fingers slowly withdrew, after probing and relaxing my tight anal muscle. I felt Jeff's lotion-moist hands under my thighs, and a warm pressure between my spread cheeks.

At that moment, I felt completely sober all at once, and began to panic.

This was going to hurt, and I didn't want it anymore! All I wanted was Taine!

It shouldn't be like this, I thought crazily. Blindfolded and bound, drugged out of my mind on some jaded upperclassman's bed! It should be him! It should be Taine!

But I couldn't move. I could barely breathe.

Jeff thrust himself forcefully inside me, and as I threw my head back with a scream and strained against the handcuffs, I suddenly felt the greatest physical pain I had experienced in my entire life.