XO, Blake

by Avery Aster

  Since the recent plane crash we’d encountered right before school started (where my face got banged up), I’d been working on my body in hopes that men would notice my physique and not the big scar on the left side of my cheek. Thanks, Taddy, and your modeling assignment to Eden for busting up the only good feature I had going for me—my Jude Law-like profile.

  “It is…getting rather warm…in here,” Vive agreed and knotted her bleach-blonde hair up into a bun. She fastened her locks with a red yoga, Buddha, string thingy she’d worn around her wrist.

  We weren’t into the Kabbalah or anything, not like everyone else was in our school. They’d just been passing them out on campus. They being the trendy kids who’d come from other parts of the world in hopes of making their mark on The Big Apple. My Manhattanites and I were above that. Way above!

  “I feel as if I just snorted a bump,” I declared, trying to seem older than I was in the sea of cool, beautiful people. However, the minute the words came out of my mouth, I knew I sounded like a total lame-tard.

  We hadn’t done coke. We never did drugs. Hell, I was only eighteen. I just imagined the heat-inducing feeling was what one must experience whenever they’d shoved an eight-ball up their nose. I glared at my VBF for confirmation. Vive had done those kinds of things in the past. She’d recently quit, though. I was so proud of her.

  “My heart is racing, too.” Vive confirmed, rubbing her palm over my damp chest. “So is yours.” She swigged back her cocktail, exchanging her empty glass with the handsome waiter who walked by for a refill while shifting Hedda from one arm to the next.

  The dog never appeared phased.

  Our server seemed to be hovering close to us. Waiters often did that. Vive had so much money that they assumed she’d give them a good tip. Sometimes she did. Sometimes she didn’t. It was all in her mood, and from the look of utter repulsion on her Reese Witherspoon-resembling face, the dude was so not gonna get a gratuity.

  “Does this wine taste cheap to you?” Vive asked and handed her glass to Lex.

  I took another sip from my glass.

  Taddy did from hers, too.

  Lex rolled her green eyes and chomped on bright yellow gum. Or was it candy? I could never keep up with the sugar that girl put in her mouth. With a VIP customer card from Dylan’s Candy Bar, she was always downing Gummy Bears and other confectionary treats like they were going out of style.

  We glared at Lex to answer the question. She’d know better than me. If anyone knew what good or bad wine tasted like it was Lex. Her mom was a bona-fide drunk.

  “I’m not taking a sip.” She handed the glass back to Vive. “It’s bad enough that I snuck in here with some girl’s ID that says my name is Sulma Salvadora, let alone drinking under age. No way, Jose.”

  “I’ve never met a Sulma before. Have you?” I asked, trying to make a joke as everyone giggled. “My fake ID isn’t much better...”

  “What’s the name on yours?” Taddy asked.

  “Duane Elrod,” I replied, straightening my shoulders.

  “Hey, now!” Vive hollered. “You three ninnies wanna get busted? Stop talkin’ about that. Now, dammit, someone answer me. Does this shit taste cheap to you?”

  Birdie sang: Don’t want no more hurt. Don’t want no more tears.

  Letting the wine lap on my tongue, I debated on Vive’s question before swallowing then asked, “What does the difference between expensive versus cheap wine tastes like?”

  I might’ve grown up in Fairfield, Connecticut, but I surely wasn’t raised as affluently as Vive. No one was. Think Donald Trump meets Paris Hilton. That was our party girl, Vive.

  “Honey, the good shit comes from France, Italy or California.” Rocking Hedda on her hip, she reached for another flute and took a big gulp. “Different glass. Same shit. This crap-on-a-dirty-dick tastes like it’s from Long Island.”

  “Then stop drinking it,” Taddy snapped. She was over Vive’s entitlement. We all were.

  “Fine.” Vive handed Taddy the glass and shouted, “Woo-hoo! Let’s dance! The song changed, finally. Buh-bye, Birdie Easton music.” She put Hedda on the nearby loveseat and ordered, “Stay here, my lil’ jellybean. Mama is gonna dance.”

  The dog wagged her tail and stretched out his two front paws.

  “Yay!” Lex grabbed for my arm, pulling me onto the dance floor.

  Electronic music blasted through speakers, and undulating bodies pulsated toward the DJ booth.

  Lights on the ceiling, spinning at 25 miles an hour, grabbed my attention. Glancing up, my eyes caught sight of the naked aerialists covered in glow-in-the-dark body paint. They swung from hanging hoops while midgets rode tricycles in the near corner.

  Glamorama was major cray-cray.

  Taddy downed the two drinks like shots then joined us a few minutes later on the dance floor, appearing a bit trashed.

  Her eyes heavy, she wiped her lips and started to put her hands up in the air. “Sweet Jesus, that Long Island stuff was strong.”

  As I moved my hips getting into the music, suddenly my mouth felt dry, as if I’d swallowed cotton.

  Being all of eighteen, I knew I was too young for andropause. You know, the male form of menopause. I had like another thirty years or so before that would happen. Right? But what if it had come early? Ever since the recent plane crash, I’d been out of whack.

  Then I realized why I was getting so warm and itchy.

  I was nervous.

  Nervous as hell.

  Not one, but two Latin guys I’d been crushing on since the first day of college were staring at me.

  Diego.

  Miguel.

  “Do you see what I see?” Lex started to sing it almost annoyingly in a Capella as the boys came onto the dance floor.

  Everything went still. My peripheral vision blurred. My tongue itched. Was it lust doing that to me? The four of us huddled together, trying to dance. It was a challenge. I couldn’t think. Lex spanked my ass, once then twice and shrieked, “Let’s have fun!”

  Things started to feel as if they were moving in slow motion.

  “Those guys are beautiful.” Taddy grabbed onto my shoulders. “Get over there. Talk to them.”

  “I’m—too nervous. It’s two against one. No—I can’t.”

  “March!” Vive spun me around, facing them.

  Oh, God.

  I deliberated for a minute.

  Sure, Diego was a Latin hunk. The other one, Miguel, was tall and rather beautiful. They roomed together at the dorms over on Broadway. Thor and I were across the campus near Amsterdam Avenue. The only time I saw them was in English class. This was really my only chance to talk to them outside of school.

  Diego waved for me to come over.

  Just as I was about to take the first step, Taddy clung on to my shoulders as if her life depended on it. She whispered in my ear, “I’m starting to feel…sick.”

  “Whaaat?” I turned around, holding out my hands as her body became heavy in my arms.

  “You okay?” Vive questioned as Lex tried to hold her up.

  “I—” Taddy passed out, her body limp between ours.

  I tried to keep her in my arms…but the room…spun.

  Sweat, almost as if someone had turned on the faucet, poured down my face and the back of my neck.

  Feeling helpless as if I might drop her, I screamed for the boys. “Diego! Miguel!! Help us. Please!”

  They rushed over.

  “What did she take?” Miguel asked.

  “Nothing…”

  “She took something. She’s high,” Diego argued. He motioned for a bouncer to help us.

  My eyes, I could barely keep them open. My body felt as if someone had put a ton of bricks on my shoulders. Legs wobbly, I could barely stand. Then I dropped to the floor.

  Vive collapsed at my side.

  Fuck!

  “Blake. Viveca!” Lex screamed in my ear. “What in the hell is happening?”

  Arms out, I was on my back. I couldn’
t see anything. Not the people dancing. Not Lex’s bright yellow bubble gum popping in her mouth. Not Diego’s adorable face. Not the club’s colorful lights. Just black. I could only see darkness.

  The last thing I remember, Diego picked me up. “Come on, guapo.”

  Think Regan MacNeil in the Exorcist

  Morningside Heights, the Dormitory

  “Take his clothes off,” one of them said in a bossy tone.

  Saaay what? My insides stiffened with shock. I wanted to scream, but couldn’t seem to move my lips. WTF!

  “Blake is sexy. Isn’t he?” the other one replied eagerly.

  “Sí, if you’re into guys who are drunk and high,” he mocked with sarcasm.

  Oh. My. God. I’m not drunk. I’m not high. Dammit. I don’t do drugs!

  Regardless, something was indeed wrong with me. But what?

  I tried to open my eyes, but couldn’t. My attempt to sit up failed. It was as if I was pinioned to the bed in a catatonic-like state. A coma, perhaps. Inhaling deeply through my nostrils, I tried to take a whiff. A familiar scent might help me determine where in the hell I am. I smelled…fermented beverages…dirty socks…fast food.

  Then I heard rap music. Followed by shouting, coming from what must’ve been another room or a hallway. Kids swearing, that was what it sounded like.

  Shit. I’m at the dorms.

  The last thing I remembered…I was carried out of the club over Diego’s shoulder. I tried to retrace my steps...

  We’d all met up at Glamorama, had a few cocktails¸ and then danced.

  Ahhh…our white wine spritzers.

  What was in that stuff? And where were my friends? Was Taddy okay? What about Vive and Lex?

  “I’ll get his shoes,” muttered one of them as the other started to tug on my pants.

  No! My breath caught in my lungs. This can’t be happening. Wave after wave of shock slapped me. They’re going to rape me.

  Face up, they turned my body over. My limp arms splayed out to my sides. I couldn’t even wiggle my fingers.

  One of them tugged at my wrist, removing the Baume & Mercier watch my father had given me for my eighteenth birthday. Then my socks. In hopes that I wouldn’t get blisters from dancing, I’d worn the thick fuzzy ones.

  If I get out of this alive, my mom is going to kick my ass all the way back to Fairfield.

  She’s always saying stuff like, ‘if you play with trouble you’ll become trouble,’ ‘birds of a feather flock together,’ and ‘don’t light a match unless you want a fire.’ That kind of ‘I told you so’ crapola.

  Once I got to Columbia University, I’d promised Mom I wouldn’t get in trouble. I couldn’t. I’d won the Rise & Shine Learning Disability Scholarship. Yes, apparently Mom had found some free money for students who had dyslexia.

  Can you believe her? Leave it to a teacher like my mom to find such resources. It paid for half of my tuition. My parents still had to fork over the difference.

  Never mind the fact that my dad will be the one who kills me. The strong, silent types like him are always the ones who go postal. Right?

  “You going to take his underwear off?”

  Errr. Dear. Lord. I hope I put on clean underwear. I tried to think if they were a fresh pair or ones from the day before that I’d turned inside out. Hey, it’s Saturday. Usually by the end of the week, I’m running low on clean clothes.

  “Sí, I want to. But no, I won’t,” replied Diego. At least it sounded like Diego. His accent wasn’t as thick as Miguel’s.

  “What do you think happened to his face?” Miguel asked. I detected a sense of censure in his tone. Then suddenly his fingers traced over my scar as he sat next to me. I couldn’t really feel him touching me, but the pressure from his fingers was on my skin. Breathing heavily. He was nervous. So was I.

  “Blake’s roommate Thor Edwards is in my Calculus class—”

  “The femmy one,” uttered Miguel.

  “Dude, I hate it when you talk like that,” Diego raised his voice in annoyance.

  “What? There’s gay and then there’s gaaay. And that Thor guy is a flamer.”

  “Mierda... Just because you’re not out to your padre doesn’t mean everyone else has to live in shame,” Diego snapped.

  Ah-huh. I knew it. Miguel Santana is a closet case.

  “Sorry, man,” Miguel muttered in a tender apologetic tone. “You know I want to tell my familia that I’m gay, but I can’t. They’ll disown me.”

  “Whatever. Anyway…Thor said that Blake and his friends were in some kind of plane crash right before school started.”

  “Whoa,” Miguel exclaimed. “That whole clique of Manhattanites is nothing but malas noticias.”

  Bad news? See…that’s what people always think of us. It’s heartbreaking.

  “Have you ever googled them?”

  “Who?”

  “Vive, Taddy or Lex?” asked Diego.

  “No. I’m not that interested.”

  “Well…I have,” he replied firmly.

  “What did you find out about them?” Miguel lowered his voice.

  They shifted their weight on the bed. My tall, soon-to-be-dead body sorta just laid there between them, sinking further into the mattress as if I were the Titanic going down in the North Atlantic Ocean.

  “They all ended up in boarding school by accident. Lex’s parents were on some music tour and couldn’t take care of her. Taddy’s family gave her away. Vive’s family couldn’t discipline her anymore. The press hunted them down as animals when they were kids.”

  “What about Blake?” asked Miguel.

  “He went to Avon Porter because the boys at his other school tormented him.”

  “I heard they are spoiled rich kids who did time in juvie,” Miguel stated flatly.

  “Give ‘em a break. They’ve come to the city for a fresh start. And I intend to make sure they get one.”

  Crap. This wasn’t how I expected my fantasy with these two Latin men to go down. Not at all. For starters, I wasn’t supposed to be wasted. And they wouldn’t be sitting there gossiping about all the horrific drama that’d gone on in my pathetic life.

  “Great, man, so now we have one of them staying with us,” Miguel’s tone hardened.

  “Shut up. What else were we supposed to do?” asked Diego with exasperation. “They’ve had a bad past. That’s why I grabbed him when the cops came. I didn’t want him to get into more trouble.”

  “You should’ve let Blake go in the ambulance with his friends. They could’ve fixed him up at the hospital.”

  Is that where everyone went?

  Diego’s hand pushed the hair out of my face. He reached down, and in a deep voice whispered in my ear, “Don’t worry, guapo. I’m going to take care of you.”

  The fearing ache in my heart melted away. Diego was a good guy.

  “You like him, don’t you?” Miguel asked tersely.

  “Sí, you don’t think he’s cute?” There was a tremor of affection in his tone.

  “Blake is nice to look at, sure. He reminds me of a Ken doll. But he’s a bit too stuck-up for my taste.” Miguel’s voice grated harshly against my sensitive state of being.

  Maybe it was a good thing that I couldn’t move my arms. Otherwise, I’d punch the crap out of Miguel. I’d heard enough.

  “Get the lights,” instructed Diego. His arms came wide before he tucked my body into his. The weight of his muscular Stone Cold Steve Austin-like body moved over me.

  Then a kiss. First on my cheek. Followed by a few sweet words in Spanish. Then on my forehead. He repeated, “I’m going to take care of you.”

  A few minutes later, they were both asleep. How could I tell? Well…Miguel snored and Diego breathed down my neck, more or less. This was a first for me. I’d never gone to bed with another man before. And surely not like this. Hello!

  Naturally, I was wide awake. Well, not exactly. My eyes wouldn’t open and I still couldn’t move my body. But my mind was spinning at a thousand volts a
second that was for sure. Tonight will certainly fuck up my dyslexia. Soon I’ll be writing and talking backwards again.

  Oh, God. The little exercises the teachers had given me in school had helped, sure. But when I was stressed out like right then, watch out, people. I was not going to make much sense the following day or the one after.

  I thought about what they’d said. How Thor, my gay bestie, was indeed femmy, but so was I. Were they turned off by our expressive ways? Would I ever find a man to love me for me? For the last few years, I’d believed that once I got to college, met other gay guys my own age, love would come easy. But so far it hadn’t. If anything, the gays are meaner than the girls at Avon Porter. Their actions hurt more, too.

  I wondered if the scar on my face would ever go away. A few weeks before the skin was bright red. By that night, it was light pink. Maybe it would fade to white. Would I lose all the pigment?

  Mostly I thought about Taddy, Vive, and Lex. Were they doing okay at the hospital? If I was all right, then they had to be, too, right? But I wasn’t really okay. Shit. I’m paralyzed.

  The only one who probably was doing okay was Lex. She hadn’t drank a drop.

  What exactly was in that cheap Long Island stuff?

  I must’ve dozed off because the next thing I knew, I was dreaming that I’d kissed Miguel and Diego, both of them, and we were back at my place…

  “You have a nice cock,” I muttered, glancing up at Miguel in a flirty way as if I’d done this a million times before. I hadn’t.

  “Suck on it.” Diego instructed. “I want to see if you can take his entire dick in your mouth.”

  I licked my lips, opened my mouth, and closed my eyes.

  Mmm. Allowing Miguel’s dick to penetrate between my two lips, the sweet taste of him on my tongue.

  “That’s it. Take my dick, boy,” Miguel cried out, holding the back of my head, thrusting himself in further.

  Diego knelt down beside me and massaged his nuts, while his dick—oh, that fucking hot, thick, veiny dick—jetted further down my throat.

  I pulled back. I couldn’t take anymore.