Glitter***
1
If you’re looking for a real beginning, well, sorry. Check in again when my head decides to be chronological. Don’t expect any dates or shit either. I’m not good at that stuff. I can’t honestly say I remember that first time, anyway—because I don’t. All I’ve ever recalled from that night was from what Brad told me—and I was pretty hung over that time, and combine that with his yelling… well; obviously I didn’t get much from it.
All I knew then was this: me and Brad and a bunch of our friends from West Hollywood were at Burning Man, the second time around. It was nighttime; about ten-ish, though that’s really just a guess. I was halfway gone by then—Cabaret weed is really something else—and we, me and Brad, we were sitting around on a log, and…
I was leaning on him, the few times I actually get to do that—fucking height differences, really, but it’s my fault for being into smaller guys. I remember… his hand resting on my hip, a little spot of flesh the spandex wasn’t covering up, and he felt so warm. My palm was spread out on his thigh, and a smudge of body paint and glitter would come off on my skin when I lifted it. I remember breathing out, and catching a glimpse of the stars when I looked up…
And I remember thinking Brad was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen.
It wasn’t just a thought, back then. It was a truth, at least to me. I believed it, really, sincerely, so foolishly believed it. I was in love—my first time, back then what I had guessed would be my only time—and just… fuck if you don’t get it. It’s not something you can easily describe.
And then… and then I remember Brad calling out to someone, a little bit of booze and a healthy splash of mischief in his voice. I remember a pair of dark, dark eyes, flashing against the background of night sky.
I don’t remember fear when I saw them, but I think it must have been there. I saw him coming towards us, and then I couldn’t remember anything at all.
All I knew then was this: me and Brad and a bunch of our friends from West Hollywood were at Burning Man, the second time around. It was nighttime; about ten-ish, though that’s really just a guess. I was halfway gone by then—Cabaret weed is really something else—and we, me and Brad, we were sitting around on a log, and…
I was leaning on him, the few times I actually get to do that—fucking height differences, really, but it’s my fault for being into smaller guys. I remember… his hand resting on my hip, a little spot of flesh the spandex wasn’t covering up, and he felt so warm. My palm was spread out on his thigh, and a smudge of body paint and glitter would come off on my skin when I lifted it. I remember breathing out, and catching a glimpse of the stars when I looked up…
And I remember thinking Brad was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen.
It wasn’t just a thought, back then. It was a truth, at least to me. I believed it, really, sincerely, so foolishly believed it. I was in love—my first time, back then what I had guessed would be my only time—and just… fuck if you don’t get it. It’s not something you can easily describe.
And then… and then I remember Brad calling out to someone, a little bit of booze and a healthy splash of mischief in his voice. I remember a pair of dark, dark eyes, flashing against the background of night sky.
I don’t remember fear when I saw them, but I think it must have been there. I saw him coming towards us, and then I couldn’t remember anything at all.