We walked through the back of the bar again and out to the patio. Nobody was occupying the space as the day light was still far too bright. There was a semi rusted metal exit door. We walked out, Adam not keen on using openly on property. The alley was wide enough for a city garbage truck to pass through, but no two-way traffic; the backs of buildings lined the alley all the way to the book-ending streets. I thought the roads were trashy, but the alleys were worse. Puddles of brown and gray water sat, deflated reflections of cracked walls and dusty windows glaring at us. We moved to the side of the bar, where a narrow passage ran to the front of the bar between two buildings. The passage was blocked with a boarded fence. All types of trash and debris littered the ground.
“It’s safe here. No one will see us.” Adam assured. He pulled a glass pipe from his front pocket and reached into his back pocket, pulling out his wallet. A tiny gram baggie of the silver white dust hung, pinched between excited fingertips. I felt a surge of energy welling up inside me. My body was anticipatory. Not much was needed to get a high. Adam pulled a silver stem out of his wallet next. It was a metal tool of some sort I’d never seen before. It had a scoop shaped head. He dipped it in the bag, a perfect little mound atop the tool. He dumped it in the mouth of the pipe. He handed it to me as he searched for a lighter. Once found, he motioned the pipe back to him and lit up. The flame licked the bottom of the glass pipe for a few seconds and then I heard a familiar crackling sound. The stuff was beginning to melt and fume. A faint white mist began to rise from the dust. Slowly it began to turn magenta, and then purple. It was ready to inhale. Adam sucked the smoke in quick and handed me the device, a few beats till he started coughing. I mimicked his technique and inhaled the drug. It tasted mechanical, like metal and copper wires. It fizzled slightly in my mouth as it went down. I felt a heavy pocket in my lungs that slowly expanded from my chest outward into my various extremities and eventually to my head. I felt a bubble in my head, my eyes began to fishbowl. I rubbed my arms, my skin tingling and suddenly becoming sensitive. Adam was going through the same thing, rubbing his arms up and down, gasping and gagging in some type of ecstasy. He started massaging his crotch with an open palm.
“Oh, man. That feels good.” He giggled, “damn.” Adam looked me in the eyes, his grin silly looking beneath his manly ‘stache. I was dazed, caressing my forearms and thighs. I felt alert, but my sense of touch had become heightened. I felt a rush coming. Adam kept rubbing his crotch.
“Damn, man. I need it right now.” Adam started unbuttoning his jeans. “I need it now, Alex. Give me some.”
I was in no state to disagree with Adam. His jeans were already down his knees, his cock bulging and struggling against his boxer briefs.
“Give it to me.” He leaned forward and kissed me roughly, his lips on top of mine, leaving them moist and slick. He grabbed my dick and started fondling it aggressively. I was already aroused. We started making out, kissing and breathing loudly. I felt everything, and that rush of the drug had overcome me. I felt heightened and dizzy, a wired state of drunkenness. Adam pulled his underwear down and leaned against the wall, pushing his ass into my crotch, moving it up and down against my hardened shaft. The sensitivity made me moan. His flesh was warm, his ass was firm and round. Without hesitating I penetrated him, the head of my cock struggling to enter at first, but then, after a few hard pushes, a few hard sighs, I eased into Adam. The heat of his body was too much for me. We became loud and aggressive, his toned ass swiveling against my waist. We fucked for about ten minutes before I came. He came from the sheer pleasure of feeling me inside him, working over his prostrate. We were both still high as we pulled our pants up, laughing to each other. My mind more than swirled now. It swam in waves. I felt good. I felt lucid, but mellow, like my body had been massaged for an hour. The rush of the drug had left with my ejaculations.
“Fuck man. That was good. Thanks, Lex.” Adam said. He leaned over and kissed me again, his tongue breaking through my lips, his mustache tickling my flesh. He pulled away and winked at me. “I better get inside.”
“For sure.” I said.
“Come on in. I’ll get you another drink. Maybe Eric’ll wanna come out back with ya.” I felt my body stiffen at the prospect. I hadn’t tried Eric, yet. I knew he liked my drugs though.
“Nah,” I said, and I noticed obvious relief on Adam’s face. “I’m good, man. I should probably skedaddle. But, uh, I enjoyed that very much.”
Adam smiled back at me. “I know I did.” He turned and started walking out of the passage way, “Alright, man. Well, I guess I’ll see you around soon, then.”
“I’ll be around.” Adam turned the corner and headed back into the bar. I lingered in the corridor for a few more minutes, getting my bearing, deciding where I’d go next. Aside from the still-congested traffic, I wanted this high to come down just a bit before I started to drive, and a second or third rush was also bound to come. I walked out of the narrow pass and into the alley, looking up and down it in both directions. Filth cracked asphalt and the gray light of a dimming sun once orange in the sky greeted me. My high was strong still, I’ll felt totally lucid, but everything had a cushion, and everything seemed clear. Everything felt bearable. The dirty alley was filled with trash, yes, but there was a reason that trash was there. Someone had left it there. And that suddenly made it okay. The rancid stenches that attacked you in variant corners, the grime and sewage, everything a byproduct of a natural reaction—it was organic in spite of its insipid presence. I looked around as I walked forward. Maybe I could hop around and go to another bar. Hell, I could probably go through another back patio somewhere.
I made it to the end of the street before I knew it. Cars moved at a swift pace over a cross of four lanes. I wasn’t interested in crossing the street just yet. I hung a left and walked up Conner Street, which ran perpendicular to 6th street, home of Faery Hill and the likes. I was headed north of that though. To a place I could ride out my high peaceably. The city had gotten darker outside the alley. Night fell fast. The gray light had become a dust, deepening the shadows and softening their edge. I walked forward. I looked average as possible, inconspicuous. People walked by me. I did my best to look ahead or look down. A couple blocks down and I was at The Catalan. It was just outside of Faery Hill proper, in other words, out of the gayborhood, but it was a nice place and the bartender, who I think was the owner, was very easy on the eyes. Like Jack Lat’s, The Catalan was dark. No matter what time of day, when you walked into The Catalan you were greeted immediately with a dim blood orange glow, and not much else. A wall size neon sign adorned the back wall of The Catalan; it named the place for itself as the center piece. It was nice to look at. Candles lit the high tops that lined the back wall. The front wall were black-glossed windows with a matte finish. They kept the daylight out. The Catalan had its own charm, and had been around for a long time. The back wall was also a stage, and had hosted dozens of live acts throughout the decades. Unfortunately, The Catalan did observe the smoking ban, and was a clean whiff when you walked in. It smelled more of mop soap and spilled beer. I was feeling light and a little dizzy. They table serviced at The Catalan until dark, so I sat in a corner about half to the back. It was nice. It would be a good place to ride out my high.
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“Faery Hill” is written by Michael Aaron Casares. All rights reserved. Short fiction, part three of five.
