Page 136 of Rhymes with Metaphor
Mugs and glasses clinked.
While Reg and Joel continued to kiss, someone else described, in lurid detail, the best lasagna they’d ever eaten.Joel untucked his T-shirt and slid Reg’s hand underneath.Joel’s skin was tacky and hot.Reg pulled back and looked at Joel, heavy-lidded and smiling, mouth wet and inviting.
It was hot in the basement, the air thick with smoke and lethargy.Reg was hovering between twin desires to fall sleep and to slide his hand inside Joel’s jeans and make him come right there in front of everyone.Reg heard a couple not too far away possibly indulging in the same impulse.Joel was so relaxed he was practically comatose.
“How do you feel, cariad?”
“I want to break things...”
“That’ll be the alcohol.”
Joel blinked slowly.“...but I can’t be bothered.”
“That’ll be the pot.All of the fun, none of the property damage.”
Joel snorted with laughter, then laughed at the sound of his laugh.
Reg looked at him, stroking his forehead, realizing this was the first time in his life he’d had a boyfriend he could publicly acknowledge, and nobody minded, least of all Joel.After so many years of having to hide his relationship with Flip as though they were doing something illicit, being able to be free and open with his affection loosened a knot that had been pulled tight for far too long in Reg’s chest.He felt older and younger both, in an absolutely heavenly way.
Muffled coughing interrupted his thoughts, followed by the sound of a window being opened.Cold, refreshing air blew in, bringing little flecks of snow.Someone removed their socks, climbed onto the coffee table, and recited “Casabianca,” the performance of which was curtailed by a blinding flash of lightning and a catastrophic bang, followed by the lights going out.
“Jinx!”
“Hijinks!”
“Lojinks!”
Two people shouted in unison, “Coin a word, pay a coin!”
Everyone laughed uncontrollably.Lit candles were brought in and passed around.There followed the perhaps inevitable solicitation and recitation of frightening true stories of ghosts and encounters with the mysterious.The evening drew on, and Reg drifted off, Joel already fast asleep in Reg’s lap.
Reg woke cramped and cold.He was warm only where his body was in contact with Joel’s.The lights were back on, and the window was still open.Raelynne was curled up asleep beside them on the sofa, her head resting on Joel’s legs, a crocheted afghan pulled to her chin.
Joel blinked awake and sat up.
“All right?”said Reg.
Joel considered the question.“I could eat some of that Christmas cake.”
“I could too,” said Reg.
They extricated themselves from the sofa carefully, to avoid waking Raelynne.Joel stumbled once on the way to the kitchen, and caught the handrail to keep himself from falling.Voices murmured in the living room, and floorboards creaked above them.The kitchen was full of used glasses and cans and wine bottles and dirty dishes, but empty of people.
“It’s gone,” said Joel, searching for the cake among the bottles on the table.“Somebody ate it.”
“‘Tuck your shirt in, boy.You look a mess.’That’s what my grandmother would say to me, even if I was wearing pyjamas.”
Joel duly tucked in his shirt.“What time is it?”
“One a.m.”
Reg washed one of the glasses, filled it with water, and passed it to Joel.
“Reg?”
“Hmmm?”
“Do people have sex at these parties?”
