Repost: Untitled Fiction

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Note: I originally wrote this back in 2007, but never revisited to continue the story (and yes, it is completely fictional lol).. Should it stand alone as a complete short-story?  Or can you think of where it could go from here?  Ideas and thoughts are always welcome. 😀

“Will you hurry up already?  I don’t want to stand here all night,” whispered Darel as he waited for me to pass him the coke.

It was just a typical Saturday night at the Big U.  Darel and I were crammed together in one of the bathroom stalls doing bumps of coke as the electronic-laced dance music thumped in our ears.

To be frank, it’s all his fault.  Darel was the one who first introduced me to the ‘magic white powder’ about a year ago.  Now, whenever I go out, I usually have some with me.  It’s almost a requirement these days just to get through the night, especially at this hole.  Tragic, really, how I don’t remember the last time I went out without it.

“Hey, don’t snort the whole fucking bag, dumb-ass,” I hissed at him. “I didn’t say I was going to get you fucked up, just a little bit buzzed.”  I snatched the little bag back from him and gave it a flick to see how much was left.  The little bitch left me barely enough for another bump later if I needed it.  What a fucking drug-whole he’s become.

Sometimes I truly wonder how the two of us even became friends in the first place.  We’re absolutely nothing alike.

Darel started pouting as I put away my meager stash.  “Aw, come on Sasha.  I barely did any.  You never share your drugs.”  His whining was getting on my nerves as he opened up the stall door to leave.

Without a word, I closed the door in his face so I could take a leak.

This was typical Darel behavior.  To him, the entire world was conspiring against him so he wouldn’t have a good time.  Meanwhile, he never has enough money to pay his cover, let alone for drugs.  As much as I love hanging out with the guy, he was starting to get way out of hand.  I couldn’t keep paying for both of us.

Flushing, I zipped myself up as I left the stall, which was quickly snatched up by a couple of muscle queens.  At the sinks, once I’d washed my hands (a rarity in bars somehow), I gave myself a quick once over while I wiped my nose to ensure there weren’t any stray flecks for all to see.

Not to toot my own horn, but I wasn’t looking too bad for a guy who just celebrated his 32nd birthday.  I still had a full head of messy black hair, barely any wrinkles, and all those hours in the gym had finally given me that coveted ‘short-n-stocky’ build I’d always wanted for all those years I was overweight.

Hell, even I’d fuck me, if I weren’t such a bottom.

Looking around the bathroom, Darel was nowhere to be seen.  Not a surprise.  He was probably off to find someone to either buy him a beer or give him more drugs.  Or both.

Just to catch everyone up to speed, Darel and I met through a blind date.  One of his best friends was a co-worker of mine a few years back and thought the two of us would make a cute couple.

Admittedly, we did hit it off right off the bat and we spent the next few months screwing our brains out.  But we were never exclusive.  We eventually stopped sleeping together and decided just to be friends.

Sure, the sex was great and all, but I wasn’t looking for a fuck-friend at the time.  I’d been in husband hunting mode.

“Shit,” I muttered under my breath.  As usual, there weren’t any paper towels in the bathroom, so I walked back to the bar for some napkins to dry my hands off.

Tossing the crumpled napkin on the bar, I waved a ten spot at the barman to get another drink.  As I glanced around at the crowd, I easily spotted Darel in one of the corners with his hands down some guy’s pants.  Again, this was typical Darel.  As coked up as he was, he probably wouldn’t even be able to get a hard on.

Leaving some change on the bar for a tip, I grabbed my drink and decided to take a tour of the club.  Like every other Saturday night, it was packed with all the usual people.  It has always amazed me how these people are so reluctant to do anything different on a weekly basis.  As if this was the only club in Montreal.

Can you tell I’m bored with the place?

Walking around, I stopped briefly to say ‘hi’ to the few people I know.  I wouldn’t call these people friends at all.  They were just people I’d bump into from time to time, and it wouldn’t be anything more than a quick peck on the check and bland pleasantries.  It’s not like you’re able to sustain a meaningful conversation with some drunken fool while the music echoed off the walls.

It’s a wonder we’re not all deaf already.  Think about that.

This will definitely sound clichéd, but all I was trying to achieve in my tour of the place was to catch some cute guy’s eye, have a little flirtatious chat, maybe make-out a little, and hopefully take him home to fuck me silly all night long.

Was that really too much to ask?  It’s not like I was looking for a husband for Christ’s sake.  Well, maybe.

Anyway, I was swaying on the edge of the dance floor to the latest pop-princess remix when I spotted Darel again.  He was being carried out of the bar by two security guards, completely passed out.  Again.  I don’t think this has happened in at least a month or so.

So, of course being the good friend that I am, I left my half-finished drink and ran after him to make sure he was alright.  I caught up to all of them by the front door but Darel wasn’t passed out after all, he was just too out of it to walk on his own.  Stupid jackass.

“Hey Sylvan,” I said to one of the bouncers, “guess he’s done it again, huh?”

Sylvan is this hunky, beefy straight guy that works security for the bar, and every guy I knew there would jump at the chance to get their hands on him.  “Sash, how the fuck does he get so messy every time he comes here?” he asked in that gorgeous French-accented voice of his.  “The boss is almost temped to ban his ass for good this time.”

“I don’t blame him, and sometimes I wonder why he doesn’t.”  Sylvan helped me get Darel down the stairs to street level.  “So, how long is he banned for this time?”

Making sure nobody could hear him, Sylvan whispered, “Actually, the boss was the one feeding him shooters and shoveling coke up his nose in the back office.  When I went into the office, your buddy was in la-la land while the boss and his boyfriend were double fucking him.”

For fuck’s sake!  What the hell had Darel gotten himself into this time?  “His ass will definitely be sore tomorrow,” I joked.

“You could say that again.”  Sylvan chuckled as he helped me get Darel into a cab and I gave the driver my address.  “Take care of that idiot, will ya?”

“I will.And thanks for the help tonight.”  I closed the cab door and off we went to my place.

At least this time Darel wasn’t puking his guts out.  The last time something like this happened, the cabbie wouldn’t even let me put Darel in the cab.  We had to walk to my place instead, and it wasn’t pleasant.  I didn’t enjoy stopping every couple of blocks to wait for dumb-ass to finish puking and then listen to his whining about how it was all this person’s or that person’s fault that he was so messy that time.  At one point, I got so sick of hearing it all that I kept walking despite his screams for help because he’d fallen down in a puddle of his own vomit.  One of these days, I may actually leave him there.

Luckily, this time Darel just sat back with his eyes closed and didn’t say a word or move a muscle.  If it wasn’t for the fact that I could hear him breathing, I might have thought him dead.

Copyright 2007 – 2013 M P Wilson

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