That lonesomeness I’ve been trying to kill inside of him since the day I asked him to our high school prom.
I want to kill it for good.
I need to kill it for good.
Isn’t Bobby depending on me to do just that?
Before I know it, my face is descending.
Bobby’s tiny little laughs cease at once, and his eyes snap to mine, startled, confused.
And we kiss.
My eyes close as I taste Bobby on my lips. I feel a surge of emotion rushing up through me. His lips are so soft to the touch, yet firm and resistant, like muscle. Even the energy coming off his skin is prickly and exciting, something new that I’ve never known.
I feel so good to do this for Bobby.
And it feels so good to kiss my best friend and know that this kiss is more meaningful than any I’ve ever shared before.
I want to kill that lonesomeness inside him.
I never want him to feel lonely again.
“Jimmy, wait,” he says against my mouth. “What’re you—?”
Still straddling him at the waist, one hand propping me up, I bring my other to his face, caressing it as I keep kissing him. “It’s alright,” I whisper between kisses, my words nothing more than breath in his mouth. “Just let it happen, buddy. We’re okay.”
“J-Jimmy …” he tries again.
“We’re okay.”
I deepen the kiss, pressing my lips harder against his. There is only a second’s worth of fight before he gives in completely, his body slackening beneath my weight, and his soft mouth opening up to mine.
Kill it. Kill the loneliness.
My heart slams against my chest over and over as I kiss him.
My pulse beats in my ears like war drums.
This feels so fucking good, to do this for my best buddy Bobby.
My lips must be charged with electricity, because they crackle and tingle as I continue to kiss Bobby, turning my head one way and the other, tenderly caressing his mouth.
Kill it.
I keep thinking those words to myself, but with each kiss, I grow more confused about whose loneliness I’m trying to kill.
“Jimmy …” he whispers.
I lift my face from his at last and stare down into his warm, bewildered eyes as they slowly open, as if emerging from a deep, deep pool.
Nothing passes between us for a while.
Not even breath, or air, or sound.
I don’t hear the TV. I don’t hear the weird chatter through the wall from the room next to us. I don’t hear the city noise through the window, or the distant police siren, or the hum of the air conditioning unit churning across the room.
Bobby’s face is my whole world right now—and what’s going on in his head, my one and only concern.
And finally: “What was that?”
I lift an eyebrow. “What was what?”
“That.” Bobby’s gaze flits down to my lips, then back up to my eyes. “What was that?”
I’m not sure what it was. “A kiss,” I answer lamely. “What do you think it was?”
He huffs, frustrated. “Obviously. I meant … what was—?” His demeanor changes suddenly. “Stop being so …” He says the words almost sweetly. “… w-weird and coy and … and casual about this.”
I drop onto the bed next to him, propping my head up with a hand, my elbow digging into the mattress. “What’s the big deal? Can’t we just be a little spontaneous? Dude, I felt like you were sufferin’, I saw all that emptiness in your eyes, you were talkin’ about feeling like a minor character in your own life, and I just …” I shrug. “… wanted to take it all away.”
Bobby, still on his back, snaps just his head my way and eyes me harshly. “Oh, don’t go actin’ like that’s all that was just now. ‘Taking away my suffering.’ There was something else goin’ on there. Straight guys don’t just go kissin’ their best friends.”
“Says who? Can’t a guy just do something to make his friend feel better? What’s the big deal?”
He lets out a choked laugh of disbelief. He’s completely beside himself. “Jimmy, you were on top of me tickling the shit outta me a second ago, and now you just went and … and … and …”
“Kissed you. Yeah, I know, I was there. Tonight was supposed to be about gettin’ you a guy,” I point out to him, my voice turning light. “And I feel like I’ve let you down on that. So … I guess I’m your guy tonight. You’ve got a boner, by the way.”
Bobby doesn’t seem to know which of my words to give his attention to, confusion twisting his face, and then suddenly both his hands shoot down to cover the pointy bulge he’s making in those tight white boxer briefs of his.
He glares at me. “Of course I’m hard. You just made out with me.”
“See? It’s already working. You look like you feel superb right now. And besides,” I quickly add as I watch his face grow redder, “that was way too short to be called makin’ out. That was just a kiss or two. A couple pecks, at the most.”