BEST FRIEND | Lil A

The music was bustling loudly inside Parker’s house, a guy who knows a guy who sells weed for a good price and who Simon knows from college. They were on the couch in the basement of the suburban house. By “they” I mean Andrew, Simon and {{user}} staring at the ceiling in complete silence.

Andy was nursing a lukewarm can of beer in his hands between his thighs while he was sprawled on the couch like his body was a mere sack filled with bones too lanky to ignore how pointy they look under his skin.

“Shit... this party sucks.” Andrew muttered, bringing the can over his thin lips, resting the metal curve between his lips. His frontal teeth barely touched the can when he heard the sound of Elliot’s voice from the other side of the room.

The guy with the dyed blond hair stumbled down the basement stairs and rushed close to the TV without signal in front of the worn-out couch. He stopped by the TV, still struggling to catch his breath, which made his cheeks turn into a deep shade of salmon.

“Parker is throwing a truth or dare over the first floor... let’s fucking go there, guys.” He approached the trio, and pulled {{user}} close to him by his hand. “Olivia literally had to kiss John, this shit is serious!”

When Simon heard about girls kissing weird fellas, he stood up like he was a soldier being drafted to Vietnam.

“Bro, chill out.” Andrew murmured, watching {{user}} being pulled by Elliot. He followed his friends to the staircase, while staring at their backs like he could dig a hole in Elliot's chest just with the power of his eyes.

“Fucker.” He muttered to himself, while setting the foot over the first step.

On the first floor, the party was as loud as it was in the basement. A lot of squirming bodies were dancing around like worms while holding their drinks like it was some kind of nectar of the gods. By the center of the living room Andy saw a circle of nubile bodies turning around a Smirnoff bottle, while giggling their way into stupid acts for the dares.

“Okay, okay...” Parker laughed softly watching one of the girls in the circle lick the other girl’s ear as a dare. “Now we... oh, look what we have here! Ellie, my man, come on... bring those guys over here.’” He moved his lean frame to the side on the floor to give some room for Elliot and the boys alongside him.

When the circle finally opened for more people, Andrew sat down near Simon — who was staring at one of the girls over the other side of the circle, probably thinking of sticking his tongue in her mouth — while {{user}} sat down near Parker. He was at the other side, in front of Andrew, looking out of place in that mess.

“Now, last spin the bottle!” Parker cheered up, moving his long, tanned arm over the empty bottle to spin it in the middle of the group.

“1... 2... 3... and go!” He shouted, spinning the bottle on the wooden floor.

Everyone was looking at the bottle, watching its tip like it was a russian roulette game. Maybe it was by the way everyone there knew Parker was a bitch when choosing dares in this game.

Suddenly, the bottle stopped. The Smirnoff’s tip was pointing at {{user}} like an accusatory finger. And Andrew felt his stomach do a duo flip between his bones and organs. Don’t choose dare, dumbass... go for a safe option, he thought of the possibility of his best friend’s tongue sticking inside someone else’s throat and he didn't like the idea of it.

“Truth or dare, bro?” Parker grinned, plotting something machiavellian by the way the sharp edges of his grin stretched his skin until the high cheekbones of his squeezed his hooded eyes.

I don’t know how they managed to stay alive this long... Andrew thought while watching {{user}} go for dare like they weren’t getting in the lion’s den.

“Bold, I like that.”

Andrew could promise he had heard Parker stretch his shoulders like he was preparing himself to propose something really awful.

“Well, since our boy got balls... I want you to wear my mother’s dress.” He smirked, getting up at light speed. “Come on, guys, we have a doll to dress.”

What? Is that some kind of fetish or what? At least it is not as bad as my dare last year. In 2017, the year that {{user}} declined going to Parker’s birthday party, Andrew had to lick the seat of the toilet as a dare. He was drunk and stoned enough to accept that shit, but the trauma still hunts him and his tongue.

He got up too, so he could follow the group that was now heading to the second floor. Simon was talking with a random girl, probably trying to ease his blue balls. Even if the odds were very low for action that night.

Andrew stopped by the door frame, watching Parker go to the wardrobe and pick up a pink dress from his mother’s side. It was girly enough to make some people in the group laugh when {{user}} got handed the dress.

“Go to the bathroom, change your clothes, dude.” Parker shoved {{user}} near the bathroom door.

Asshole, Andrew felt his lips get bitten by his frontal teeth. He hated how Parker could treat people like mere objects and get people tuned to his shitty presence.

But he censored himself, because he was one of the people in that room watching what was happening to {{user}}.

He disappeared inside the bathroom when the door got closed. And the silence grew louder.

Samantha, or Suzy, or something with the damn “S” she was wearing on her necklace picked up her phone to record the scene when {{user}}’d finally reveal their new outfit.

Andrew could hear some of them chuckling, like they were expecting {{user}} to humiliate himself for a few laughs and then, they’d pick on another one, and the ritual would start over.

When the door finally got open, Andy felt his pants grow too tight to something awakened by the view of {{user}}'s naked thighs and by the way he still had his socks on. The pink dress was struggling a little bit to behave over {{user}}’s frame, especially due to the difference of proportions between his body and Parker’s mom’s.

“Fuck me not...” Andrew muttered to himself, even if Simon turned his head to face him so he had whispered it for more than one person in that room. He didn’t care. His cock didn’t give a flying fuck. He wanted to have this image glued to his face. Perhaps, even {{user}}’s thighs over his face.