Glass House

My world is weirder than your world.

Sunday, December 19, 2004

Grinch 2.

(Still on Friday night. This gets explicit. Kiddies, cover your eyes.)

After "Grinch," Jenna took Jon upstairs to babysit him, and the party degenerated pretty quickly. Everyone had more shots. I'd been doing cinnamon schnapps during the show, but now Callie wanted whiskey, so I joined her in some Black Bush. Dana played some Christmas carols on the Yamaha keyboard, badly, and Lara unveiled a new party trick where she got us all to sing in each other's voices. I do a pretty nice "Silent Night" in Callie's mezzo soprano. People affirmed that I was on key; she rarely is.

Someone had the idea to pull out Dance Dance Revolution, which is hardly fair in this crowd, but we were buzzed enough to make it funny. Somebody got me a pair of Jon's pants out of the laundry room so they could see my legs jumping. Everyone took a turn, although Nick was razzed for doing his on the couch without moving. We also blamed him every time someone screwed up, claiming he had TKed the buttons. (I think he did, at least some of the time.) Callie cheated spectacularly, speeding up her own time so that she could take the hardest level with ease. I must say, watching her do "Butterfly" in a blur was very sexy. She also tried to make the pad bigger, so Dana and Lara could dance on it together, but she was too toasted to maintain it. She doesn't do anything involving space distortion and other people without a lot of concentration.

We laughed, we sang, we geeked. Midnight rolled nigh and no one was close to crashing yet. Nick started flirting with Lara's date, which I thought was pretty crass, but L.D. was really rather casual about it. Not sure if he was bi, or if drinking and watching superpowered people make idiots of themselves for three hours had simply lowered his defenses enough that a homosexual advance was nothing in comparison. Lara seemed pretty amused by it, and I was watching to see what happened next when Callie felt around for me, grabbed me around the waist, and started pulling me toward the basement door. My basement. "Goodnight everyone!" she called. "Merry Christmas!"

I started to say something too, but then everybody was saying goodnight very very fast, and suddenly I was the bottom of my own stairs. Callie had a cheerfully evil grin.

"That wasn't very nice," I said. That sounded pretty weak to me, but I was too drunk to articulate the moral dimensions of the situation.

"I know. I'm being naughty," she said. Which, drunk as she was, articulated her moral dimensions pretty clearly.

She pulled me further on, and found my bed by walking into it. Aubrey had been asleep, and woke up just long enough to sniff around her heels before going back to his sleeping pad. Callie pushed me down onto the bed, and I thought way too hard about this until I heard a zipper being unzipped.

Callie felt around and then paused. "You're wearing two pairs of pants," she said.

"Duh," I said. "Those are Jon's pants from that DDR game." She started laughing, and then we were both laughing uncontrollably, and by the time we recovered there were a lot less pants all the way around.

She took me in her mouth, and the only warping of space and time was the natural kind. It looked strange, but it felt -- ah, hell, it felt terrific, but it wasn't satisfying, because: A.) I was too drunk; and B.) I was distracted by stupid thoughts.

Eventually she caught on that nothing was going on, and she slid up to find my ear and nibble on it. I fondled her idly until she kissed me and said, "Well? Are we or aren't we?"

Again, I couldn't quite hit the words I wanted. "We're too drunk," was as close as I came.

"No shit," she said. "Why do you think I've been trying to get you drunk all night?"

Two days later, I feel like an idiot, but that night I honestly hadn't noticed she'd been doing it. I pursued my chosen course of idiocy: "Callie, you're really really special to me. I haven't been... Haven't had a..."

"A relationship, yeah, I read your fucking blog," she said. "You're special to me too, James. Let's have wild special bunny sex. Now."

"I don't wanna take...advantage..."

She stopped cold. She sat up and looked through me. "Are you serious?"

"Uh... I think so?" Somewhere deep inside my brain, alarm klaxons were going off, trying to put my mouth into emergency shutdown. Too late. "I wanna do it with you, Callie. I really do, but I... I want it to be more, uh... Romance and stuff... I want it to be, like, what we said. Special."

She got off the invisible bed and started picking up her clothes. "Well, shit, James. I gotta admit you're special all right. You're a real piece of work."

"Oh. Um, I'm sorry?" She said nothing, just kept getting dressed. "You can stay, you know. I want you to." (In my defense, Callie, I was a lot more drunk than you probably thought I was, and I think at least part of my bullshit was simply fear about performance. Not that I'm not a damn idiot.)

She didn't actually go anywhere, of course. She found Jenna, and crashed in the media room upstairs. Most of the others were also sleeping somewhere in the house -- if Dana decided someone wasn't in any shape to drive, they didn't drive.

Nick came down a few minutes later, during my fifteenth mental replay of the conversation. "Saw your California girl storming through," he said. "Everything all right?"

I told him about it.

"James, I say this as your best friend," he said, "and not just because you're a fucking idiot. Are you sure you're not gay?"

"Fuck you," I said.

"That'd be proof," he said.

I waited for more insight, but really he'd just come down to crash on my couch.

Merry Grinchmas.


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