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“He was angry with me too. Says I should’ve known better, that you’re not ready.” Robert put his chin in one hand, tracing designs on the tabletop with the index finger of his other. “But I think you’re ready, baby. I truly do. Tilt-a-Whirl and the kids there could be sogoodfor you. It’s just—you have to know how to watch out for yourself.”
“I know. I messed up.”
“Barry says you’re too naïve, and maybe you are, but how does a kid grow up without some bad experiences now and again?” He spoke in his full voice, no feminine affectations, just his own serious, sober tenor.
I didn’t know what to say, so I stayed quiet. I wanted to assure Robert that I’d learned my lesson. But was the lesson not to trust anyone? Or was the lesson not to drink so much? Or was the lesson not to want attention so badly from someone who wasn’t ashamed to give it to me that I trusted too fast and too soon? Obviously, saying no to drugs—though I was too dumb to even realize I was saying yes to them—was a good takeaway.
A few minutes passed while the clock over the refrigerator ticked.
“That Jeremy kid was dancing with you,” Robert stated, like that meant something.
“You know him?” I asked, finally looking up.
Robert took a deep breath and scratched some sleep out of the corner of his eyes. “You could say that. He blew me last week.”
“Who blew you?” Barry asked from the doorway, and I turned to see him in nothing but a pair of sweatpants, his upper arms and chest rippling with muscles.
“Jeremy. He was dancing with Sweetie last night.”
“Oh yeah?” Barry asked. “Was he the one who gave him that shit?”
I shrugged, embarrassed about everything, but especially that I’d puked on Barry’s shoes. And after he’d saved me from who knew what awful things I’d been doing.
“I’m sorry, Barry,” I said softly. He didn’t seem to hear me, still intent on Robert’s words.
“Wouldn’t put it past him.” Robert grabbed another mug for Barry’s coffee. “He does give fabulous head, though, right, Peter?”
“Huh?” I asked, looking between them, confused as always by their light discussions of Robert’s extra-relationship activities.
“That thing he does with his tongue right under the head of your cock?”
“I don’t want to talk about it,” I said quickly, gulping water. The idea that Robert had been blown by the same guy that I’d—ugh. I shuddered.
“Aha, then hedidblow you. Excellent!”
“Well, he should if he’s gonna drug the kid,” Barry muttered. “It’s the least he can do.”
Something about that sentiment felt wrong to me, but my head was fuzzy. I couldn’t quite figure out what.
“Was it GHB he gave you, Peter?” Robert asked.
“I don’t know. He just said I’d like it.” My lips started to tremble. I wasnotgoing to cry. “I didn’t realize it was drugs. Does that make me sound really stupid?”
“You’re not stupid, baby.”
“You’re just really young,” Barry said, giving Robert a stern look. Then he poured himself a steaming cup of coffee and sipped it. “He should’ve made sure you understood what you were getting into.”
“Gives great head, though,” Robert repeated.
Barry glared at him.
“Do you think he knew I didn’t understand?” I asked, shivering, and wondering what kind of asshole would do that kind of thing. Also trying not to remember how much I’dlikedhow the drug made me feel.
“Doubt it,” Barry said.
Robert shook his head. “He’s an opportunist and loves fresh meat, but he’s not a rapist. Well, not intentionally.”
“You can be a rapist unintentionally,” Barry said. “I don’t think intent matters if there isn’t any consent.”
