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“I see,” he said, having lost interest in our conversation.
With the bathroom door closed, I pulled out the bottle and my phone. I was going to have to figure out how to draw this.
“You okay in there?” he asked after what turned out to be thirty minutes.
“Yeah. It’s just the heroin.”
“It really clogs you up, huh?”
“Exactly. I’ll be out in a minute.”
He had to know something was up, didn’t he? He had to. Luckily, I was almost done.
Part of the problem was that I didn’t have a misty mirror to draw in. I had to look at the smears I was making at weird angles to know what it looked like. Then when I screwed up, I had to start over.
After all of this work, he better appreciate the masterpiece I created. You could never find a better illustration of a man with his head up his ass drawn on a mirror using defogger fluid if you tried.
“Done,” I told him when I left the bathroom. Closing the door behind me—hoping he wouldn’t see it until after his morning run—I said, “I wouldn’t go in there if I were you.”
“I’m not sure heroin agrees with you.”
“It doesn’t. But you never know until you try, right?”
“I guess. Are we going to bed?”
“Sure,” I told him, positive that I was too excited to sleep.
Getting into bed, my mind raced thinking about what he would say when he saw it. I almost got back up to play video games to wind down. But then he wrapped his arms around me and I was out. Turns out that Claude was the only drug I needed.
Waking up the next morning and finding him gone, I remembered my work of art and scurried out of bed. Having gotten up late, I had missed his run. He was already in the shower.
Not knowing what to do with myself, I headed towards the kitchen before changing my mind and hurrying back to bed. I wanted to be as casual as possible when he got out. What was more casual than still being asleep?
“You gonna sleep forever?” He asked me when he returned to the bedroom in a towel.
“Huh? Sorry, I was sleeping.”
“I saw that,” he told me as he dropped his towel and stood naked in front of me… that bastard.
Immediately aroused, I now definitely couldn’t get out of bed.
“I was thinking that we could practice a few intentional fumble plays today,” he said, slowly walking around instead of getting dressed.
“They wouldn’t work as well in NFL play as they did in Division II.”
“Maybe not. But it’s good to have a few just in case,” he said, turning around and presenting me with his perfectly rounded, half-moon ass.
“Whatever you want.”
And by that, I meant that he could have anything he wanted. When he looked like that, I was ice cream in his hot hands. It was a good thing he got dressed. I was five seconds away from throwing myself at him; friendship be damned.
When he was fully clothed, and I could again stand, I got out of bed and headed into the bathroom. Expecting to see my masterpiece in the fogged mirror, I didn’t. I had drawn a man with his head up his ass in two parts. On the right side of the mirror, I had drawn a naked ass where the person was leaning forward with their torso cut off by the edge of the glass. On the left, I had drawn the continued torso with shoulders and arms butt up to the ass cheeks. Like I said, it was a work of art.
But that wasn’t what I found this morning. There was still a naked ass on the right side of the mirror. However, on the left was the picture of a head that kind of resembled mine. And it was kissing the naked ass.
Was that why he was walking around the bedroom naked? And why he clearly showed me his butt? Was he telling me to kiss his ass?
Oh, this was on. That night I drew a picture of a guy with his head stuck up a donkey’s butt. You know, in case he missed the head up his ass reference the first time. Then when I got into the bathroom after him, I found the same donkey, but this time the guy was lying beneath him with the donkey’s extended member fed into his mouth.
