Warm Winters: A Bisexual Story

The Party I

My car's engine started with a soft grumble as I twisted the keys in the ignition. My car is a simple black 2018 Honda Civic. It's not much compared to the Teslas and Jeeps that usually filled the Eastwood High parking lot, but I like it.

I plugged in the AUX cord and clicked shuffle on my Spotify playlist. Talk by Khalid blasted over the speaker. A slight smile crossed my lips, Khalid was Grace and my latest obsession.

Though Eastwood was a small town and most places were within walking distance. That is unless you lived by the lake. Every block closer to the lake, the wealthy side of town. I watched as the houses swelled in size and expense, as I approached Grace's house. It's always a pretty entertaining ride.

I soon arrived and pulled in front of Grace's house- well, mansion would be a better word for it. The tall mansion was covered in a collage of stone. Decorative ivy clung to the sides, making it look like a ridiculously large fairy house.

I always thought it was the perfect house for Grace. She's barely over five feet, has a slender build, big round brown eyes, small features, and wears her signature dark pixie cut. When we were little I called her "Pixie Grace." She started calling me "Nicky" after that.

From the driveway, I saw Grace and Emma talking excitedly by the large front window in the living room. Emma must have gone over to get ready.

Grace caught sight of my car, and they rushed outside. I heard a shout of, "Shotgun!" And they both darted toward my car. Grace fumbled with the handle to the front seat door and sat down with a rush. Just a few seconds behind her, Emma begrudgingly slumped into the backseat. I started up the car and drove off once they were both inside.

Emma is a couple inches taller than Grace, has medium length dirty blonde hair, and bright green eyes. She's a dedicated debate team member, despite her usually shy exterior.

I noticed both girls wore the same shade of bright cherry lipstick. Makeup isn't out of character for Emma, but it is for Grace. Grace often says "makeup is a modern means to oppress women. And it just takes too much time anyway."

"Hey, tha--anks for dri--iving us to Ma--ason's," Grace said, panting. I couldn't help but grin stupidly at the way she said that before we both broke into laughter.

"Aww Nicky look at those dimples," she said between laughs, poking my right cheek. I brushed her hand away in pretend annoyance.

"Grace don't distract the driver," Emma cut in from the back.

"It's all good," I reassured her.

"Yes, Khalid! I'm gonna blast it" exclaimed Grace happily as she turned up the dial.

****

"Is this it?" Asked Emma as she gazed out the window, looking at the house ahead us. Mason's house was a simple navy blue two story house. It looked pretty similar to mine, minus the plant infested porch.

"Yeah, here we are." We walked up to the door and I rang the bell. I heard shuffling inside and then Mason opened the door. He was wearing wrinkled jeans and a button-up that was not buttoned correctly. He nervously pushed up his glasses.

"Hi, you can come in," he gestured us in the door. His house smelled strongly of air freshener and laundry detergent. Some Rex Orange County was playing in the background, softly filling the room.

"What's up?" I said, patting him on the back. I gave him a reassuring look, in hopes that he would pull himself together a bit. I assumed he was mostly nervous because of Emma's presence. He smiled back, but I could tell it was forced.

"Hi Mason!" Said Emma smiling excitedly.

"Alright, so where's the vodka?" Grace broke in. She never wastes any time beating around the bush.

"Oh right," let out Mason with a nervous laugh. "I can go get it real quick." Mason rushed to the kitchen. I followed behind him.

By the time I reached the kitchen, Mason was already fumbling around with four shot glasses and two full bottles of vodka.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, let me help you with that."

"Thanks," he said handing me the bottles. "Sorry I'm just really nervous right now."

"You have nothing to be nervous about. Emma and Grace really nice," I said as I helped him pour.

"It's not about that it's-- it's-- nevermind," he responded, looking down. He intently studied the by the lines between the tiles on the floor.

"It's ok Mason. Don't worry about it," I encouraged, putting my arm on his left arm reassuringly. His eyes came up to meet mine.

We just stood there, my hand on his arm, staring deeply into each other for what seemed like an eternity. It should have been awkward, but it wasn't.

We spoke nothing, but it felt like so much was said.

"Yeah-- Yeah sorry," he said pulling away.

"Do you know what might help?" I said mischievously, eyeing the freshly poured shot glasses on the kitchen island. He nodded and let out a soft laugh, relieved.

I handed him a shot, looking him in the eyes and took one for myself. We knocked the glasses together with a soft clink.

I winced at the bitter taste of the straight vodka, squinting my eyes. I felt it slip down my esophagus, burning all of the way to my stomach.

Once I recovered from the bitter taste on my tongue, I spoke "Let's share this with them before we get too drunk."

Mason took the remaining shot glasses, and I carried the liquor bottles

"There you boys are! You were taking so long I thought we would find you two making out in there" joked Grace. Emma clutched Grace's shoulder and burst out into laughter at that.

"Well, that definitely didn't happen, but look what we've got!" Exclaimed Mason, pointing at the bottles I was holding. I could tell he was back to his usual self, plus a little too much vodka. It sometimes slipped his mind what a lightweight he was.

He abruptly held up his hand, "You know what? We should go into the party room," he slurred.

The "party room" was just his insulated basement with colored lights, a tv, assorted colors of bean bag chairs, an old couch, and his stash of weed that was hidden behind some books on a shelf. We followed him downstairs.

"Let's get this party started!" said Emma enthusiastically. Soon we began pouring shots and the rest was a blur.

Next thing I remember, I was sitting next to Mason, who was slightly tilting backward. I put my hand around his back to steady him and he let out a drunken laugh. Then, as if something came over him, he became very serious. He locked his eyes onto mine, once more, and I could tell he was trying to communicate something, I wasn't sure what.

He reached his hand up to my left cheek. His touch was warm and soft. I was not sure if it was the six shots of vodka I had taken, but I felt the warmth from his hand spread throughout my body. My heartbeat quickened.

I think what you do drunk is what you wanted to do sober, you just finally had the courage to do it, at least that's what I told myself to understand what happened next...