It's OK to Say No
by D K Daniels
Bryce regularly throws sensational parties. Unlike countless others, it is my first time to be invited to one of his bashes. Considering I'm not a fool, I chose not to turn down the invite. Declining such a generous request would be interpreted similarly to social suicide in high school. For the first time tonight, I have been subjected to a new wild and supercool array of sounds, sights and people I have never known existed or acknowledged until now.
I saw Tim from drama earlier in the night, and he appeared to be a little tipsy. I can say it's a bit funny noticing how someone so smart and goody-goody two shoes can get wasted without his folks knowing. There's no point in denying or lying about what I have done tonight now after my second can of Blue Moon, I am starting to feel a little woozy .
I don't know what made me drink all of a sudden. Except, everyone else is doing it, and I don't want to appear uncool or dumb. So, I decide what's the worst that could happen if I take a chug or two? That was over an hour ago, and here I am starting my third Blue Moon without any consideration of what may happen later in the night. I came with Sarah, but she's been gone for most of the evening to wherever. The last time I saw her she was talking to a boy whose name I have no idea, and up to that point in time I had never met him. Both of them had gotten a little touchy-feely, so I guess that's why they have disappeared. Now I'm no idiot, I have a reasonable understanding of what is happening, presumably upstairs, one of my childhood friends is losing her virginity. I reckon it doesn't take a genius to assume that I don't belong with the party kids, and neither does Sarah. Only, I presume it's just a matter of time before it caught up with us. If I can merely slow things down for a moment to catch a breath and understand what is going on, then everything would be awesome.
When I first arrived, the music wasn't nearly as loud as it is presently. I'm finding it exceptionally loud now. It's like it's pounding inside my head, I'm not sure if I approve of it or not. The room is incredibly congested, there are teenagers everywhere, boys and girls alike and, it's scary to see almost all of them have a red party cup.
As to the question regarding the whereabouts of Bryce's parents: we'll all never know. Anytime I hear about a party happening at Bryce's place; it is always hush-hush up until the last minute. I reckon the sophomore doesn't want his parents finding out, and his older brother has no problems with supplying alcohol to underage kids.
I can assume that if Bryce didn't want to get his older brother into trouble. Everything has to be on the down-low until his parents vanish. It has me questioning what the excuse might be if they turned up to find something broken on the weekend from the party. Would they know full well that what had happened here was a large gathering of hormonal teenagers, some drugged up, some drunken, others unruly, and a few seriously pissed off folks?
More importantly, however, is how does Bryce manage to hide the ongoing activities from his parents while keeping the neighbourhood happy? Deep down a part of me wishes I was at home playing Xbox, dillydallying around a little bit with some of my mates in some co-op on Far Cry 5. Plus, I already feel sorry for bringing Sarah. If it wasn't for me coming here tonight, I don't imagine she would be upstairs now. A part of me seems to feel a little guilty for leading her along. You see I didn't want to come on my own. It would look weird, and I needed some company, some backup you know.
Peering out into the masses of the bustling dining room; the music brings on a migraine. I put the can of beer on the table to halt my process of drinking. I have reached my limit and I shouldn't drink anymore. Oh God, Mom would kill me if she knew what I'm doing. Still, I don't know why I'm doing it. Am I doing this all for popularity, I don't know? I just feel like I don't know where I belong, and if I try to make myself fit here then hopefully they will take to me. Now that I'm here I don't feel right. For once in my life, I sense being the weird kid over in the corner nobody talks to, or only has a modest handful of friends, and plays Xbox every single night of the week, rather than hanging out with every hot girl in the neighbourhood. It is a lot better than where I am now. I feel like I'm floating somehow, it's like everything is occurring at a super alarming pace.
In the corner, by the archway via the foyer, there is this adorable guy. I'm talking insanely cute. The dude is sitting on a black leather kitchen chair, slumped with his arms resting on his thighs with a can of beer in his hand. I can't make out what he's drinking, but he's definitely boozing. The kid looks to be about the same age as me, and I feel tempted to go across and introduce myself. Just, I don't know him. Combine that with the fact that I know nobody else here that could acquaint me to him. I'm just gonna sit out this interaction and pretend he's not there.
Turning my attention elsewhere, Justin, one of our star players on the baseball team, whose current position is shortstop is smoking up in the middle of the living room. From here, it smells sharp on the senses. I can't quite define the smell, but it's horrible and even though I've never tried it before I know what it is. Weed. How the hell did I end up here? Mom will probably smell the pot from my clothes. Thanks a lot, Justin. A bit apprehensive as to what to do, I get up leaving my can of beer at the table and make my way out to the hall, past the cute guy wearing a pink T-shirt. Damn, he is fit . Glancing up the stairs, I latch onto the bannisters and begin to ascend the levels. Clinging tightly to the railing I keep to it in a sense hoping I'll make it to the top without falling. I presume I'm coming down with something. I don't feel sick or anything. So as to what my psych evaluation is, it'll be gone in the morning. I hope.
Making my way to the bathroom, I head on inside and lock the door behind me. Thank God nobody is in here. I reckoned I'd be waiting to use the toilet, but this is awesome. Standing in front of the pot, I unhook my shorts, pull my flaccid penis out and aim at the bowl. As I pause for the flow to come, I reflect on my friend Sarah. It's not right that she has to pay for my stupidity. Yet, at the same time, there are two in this game: she accepted my offer. Feeling the gentle sway of urine, leaving the tip of my dick, I relax a little. As the hollow rumble of the waterfall gorged into the cistern below, I reminisce of the boy downstairs. The dude wore a black bracelet on his right arm, and he is wearing one of those floral snapback's, accompanied by a pair of black ripped skinny jeans. I stagger a little, then realize I ought to focus on peeing.
When my stream comes to a trickle, I shake and put myself away. Flushing the toilet, I hobble to the sink and rinse my hands, and as I dry, straining to hear the continuous popping of the DJ speakers downstairs.
Adequately drying my hands, I unlatch the door and I'm greeted by a couple of people who are waiting to use the toilet. I give a faint smile. They didn't really nod back at me, they just brush past me and went straight into the bathroom. Whatever I reassure, carrying forward. I ponder the idea of knocking one by one on all doors to see if I can find Sarah. Instead, I end up back downstairs. I require some fresh air.
On the right is the dining room, and the left at the bottom of the stairs is an entryway. I stroll down the narrow passage, into a small mudroom by the kitchen possessing a small bathroom beneath the stairs and out the door onto a patio. Unlike the rest of the house, the yard has a less significant number of high school kids. Some of them playing beer pong and drink if you have never.
Bryce's brother stood with a couple of grown-up looking students. I assume they are his friends and he has his little private retreat at the top of the garden; leaving his little brother to run the show. With the crisp evening air present on my skin, I take a breath and inhale the clean air. Its bitter crudeness is a chilling incursion to my lungs. Enough to take my breath away almost; still, it's much needed.
Under the dim rivulet of terrace lights, I draw out a lawn chair and park it. I'm beginning to feel a little sick, and I assume if I do want to stay here any longer, I'll probably barf in front of all these cool kids. Besides that is not something I want to see happening. I can't quite explain it, but a part of me just wants to bounce. I could just go upstairs, knock for Sarah and tell her I'm leaving and then I can…
"Hey man , what are you doing out here? The parties inside… Unless this is where the party is heading," came a voice.
Pivoting up, Justin stood over me by his lonesome. The guy took a drag of the joint he kept in his hand, held his breath for a moment and quickly let out a relaxed sigh.
"You want a hit? "Justin offered, holding out the pot to me. Brooding up at him as if saying no, unfortunately, I am too scared to say no.
What will he think if I say no? What happens if I take one hit? Will that make me cooler, or would it make me just like him? I shouldn't take the burden off of him at all. Maybe I should just go upstairs, get Sarah and leave like I confirmed in my head. Preferably, I don't have to wait long. Justin simply smirked.
"All right… Guess you don't want any," Justin jested as he took another intake and puffed.
The teenager then strolled off toward the next group, of sophomores, and I found myself looking at the concrete beneath my feet, considering why on earth I am here. Why I shouldn't just go already? I'm going to go, yes.
Launching up before I can change my mind I start back into the house a little wobbly, through the mudroom and out into the small narrow passage by the bathroom, where a hand latches onto my wrist, pulling me into the small utility beneath the stairs. Before I can even blink an eye, Megan, who has the hots for me in school placed her hands on my ass. Not exactly sure what to do, nor precisely able to move. I find myself reflecting. Will this girl ever give up, I'm not remotely interested? I remain perfectly still, staring back at her, when she began to grind herself against my groin. I didn't ask for this, and it is all happening so suddenly. How do I make it stop? How do I tell her I don't want it? I could say to her I'm gay, but then I theoretically out myself, and I don't want that to happen.
Theoretically, am I gay…? Who knows, I guess I am if I am checking out that guy earlier on. Unable to decide what I desire, I find myself getting stimulated. I must admit whatever Megan is doing; it is pretty hot. I don't want to stop, but at the same time, I need it to stop if that makes sense. I'm not sure if I want to throw up. I reckon that would look nasty if I did it. Even if I was gay, then I can imagine I'll never live that down. A pretty girl like Megan, coming out of the downstairs bathroom with sick all over her tits, that would look appealing.
With the friction rubbing against my semi-hard erection, her hands move from the thin fabric on my ass to undoing the drawstrings. It's now or never if I want for her to stop. I have to tell her. Telling my brain to initiate some form of signal that I didn't want to go any further, I try to issue some kind of "stop."
The only thing my mouth manages to do is seal itself shut, like a clamp. After Megan undid the drawstring, she sits down on the closed toilet lid and begins to pull down my shorts, taking my underwear with it too, that is when I subconsciously grip for the waistband on either side. She glances up at me as if to say what are you doing. I'm afraid to tell her what is really going on in my mind. Only I don't have the guts to explain it to her. Right now, I kind of wish I'd spew all of my stomach contents all over her tits, but alternatively, it's a no-show.
"Not scared, are you?" Megan asks.
I take a gulp of fear, unsure of how to reply, I shake my head from side to side, indicating that I don't want to do it. She tugs at my shorts again, but still, I don't let her take them down. Instead, she stares up at me, anew with a bit of the annoyance to her expression. Seeing as she understood the memo, she stands back up and unlocks the lavatory door, huffing at me to get out, "Fine, you must be a faggot," and left me standing there.
Checking to see if the coast is clear, I'm happy to notice no other teenagers around. I shimmy back up my shorts, rearranged the drawstrings. Determined to make this end, I dart out of the toilet and start for the stairs. I sense a crush to my ego from what she called me. My hardness resorted to a floppy, and I want to get out of here and forget it ever happened. Grabbing onto the newel post, I swing around onto the first step and clap into a boy. In a bit of a tizzy, I look him directly in the eye. The finest eyes I have ever seen on another human. It's the boy I have been secretly admiring for most of the evening. At a loss for words; my heart accelerating, palms becoming clammy, and slight arousal on the horizon, I panic from the inside out.
"Hey…" The teenager said. "You look like you've been wanting to talk to me…" Feeling guilty, I cut him off and rush past him, in a panic, I scurry up the stairs. At the top, I start with the first door and work my way down.
Two rooms are empty, but in the third the room, I interrupt Sarah in mid-act with this boy she just met. I grow furious with the kid, and the two of us have an exchange of words. So, much so that the boy from downstairs heard the commotion, chased up the stairs, and helped separate the two of us from starting a fight. I tell Sarah that we were going, that I wanted her to come with me. She agrees, even though she's a little annoyed with me.
As I wait for her to get dressed, I stand outside the bedroom door where she had been getting it on with the boy. I linger with the guy I had been eyeing up all night. Under the harsh flood of the landing light, I can distinguish that the boy has blonde hair and blue eyes. His skin is immaculate, and his voice very soft. The dude doesn't say anything to me as we awkwardly wait for my friend to get finished dressing. Somehow, I assume that he wants me to say something out of the ordinary. To make the first move, but that is something I can not do, no matter how hard I try.
Another couple of seconds passed, and finally, the boy with the snapback said, "Hey look, I'm sorry if I got this all wrong, but I think you've been looking at me all night, and I've been kind of looking at you all night. I'm Luke, by the way. Would tomorrow or something be bad for us to meet up for a milkshake and a burger... that would be cool?" Luke merely said.
Like that the bedroom door swung open, and Sarah came out, injecting her annoyance to the two of us. I look at Luke and give him a downcast expression. Sarah takes my hand still nonetheless, and the two of us began to stray away from the boy. Reaching the edge of the staircase, I stop, I don't think much of it, but I turn back, breaking away from Sarah who seems dumbfounded.
I trace my way back to Luke and ask, "can I have your phone for a minute?"
The boy looks at me for a second and then fingers it out of his tight jeans pocket. From there, I navigate to the new contact window, type in my name, and phone number. With a nervous chuckle, I give the phone back to him, and for some weird reason, I feel proud to have broken down a personal barrier within my mind.
Starting away, I say absently to him, "Call me."
Like that, I make my way back to Sarah, and on the way down the stairs, my phone vibrates in my pocket. I glance up at the boy on the landing area, to find him leaning over the railing, smirking down at me. From there I leave the party, vowing I will never enter a house like that again. As the two of us walk along, I extract my phone to see what Luke sent me.
The message read: "Scratch burgers… Pizza or spaghetti at The Brick Oven tomorrow. Say, yes."
I find myself bizarrely staring down at my phone and smiling, and as I pondered for a moment, I type out, " YES ."
The End
Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed this tale. Drop me an email to let me know via my reader contact email: danny2017writing@outlook.com . You can help me by rating this story via Goodreads. Link below. The story is part of a collection called We Are Here. Doing this enables my stories to reach a larger audience and improves my rankings. Don't forget also to visit my website and sign up for my mailing list. You can also view some of my older works by clicking on my pen name via the authors tab.
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