[This is entirely a work of fiction, the product of my fevered brain, and has no basis in reality.]

It's after the show, a few hours later. After the meat-n-greet. The pickings were slim in this area of the country so we expected little and got just that. You hadn't bothered with even the pretense of showing up and had gone straight for the bus. I stayed behind to pick through the hopefuls with a few guys from the crew, but there wasn't much to go through. We decided on a few that looked like they'd be more fun than trouble if given enough liquor and gave out the hotel address, one of those trendy big name hotels with the artsy dark everything and the impossible room layouts usually considered too obnoxious for businessmen and families, but perfect for degenerates such as ourselves. You start to prefer it darker when you live under a shadow like yours, a giant black umbrella to keep the sunshine out. It didn't take long to get to the hotel and while the girls were ushered to somebody's room for warm ups, I went back to my room. The entertainment wasn't really appealing at this point. Mediocre girls aren't interesting to me until they were drunk enough to be naked and vulnerable enough to be talked into performing sexual atrocities on themselves or each other. I remember checking my makeup and my email before dropping onto the bed and flipping on the television. The silence bothers me. I have to have the tv on or music going nearly at all times. At this hour there isn't much on so I settle on the Cartoon Network. Ten, twenty minutes later and I'm dozing. Another road trick. Some nights you sleep ten hours, some you don't sleep at all, and you learn to nap when there's downtime, if only for just ten minutes at a time. Sharpens you up.

The phone rings and I jump awake, heart pounding. The phone rings a lot here but it never fails to startle me, especially if I'm asleep. I grab for it, knock over an empty bottle of water, pick up, say "yeah?" It's you. I can tell by the four seconds of silence and the sound of your inhale. "What're you doing?" You're not quite slurring, but something is pulling your voice like taffy. It's not unpleasant and usually means it's going to be a good night. Down is usually safer than up. Just trust me. I rub at my eye and my knuckles come back grey from my eyeliner. I frown. "I was sleeping." Another four seconds. Another inhale. "You should come over." I glance at the clock. It's barely 2. Primetime. "Yeah? You want me to bring anything?" No pause this time. "No. Give me five minutes." Click. So there it was. Five minutes was enough time for me to take a piss, brush my teeth, poke at the mess of my hair and make a failed attempt at repairing my eyeliner. I leave the tv on, pat my pockets for the room key, and go.

You're three floors up from me, room situated apart from the others, positioned so that you know the floorplan would chalk a pretty big footprint. Four digits of square feet, all for you. The hotel is dead quiet until I get to your door and hear the muffled thump of bass from your speakers. I can't identify the song and I tap out my knock so you know it's me. It takes you so long to get to the door that I've raised my hand to knock again when you jerk the door open and almost catch me with my fist up like an idiot, but I pull it down just in time. Your room's bigger than mine, obviously. Bigger than anyone's and twice as dark. I can make out a couple candles, some track lighting and the flickering bluewhite glow of what has to be your flatscreen way off behind you. You're still dressed from earlier, black on black, soft leather and an impossibly thin t-shirt. The real vintage and not just some cleverly treated Fruit of the Loom crap. Part of what I like about you is the realism. It all has to be real, if not the standard real then the real that's your own. You bend reality. We, bend reality. That's why I'm here. Part of it. You take a halfstep back so I can slip inside and close the door behind me, flipping both the deadbolt and the security lock. I'm not concerned for my safety. There's nothing outside the room as dangerous as what's inside it. As far as I can tell, you're saving them from us more than the other way around.

I follow you through the little kitchenette to the sitting room. Big pillowy leather couch, the kind you sit in more than on. Flatscreen the size of my car's windshield. A spill of empty, full and half empty bottles of water and glasses of who knows what on the table in front of us. Either you've been really messy all by yourself in the past two hours, or you had company before I got here, or there will be job openings in housekeeping tomorrow morning. The mess doesn't worry me and I settle onto the couch. You're watching CNN with the volume off and the subtitles on, in Spanish, so the usual line of scrolling text on the bottom of the screen becomes utter gibberish. You sit next to me, pick up the remote, set it down again. We start talking, haltingly. Mostly I let you talk. With a lot of people I half listen and half wait my turn to talk but with you I'm completely focused, if only mostly on your words, but definitely on you as a whole. You're right next to me and I can feel how warm you are through the half dollar-sized point of contact at our knees. I'm watching your mouth and eventually my gaze shifts to your eyes. You're watching me intently, talking about a movie you saw the night before, and your eyes are almost black with dilation. I wonder what you're seeing. I must be staring too hard or it tweaks your reception too because you move suddenly, plucking the menu from room service off the table to reveal a modest pile of coke, a room key or two and a twisted up baggie. You snag the baggie from the mess and hold it out to me and I think candyman.

"What is it?" I ask, knowing full well and taking the bag, opening it. Little pink pills the size of aspirin, round and marked with something that looks like either a cherry or some kind of organ. Ignoring my question, you grab for one of the half empty bottles of water and I know now that they're probably all yours. Still not sure about the housekeeping, though. "Is it good?" You nod, eyes on the television, swallowing. "I've had better but it's not bad. Kind of slow." I consider this. I can't believe the room is empty. Normally you have an entourage or at least a keeper or two. Normally you're pacing and fidgety. Normally I'm one of the last ones to the party. This is unusual and I'm wary. "I don't know if I should." You give me a look. "It's just that I've only done it twice before and one time was at a party and it was great, but the other time I was sitting at home and it was kind of, bad." "Bad.." you repeat, leading. "They used to use this in psychotherapy and it has that effect on me. I tend to, talk. I don't know what I'll end up saying to you. I get caught in mirrors. It might turn into a six hour long mindfuck for both of us and I don't want it to be uncomfortable." You're still giving me that look, rolling your visionquest eyes. I laugh nervously. "I mean it. The last time I did this I had a camera hooked to the television because I'd planned on spending a few hours fornicating with my now-ex and I ended up, uh. Talking to myself in my head kind of, out loud. For hours. And with the television distortion and the way I looked I thought I was talking to you." Evidently I don't need drugs to spill my guts. Good job, boy. Thank fuck for darkness, you can't see me turning colors. Your previous look has been replaced with a grin that makes you look younger than me and I roll my eyes and reach into the bag, pulling out a pill. "Just so you're prepared to handle me. If I get too weird send me back." You nod once and I sigh and bite the pill in half, taking your bottle of water when you offer it and washing it down, setting the other half to the side. You follow my hands, shaking your head. "What?" Another shake. "You're supposed to eat the whole thing, pussy. It's a tiny fuckin pill." I smirk. "I do everything in halves. Haven't you noticed?" You smirk. "So eat the other half, and it'll still count." I can't argue with that logic. Or that grin. I'm almost convinced that I'm doomed as I pick up the remaining half-moon, drop it onto my tongue and swallow it, looking daggers in your direction. You laugh and I know that I was right about the doom part.

For the next hour not much happens. I get fidgety as I always do when I've just taken something and I use that energy to clear away some of the mess. It seems to relax you a little as I clear away the clutter and I relax when you do. Less clutter is less projectiles and if I don't clear it now, I won't have to clear it when the pill hits and starts to annoy the shit out of me and I have to figure out how to get rid of all this horrible trash while I'm high. It's not serious cleaning and I leave it mostly in one of the trashcans. I stop at the bar and grab two cold bottles of water, two clean glasses and a bottle of absinthe to replace the empty one I just threw out. I come back and you're flipping channels. This time you end up on some sort of black and white movie about World War 2, but the subtitles are in English now. You don't look up from it and I set the glasses down, fill one about a third of the way full with absinthe and slosh a little water in before dropping back on the couch. I'm starting to feel it, as soon as I grabbed the bottle. The plastic felt very busy under my fingers and I realized how warm I'd become, my skin starting to prickle and my stomach tightening a little as the drug took hold. I took a breath, held it, closed my eyes. You're perfectly safe. Nothing bad is going to happen to you. It's just him and just you and you don't have to be afraid. Just relax and don't fight it and you'll be okay. When I open my eyes again you're looking at me curiously. "You okay?" I have to smile at that. Nothing quite like immediate backup reassurance from an outside source. "I'm fine. It's starting to kick in and I was trying to relax." "I noticed". I'm puzzled. Did I say something and not know it? Can he hear my heartbeat? You laugh. "Your eyes are dilating." Oh.

Over the next twenty minutes or so things really get rolling, so to speak. I'm starting to notice the subtle texture differences in the couch under us and the movie has an amazing array of black and white and all the greys in between. My stomach is a little knotted up from nerves and chemicals and I'm trying to ignore it. I'm also trying not to look at you. I don't know what I'll see. I don't know what'll happen. You notice this and reach for the absinthe, taking a sip and pressing the glass into my hand. "This will help your stomach." How did you know? I take the glass and sip from it, glancing at you to hand it back. And, shit. Caught. You take the glass from my fingers before I can drop it and I swallow hard, feeling fingers of heat trickle down my throat after the pill. Red light, green light. From this distance and this height you are beyond words, beyond fathoming, beyond my explanation and comprehension. You blink slowly and I do too, without thinking. If it was natural before, it's supernatural now. Now I know why we're alone for this, no one would ever believe us, and what would this look like from the outside? A bubble inside a bubble. We're both half-turned so that our knees are touching and I can see the diamond shape it makes out of the corner of my eye. It reminds me of the last time I rolled, that time with the television, how I sat cross legged with my hands in my lap, rocking back and forth for four hours because of the shape my limbs made on the television screen. Compelled. I can't look away. I can feel the connection racing through that diamond, the corners sharp. I wonder if you feel it too and the question's out before I can stop it. Oh shit, my filter..You look at me questioningly and I realize I have a lot to explain.

I went straight from red to green and there was no caution light and there would be no brakes on this ride until we coasted to a halt on the other side. I realize that I have no idea when you ate yours, where you are compared to me and then I realize it doesn't matter, that nothing matters outside of this space and that we are both ready for anything. I blink and stretch my legs out, breaking the diamond and slowly getting to my feet. The room pulses around me and I steady myself. Again that flash of discomfort, I'm not meant to be up here without you. "Stand up for a second." You do, that same unfolding that ought to come with a noise like a Transformer. You're barefoot and I'm booted. Same height, almost. I take a breath, try to compose an answer. "It's like, a magnetic field. Energy. Chakras or something. Chi?" You nod at length and I'm relieved. "You can control it, move it around, push and pull with it. You can give it to people and take it from them, and you can use it to shield and to fight and all kinds of crazy shit. It's what comes pouring out of kids when you whip them into that frenzy in the pits, when you feel like your chest is splitting open and you're afraid you might explode or overflow with that amazing feeling of power. That's what that is. You can sort of, harness it and bottle it up for later, it comes in different sorts of, like. Flavors? I guess?" You seem to be following me, you're nodding. How long have I wanted to explain this to you. How many times have I watched you be You over and over and wondered if you knew what you were doing, or why, or how. But that was the setup and I need another breath. 

"When you know how to move it and control it you can sort of, play with it. Sort of like Reiki, maybe. You can use it on people sort of like massage, you can pour that energy into them and direct it, like if they're sick you can use it to try to clear that out, or if they're cold you can try to warm them, or if they're angry you can pull some of their energy away and sometimes it has a calming effect. Oritcanbekindofsexualsometimes." The last part was a rush, glossing over. Thank fuck I had just enough filter left to preserve at least some dignity. You cock your head, ever birdlike, looking at me. "It's kind of hard to explain it unless you've felt it." You're still looking, expression unchanged. God, don't make me say this. "I could maybe show you a little. If you wanted." You fucker. I swear my face is going to catch fire and now that the words are out my heart is pounding like I'm in a marathon and as if it knows, I can feel that charge rising and pouring through me like adrenaline but different. It coats down my arms to my hands and my palms are lit up, practically sparking. I have my thumbs hooked into my pockets and my thighs are immediately warmed by the strength in my hands. "What's it like?" It's a fair question from you and I have to think how to answer it. "It's not really like electrical. It feels sort of like, bees. But not. It's got a really warm creeping sort of hum or buzz to it, under the skin. If I barely make contact with the skin it'll be just heat, if I go into the skin you'll have the buzzing. If I pushed it deeper it sort of has these pathways like the bloodstream but not really, and it'll flow along those chargelines and sort of, light you up, I guess. It's.." I'm speaking easily enough but I'm sort of frustrated. There's no really good way to put a lot of things into words. "..it's sort of relaxing and warm and heavy, but shivery and tingly at the same time. I wouldn't do anything bad or dangerous and if you decide you don't like it I'll stop." Now I feel like we're playing truth or dare in the treehouse, some kind of teenage experimentation. It's delicious. It frightens me. I've never taught you anything before and I'm scared I'll fuck it up, but at the same time I'm so curious to see what will happen, and worried that this will be either very good or very bad with no way of knowing until it's started. 

"So what do I do?" Another fair question from you. "The first time it was done to me was during a backrub and I didn't have any trouble feeling it. The back's really conductive with the spine and everything right there." You shrug and take a step toward me, and I take one toward you and we meet in the middle. So warm. I slide my arm around your waist and you move your hand to my hip, looking at me curiously. For a second I was afraid you were going to turn around to give me your back and that would've been a tragedy, as more than almost anything I want to watch your face. You smell nervous, just a flicker of it and I give you a little hug and a smile, petting down your back with my fingertips. Such a curve of muscle and bone with leather at the bottom. I nudge your shirt up and slip my hand under it, inhaling to focus before ghosting my fingertips over the small of your back. Your eyes don't change but I can tell you're analysing. Is it different? I know what it felt like my first time, the strange importance of such a simple gesture, the tingly, sometimes itchy way the skin reacted. You don't move and I start higher, smoothing down your lower back with my palm and holding my hand at the base of your spine, feeling everything gathering under my palm and gently pushing it. I'm very gentle, very careful. I've never done this while high and I don't know how strongly it'll come through, I would hate to burn or scare you. Your skin is so soft that it feels like suede and by the look in your eyes you most certainly can feel that the same way I can, but in reverse. I feel pieces of myself spreading into your back, mingling with pieces of you, warming and spreading slow as honey and just as golden. You must be feeling as if someone was spreading something on your skin, a warming lotion of some kind, but on the underside of your skin. Your eyes have changed somehow, become more liquid and I can't fucking help it, I can't stop myself, I can't resist and my hand is moving, my thumb and fingers fitting into the bumps of your spine and I push just a bit, sending a pulse along your mainline. Just a hello. Just a taste of what I could do. This has been done to me too, with drugs and without them, and it usually makes my internal furnace kick on and there's a rush of heat, a flicker of sexual arousal on a level I can't get any way but this. Your eyes definitely change then and the shape of your mouth too, your forehead creases a little and you're looking at me as if you just noticed I was there, your hand tighter on my hip. "Was that okay? You okay?" I'm worried for you but you blink, puzzled. "How do you do that?" I try to explain it. Now that you've felt mine, now that it's been pointed out to you, maybe you'll better understand your own.

I do an okay job of explaining or you're a quick learner because your hand is moving under my shirt. Burning up already from drugs. And me. I try not to think about how what I did has effected you, or maybe you always smolder like this when you roll but I never was close enough to notice it and now that we're on the same wavelength, I understand. "And you just, push?" I nod and you press into my back and we both wait. I don't know how much of my skin tingling to attribute to charge and how much is just you being you, but something is definitely going on there. It goes exactly where I thought it might go, straight down, and I have to grit my teeth to keep from shuddering, sure you'll stop. When I check your face you're reading my face the way I was monitoring yours and I nod once to answer the question you didn't ask, flattening my hand against your back and opening the channel. We both get it that time and I'm sure our faces do pretty much the same thing, the slight glaze of the eye, the crinkle of the forehead and the softening of the mouth. He's a dark, heavy sort, like the very dark expensive honey, and it moves very slowly. It creeps by inches up my spine but most of it is trickling down to my crotch and I curl my toes and redirect my own, shifting the directions and spreading out. I can tell when you notice that too, you weren't expecting that and the little twitch and the eye widening was very gratifying. This is one of my most favourite things in the world, to find myself alone and high with someone as close to me as you are and to exchange like this together or in turns. After awhile it feels like sex from the light tease of foreplay to the hard and fast stabs of pleasure like fucking and eventually a sort of energy orgasm. All internal, without removing any clothes, without ever touching anything covered by underwear. It'll make you hard but even if you're seconds from coming, energy flow screaming through high tensioned wires, if you were to touch yourself at that moment it'd feel about like how it'd feel taking yourself out to piss. Somehow hard as diamond, but often not sexually aroused. I've played with energy for hours and come easily a half dozen times without ever having a standard orgasm and if I try to get myself off physically afterward, it takes a long time and doesn't always work. Like sex on, well. Ecstasy. When you're already overloaded with sensation, one more doesn't matter much, no matter how great it feels when you're sober. I don't know how it works, or why it does that, it's just how it goes with chargeplay. Sexual without being sexual. Perfectly innocent. Perfectly devastating. Mostly indescribable and largely unheard of. Part of being me, and that part is part of you, as that part of you is now part of me.

Somewhere there's music, your iPod tirelessly providing the soundtrack that nobody is listening to. Your other hand is on my hip and you pull me against you and we stand like that, cheek to cheek. If anyone were to see us now it'd look as if we were hugging or maybe dancing. We might be moving a little but it's mostly a controlled squirm that has nothing to do with dancing and everything to do with the way you've got me hooked. I can almost make you move by raising or lowering the frequency, adjusting the direction and the length of the send, but I keep getting distracted by what you're doing. You're picking up on my tricks and using them against me and it's very, very warm in here. The drugs in both of us cooking us from the inside. We probably should have water. I turn my head to suggest this but I forgot that you can read my mind right now. If I'd waited a half second more it wouldn't have happened. When I turn my head to mention the water, you're turning yours too. I have time to form my lips to start the W in "we" and your mouth brushes mine. I pull back, embarrassed by the timing but you look at me for a long moment, long enough to paralyze me and you lean in again, purposefully this time, and you kiss me. 

This is far more than I can handle, I'm convinced of it, but at the same time I can't seem to think straight. Your hand is immobile on my back as mine is on yours and now that our mouths are together we've made a triangle, and the shape of the current changes. You feel it too and your mouth moves on mine, tentative. I have just enough of myself left to think oh my fucking god, it's happening and I'm kissing you back, keeping it light, affectionate. I feel your tongue against my lip and I make a noise that hopefully sounds like the interested growl I meant it to be, touching my tongue to yours and pulling you closer. We are definitely not dancing anymore. My attention is split between two things: the first; trying to pull more of you from your hand, making it easier for you to learn how it feels to push; and the second, trying to memorize the way you taste, faintly of anise and fennel and all the other herbs from the liquor still on your tongue. Your nails scrape up the middle of my back and your palm settles against my skin and you push again, a long, slow, deep press like massage only there's more going on under the gesture and it's enough to make me writhe for real this time, no hiding that one or what it meant. I can't tell if I'm hard, I'm too caught up in this give and take to pay that much attention to what's going on with me, but I gather and focus and slide my fingers higher on your back, finding a new place to settle and I pour myself in like pushing the plunger down, almost a little too hard, and I can feel the noise you make more than I can hear it, resonating through your chest and your tongue into mine. I shudder again and you press against my hip and now I can tell that I'm hard, mostly because you are and I'd have to be by default. I'm not sure where this is going but I desperately want to find out. You must sense that flutter of confusion because you break the kiss and the current falters, breaks, settles back into the figure 8 between our hips. I can think a little better now and I look at you. You're staring at me with an intensity I've seen before, but usually directed at a camera lens and this time it's directed at me and only me. Then I remember the water but when I start to mention it, the phone rings.