It was two weeks after Coachella. We were all walking down from the East Field - me, BB, Monster and the King street kids - after a softball game. Max said it, but we were all thinking it. I know I was at least. "Dude, when are we gonna get down on some molly again?"
"Right?" I said.
"Coachella was two weeks ago guys, geez," BB laughed in retort.
"What's your point."
Mike stepped in, "Yeah, I'd like to know where you're going with this, Beebs."
"Yeah! What're you getting at?" I said.
"Haven't you guys done enough drugs yet?" she pried.
"Psh, no. Not nearly enough."
"Not yet, anyways."
"And it's not like we're doing molly every weekend," I said (except, of course, when we did for that little stretch in February).
"Oh, okay. Whatever you say." She wasn't buying it, but that wasn't important. What was important was figuring out some excuse to go wild on molly. And soonish.
"Are there any holidays coming up?" asked Max.
"Cinco de Mayo's a week or two away," chimed Monster.
And like that a little light bulb went "ding" above my head. "You mean Cinco de Molly?" I said.
Mike and Max loved it. "Epic," Mike laughed.
"You guys are ridiculous." But BB was smiling when she said it. Smiling and shaking her head.
"You love it." So it was settled, and the thought of what Cinco de Molly might entail tickled the rest of the way to the car. Over the next week, word of the festivities spread like a forest wildfire and I remember never being more excited for the fifth of May to come. It came with a warm wind of desirous pleasure that blew all sorts in through the doors of the girls' house on Bay and California. Turns out, people really like parties that imply prolific drug use, because holy fuck, it was a wild one. It was a night in the red with the pedal down to the floorboards on that racetrack towards graduation, to that finish line we never wanted to cross, but approached all the faster. Time sprints by when you're in the now. On May 5th, 2010 nothing else existed, Coachella was a great dream in the mind's eye, the one that came to with Tiesto booming on the house speakers, when the mind's was the only eye open. And the future was that misty moor we all turned our backs to when we danced. To soft touching and reckless abandon, we danced, like driving with your eyes closed. For the simple, awesome, skin-tingling pleasure, we danced. And the house, filled with dreamers, danced with us, whether we knew them or not. It was a packed stable that night and all had the same taste on their tongues. That bitter tang on the fifth of May, that Cinco de Molly. Something of an acquired taste it was that we all now fantasized about. A love amongst friends that few really have. That's where one finds the most comfort, and when the open, free love is most fun. And dirty.
"Do you have any Molly?"
"Why, yes. Yes, I do in fact."
She bit her lip on que, "Come to the bathroom with me then." She looked like sex in bleached hair and leopard print as she turned and I followed. "I don't have any money to give you for it, but I just need a little more, I think."
"Oh, no..." I was so high I didn't care. Didn't even bother to ask her name. She was just the girl that knew how to whisper in my ear. She pulled me in and I turned to lock the door shut. When I turned back she was standing ever so upright, so it looked like she was on tippy-toes, there, staring at me with both hands leaning back on the sink behind her. Sexy. Not pretty; hot. And so dirty.
And as I fiddled in my pocket for the little baggie of capsules, she came slowly towards me, never looking away. Eyeing me, it felt, like a piece of meat. Like USDA choice. Sure, there was a certain depravity to it, but under that warm blanket of molly, it was the sort of depravity that felt deliciously good.
There were only four left, and when I held one out, her hands didn't go for it, but for me, and she wrapped her mouth around my two fingers outstretched, thumb and pointer, and tongued it down her throat. Then she was kissing me without a second's pause. Beautifully seductive. Kissing for is one of those few things that can slap me in the face and engage the senses like cranking he volume knob so high the speakers blast out. And she was a good kisser, which is to say she put her whole self into it and didn't hold anything back. Still, she kissed silky smooth, in one smooth motion. A motion that pushed me back into the light switches so that the room went dark, but only for a moment for I shifted a little and another switch flicked on.
"Whoa." It wasn't the ceiling light this time, it was the ones above the mirror and the sink. They stayed for a second, but then began to strobe like there was a short in the circuit that was skipping. Madame Sexfox pulled away, startled, then laughed, smiling at me with her hands on my chest. They slid up and ran hard through my hair, pulling slightly. Such a sensational feeling it was.
"Whoa," she whispered close and kissed me. "I feel like I owe you a lap dance," she said and before I knew it, I was sitting on the toilet. She was dancing between my legs in the broken strobing bathroom light while Tiesto was thumping through the thin walls from the living room outside. I'd all but forgotten about the party out there though. She'd whipped off her shirt mid-dancing, and undid her bra right in my face slow and grinding-like. She was a grinder. A straddling grinder, and I was her Chief Crazy Horse. And I don't know how long that went on for because, frankly, time wasn't something worth noting in the moment. It was an eternity in the dark as the strobe turned dancing to still-frame robot. Sex robot with my shirt off.
[stop]
T'was then, in that wonderful dirty forever of electro fervor that she pulled me up again and into her by my hips and then into the door hard. The synapses in my mind must've been exploding, the lights still strobing and her touch still strong on my skin. Like a chain of volcanic atolls on the Pacific Rim all shooting off at once and to that magnitude. A shift, plates breaking away tectonically, and she broke away and opened the door. "Thanks for the Molly," she said with a devilish smile and she kissed me once more, sucking the breath out.
"Thank you." I said.
And like that, she disappeared into the romping crowd in the living room and I'd have followed her, but she was so fast and I, dazed by this new reality outside the bathroom, just stood there for a few seconds too long with my shirt off before I slipped back into the strobe to grab it and turn the lights off. Did I just hallucinate that? What the fuck just happened in there? It's strange to me how quickly questioning queries take a forgotten back seat in my thoughts when the present living's so damned exciting. So fulfilling in the sense that it fills the void where something's always been missing for me, for however long. And yeah, the molly was definitely crutching me into it. So was the Justice pushing its Cross against the walls and against my chest and tickling the hairs on my arms through the heavy house speakers. Wild. I had a firm hold, but this horse was a runner.
I'm no fucking Clydesdale, is what I mean. It's a mustang spirit in me. An untamed, impassioned stallion that's not in the manner of being tied down and saddled. I feel lucky sometimes that I'm always riding then, even if it's bareback. See, bareback's rough on the body. It hurts after a while, but it makes you strong, I guess. Or maybe I'll just keep telling myself that. And why not. I'm in the habit of doing everything I can until I can't anymore.
And that "can't" hadn't come yet. It wasn't even close, so I danced at a gallop and when I locked eyes with another girl I gave her a growl and a clawed hand like a kitten paw. She kitten pawed back and we made some fun for ourselves in the garage while no one was looking. It was a short-lived love, a puppy-dog kitten sort of thing and for some reason it was so easy. It was an attraction in her eyes when I looked at her close. So I put it in my eyes as well even if it wasn't inside me. She was pretty too, and sex-bodied and wore just under her skin that soft-spoken nervousness that I find so precious. But someone else was on my mind, and I've always hated that trite, conflicting set of circumstances. Especially since she was there with her new boyfriend. She was in the backyard, I'd seen her. And she'd seen me and smiled and parted her lips as if she'd had something special to say, but she'd lost it. "Hey, meow."
"Oh hey, meow," I'd smiled back, not looking at her, but over her shoulder or down at my shoes, for I feared those steel blue eyes then, more than the short, stocky bro-dude beside her. They'd have taken me if I looked. I'd known it. Just a sideways glance would've been enough. And now I felt bad for those yearning brown eyes before me. They were big brown doe eyes above light freckles, and I didn't want to hurt them in that garage, but I had to go.
