slow but i get there in the end

[davidshaw]

Invent a memory of me and post it in the comments. It can be anything you want, so long as it's something that's never happened. Then, of course, post this to your journal and see what people would like to remember of you, only the universe failed to cooperate in making it happen so they had to make it up instead.

Comments

[jon_r_meyers]

I think you'd hit me if I told you.

[davidshaw]

Go for it. I'm pretty mellow.

[jon_r_meyers]

*coughs*

There was this one night. You were pretty drunk, and so was I. But not too drunk to do certain things. Anyway, just taking a chance, I leaned in to kiss you and you kissed back. More drunken kisses and groping followed until we had quick mutual blow jobs and fell asleep.

Needless to say that you were pretty disgusted as soon as you were sober again and fled the bed and the room. But you've also been rather good. For a straight guy.

[mute_clay]

We finally got around to it. Last Summer. Having talked about that camp out for ages. The beach was free of other people - and we didn't bring anyone either.

We had food and beer. A bonfire. I'd brought blankets and you claimed that we'd get washed away by the tide if we slept down there. Or 'accosted by those _freaks_ you hang out with. Freaks, I tell you Clay'. But you still relented. 'It'll be on your head though, if we drown in our sleep.'

I taught you a coin trick. You were quite good at it. I told you we ought to look into shared body heat to survive the night. When you stared at me I broke down, laughing. I almost hurt something. You told me I had the worst sense of humor and that you didn't know why you'd agreed to come along. But you did laugh. A little. When the fire was finally dying out I looked at you. You were asleep - and it looked like you smiled. It was a nice evening.

[davidshaw]

Man, let's just go this weekend.

[mute_clay]

I'm free.

Of course, it's a bit cold this time of year...

[davidshaw]

In my living room, then?

[alan_shore]

You put off moving out until your wedding day. And then woke me up at an ungodly hour, expecting me to help you pack. So I spent the morning of your wedding day--morning, as though 5 AM is any part of the day--carefully sorting and boxing your possessions, whereas you quickly discovered five o'clock Saved by the Bell reruns and spent the time deigning to share your wisdom regarding packing around mouthfuls of chocolate Lucky Charms.

By the time I had to make my speech at the wedding, I'd almost forgiven you.