I sighed, pulled the covers back over my head, and went back to sleep.
And although from time to time, Michael would bring it up, laughing about how f*****g drunk we’d been that night, I thought that was the last of it.
But occasionally, when we’d had too much to drink—was Michael deliberately trying to get me drunk?—or when he’d taken one toke too many of m*******a, he’d suck or jerk me off, and I was more than happy to do the same for him in return. He was my friend, after all, and that was what friends did for each other. It was never anything more than that, although I was curious and would have been willing.
I tried to kiss Michael once, at the end of our junior year. He didn’t do anything so cold as to back away, but it was cold enough—he’d turned his head; I was the one who stepp
