allow your imagination to wander… suspend your reality and your craving for explanations and reasons… for love knows no bounds, and fiction can take you anywhere you let it bring you. so let go of yourself, make-believe and know there is only love and that is all.
Terry opened his eyes. “Quit bogarting the weed, Dan.” He blinked and realized he was holding a lit joint. He handed it to the man beside him and looked up at the dark sky. Drizzle was falling and the unmistakable landmark of the Space Needle in Seattle was looming over him from behind a building. Though it was cool and damp, he could tell it was not winter. No biting cold wind, but certainly a chill in the night air. But in Rain City, that could even be August. He was handed back the joint and stared at the young man beside him. Absolutely stunning, long hair, dark brown eyes and a jaw line like Jim Morrison. He peeked down at his own clothing for a clue of where he was in time. Skin-tight jeans, Frye boots, a light denim jacket and a tight T-shirt with a Pink Floyd Dark Side of the Moon logo on it. “Aren’t you going to take a hit?” Terry shook his head. “I’m stoned enough.” He gave it back to this gorgeous stud. “I don’t even know what year it is…uh, dude?” He said the last word hoping it fit the current slang. The young man took one more hit and laughed, squeezing the joint out in his fingers and leaning on the building beside Terry, against his shoulder, staring at the illuminated Space Needle. “No. Seriously.” Terry nudged his companion. “Uh, nineteen-seventy-five?” “You’re funny as hell.” This stud gave him a sexy smile. “Christ, I hope we’re lovers.” Terry’s cock grew thick in his pants. The young man cracked up with laughter and seemed to find the comment hilarious. “Are we?” Terry asked, touching his friend’s thigh. “Man, you are high.” He shook his head and kept laughing. Terry ran his hand over his own head, feeling thick, long hair. He looked at the color in the dim light; brown. He wished he had a mirror but judging by how he looked in his clothing he assumed he was in his twenties. And so was his friend. Terry was so turned on by the man, he took a chance. Cupping this hunk’s face he brought his jaw towards his and kissed him lightly. A low moan came from the handsome man and he slowly pushed Terry to lay back on the tarmac and moved on top of him, grinding their crotches together. “Oh yes,” Terry said against his lips. The sound of a shoe scuffing the ground made them both look up. “You two can’t wait?” Terry’s partner sat up, leaning against the wall again. “Ya got a joint, Paul?” the newcomer asked. Paul. Terry registered his partner’s name. Paul handed the young man the rest of the joint and stood, reaching to hoist Terry up with him. “Where’s the party, John?” “Just on the other side of the Science Center. I can’t remember the address, that’s why I had you meet me here.” He lit up the joint and puffed it. Terry was so attracted to Paul he reached for his hand to hold as they went. Paul smiled at him and held it tight as they walked with John. The drizzle was light and not drenching, and judging by the cars that drove passed at the base of Queen Anne hill, Terry indeed thought he had come close with the year. A blue Pinto was parked in front of a red GMC Pacer. He shook his head at the sight of the classic seventies icons. John reached to pass the joint be neither he nor Paul took it. “Whose house are we going to?” Terry asked Paul, releasing his hand and holding him around the waist, stuffing his fingers into the back pocket of his skin-tight jeans. “Dunno. John? Who’s this chick again?” “Got me. Just an open invite to come hang.” John inhaled the smoke and blew it out, crushing the joint as they crossed a main street. “Gotta watch for the pigs.” He scanned around. “Why is pot illegal?” Paul shook his head. “I will never get that.” “Screw it,” John said, “the fucking government is run by commie douchbags.” Terry smiled and felt like saying ‘wait five decades, it will be.’
