I can't tear my eyes away from his lips, and to my surprise, Elijah seems just as captivated by mine. He moves forward, his lips softly grazing mine, and I push into him, deepening the kiss. I feel the bulge in my pants growing, but I quickly pull away, startled by the intensity of my own desires.
"I'm not gay!" I tell Elijah defensively.
"Hey man, me either," he says, looking flushed and awkward. "I like girls. A lot." But his conviction lacks sincerity.
We both look at the joint for a moment, and suddenly, a thought hits me like lightning. "What if the weed is turning us gay?" I ask in shock, still extremely high.
"Nah, my uncle smokes all the time, and he's married with kids," Elijah replies.
"Unless... His wife and kids are just a cover," I say slowly, wishing we never smoked this weed. I don't want to be gay.
Elijah's eyes widen with shock. "He does go salsa dancing every Friday night."
"Straight men don't do that," I say confidentially. "We need to stop smoking before it's too late."
We throw the joint on the ground and begin stomping on it. Elijah spits on it. "I refuse to let you make me gay!"
"I'm with you!" I exclaim, stomping on the joint with him.
Elijah breaks the silence, questioning, "We keep this between us, right?"
"Absolutely," I affirm, catching a glimpse of the church ahead. But all I can focus on is the electrifying sensation of his lips on mine. Even that time behind the bleachers with Amber Everly last year didn't compare. My body never reacted to her the way it just did with Elijah.
Shit. I'm not one to curse, but shit, this moment calls for it. I tried pot once and now I am gay. What will my parents think? What will Pastor Edward think?
In silence, I accompany Elijah on his way back home, mindful of his unfamiliarity with the town. Fatigued and bewildered, I embark on the long journey to my family farm and retreat directly to my bed.
The subsequent week at school swiftly passes, and despite sharing multiple classes, Elijah and I refrain from exchanging a single word. It simply feels too uncomfortable and preferable to evade the entire situation.
Throughout the week, I find myself engulfed in a state of anxiety. I dedicate considerable time to my personal hygiene and appearance in the mornings, questioning whether these actions define my sexual orientation. After all, I do possess an affinity for dancing and painting. At the very least, I can take solace in the fact that I do not indulge in listening to Justin Bieber or Madonna. Well... not yet, at least. The effects of the marijuana should have worn off so why do I still feel... Gay?
On a sunny afternoon, I find myself leaning against the fence in my front yard, engrossed in watching the cows peacefully graze. Suddenly, a familiar voice startles me from behind.
"Hey."
Turning around, I am taken aback to see Elijah standing there, right at my doorstep.
"Hey... What brings you here?" I inquire, curiosity tinged with surprise.
"Sean gave me your address. I was hoping we could have a talk," he explains.
"Sure," I agree, gesturing for him to join me by the fence. Together, we silently observe the cows as they munch on the grass, absorbing the tranquility of the moment.
"I think I'm still gay," Elijah unexpectedly confesses, catching me off guard. "All week, you're the only thing on my mind. I've never felt this way about anyone before."
A flush of embarrassment spreads across my face as I respond, barely above a whisper, "I feel the same about you. But have you ever wondered why they call it the devil's lettuce? Does it really make us gay and condemn us to hell?"
Elijah ponders my question for a moment before shaking his head. "That's impossible. My friend in the city has a gay brother who is still religious. I don't believe God would condemn him to hell."
As I contemplate his words, I realize Pastor Edward has never broached the topic of homosexuality during his sermons. It would have been enlightening if he had. "So, what do we do now?"
In response, Elijah gently takes hold of my hands and leads me into the nearby woods. "I care about you deeply," he confesses, his warm breath brushing against my face, carrying a hint of spearmint.
"I feel the same way. But isn't this considered wrong?" I inquire, as our fingers intertwine.
"Perhaps it is. Perhaps I regret the influence of marijuana and the way it made me gay. Or maybe I don't," he asserts, his confidence unwavering, before his lips meet mine in a tender kiss.
In that moment, I reciprocate, pulling him closer to me. It is a desire that has consumed my thoughts all week, and as we part, I am left breathless. This experience surpasses any previous encounters, like the taste of Amber, who had an unpleasant hint of string cheese and an overly aggressive tongue.
The following week swiftly unfolds, seemingly in the blink of an eye. To the outside world, Elijah and I have become inseparable best friends, engaging in various activities together. However, behind closed doors, our bond deepens, marked by stolen kisses and intertwined hands. Since our sexual orientations were not a matter of choice but a victim of marijuana, we mutually decide to proceed cautiously and keep our relationship a secret.
On a Saturday evening, we make plans to remain at the church after the family night event, aiding Pastor Edward in tidying up before heading to Elijah's house for our sleepover together. Our first sleepover.
After assisting Pastor Edward by taking out the trash, we find ourselves stealing a few tender kisses amidst the enchanting backdrop of the night sky, our lips now familiar and smooth against one another's. We engage in a slow, passionate exploration of each other's mouths, savoring the connection we share.
Suddenly, a booming voice shatters the peacefulness, causing us to abruptly part. Our eyes widen in surprise as we behold Pastor Edward, his expression a mixture of shock and disbelief, witnessing our affectionate display.