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Simon at the Party.
Apr. 18th, 2016 05:15 pm"Hey sweetheart, want a little fun?"
Simon made the offer as soon as the girl sat down next to him on the couch, holding out a hand on which two little triangular pills sat. A roll of them was in his other hand, wrapped in brown paper and obviously half-gone, as if he'd been going through them himself - and he had been, but not tonight, and not alone. Fun was a guarantee when a sudden burst of dopamine made everything feel good, and it kicked the libido into overdrive almost right away, for half an hour or so.
Simon was a fixture at college parties, even though he was as obviously a little too old as other partygoers were obviously a little too young, but his punk younger brother was a dealer, and a dealer's friends were usually welcome in frat houses like this one. For most of the evening he'd been sitting here, opposite the drinks table and close enough to shout suggestions to the DJ in the corner of the room, offering low, dry critiques of the people on the dance floor, taking sips from a silver hip flask, and grinning his friendly fox grin at anybody who passed by - and, sometimes, offering them something, like now.
Simon made the offer as soon as the girl sat down next to him on the couch, holding out a hand on which two little triangular pills sat. A roll of them was in his other hand, wrapped in brown paper and obviously half-gone, as if he'd been going through them himself - and he had been, but not tonight, and not alone. Fun was a guarantee when a sudden burst of dopamine made everything feel good, and it kicked the libido into overdrive almost right away, for half an hour or so.
Simon was a fixture at college parties, even though he was as obviously a little too old as other partygoers were obviously a little too young, but his punk younger brother was a dealer, and a dealer's friends were usually welcome in frat houses like this one. For most of the evening he'd been sitting here, opposite the drinks table and close enough to shout suggestions to the DJ in the corner of the room, offering low, dry critiques of the people on the dance floor, taking sips from a silver hip flask, and grinning his friendly fox grin at anybody who passed by - and, sometimes, offering them something, like now.
