"It's only water," some man yelled at me as I was dashing, sprinting through the rain, stopping into La Bonita, the place I had been fantasizing about even before I started drinking beer. Once I started drinking beer, it was all I could think about, how on the way home I would get a ham and cheese sandwich - all right, a blatant lie and such an absurd one as anyone who hung out with me tonight can attest to - me claiming that this was all I could think about. It most definitely was not since I was boy crazy tonight at the Metropolitan and really ham and cheeses came a far distant second to boys in what my mind was thinking about this evening. I saw Ryan, the boy I slept with on Halloween, actually the last boy I slept with outside of sex work. And he was looking cuter than I had remembered and I talked to him briefly and didn't desire him when I was talking to him, but afterward, man, I kept replaying that sexual encounter which I can recall startlingly well considering how I had been drinking all night long that evening.
And I didn't sleep with him this evening, did not even attempt it because I didn't want to know that I couldn't have, that maybe he never desired me, that he was just drunk and horny - I can keep the fantasy if I don't hit on him and get rejected - and so I didn't hit on him, instead talked to Ben about how much I love boys and listened to Diana Ross's "Love Hangover," wishing they would have played some Supremes, but happy still to even hear this song. I am on such a Supremes kick right now, it is embarrassing.
And I ran through the rain afterward, mildly drunk, and feeling like I was going to throw up if I didn't stop running, but too in love with the feeling of my body in motion and the rain, the cold rain making contact with my warm body, and I told someone earlier in the night that the only reason people go out to bars is because they are looking for love. He wasn't comfortable with that word. No one is. And so I rephrased it as human contact, which he accepted. And I didn't end up with any of that close human touch, but I felt a decent substitute, or the best I could get, when I was dashing, sprinting through that rain, feeling physically exhausted and having this rain, its coldness make contact all over me, wet jeans sticking to thighs and sweat and water, and it felt so good. This man told me it was just water and then asked me for money, and I laughed because I do that during sex sometimes, so exhausted and got the food I had been desiring all night, ran home and ate it, and again, felt like I was going to throw up, the sandwich not as good as I had been imagining, too heavy on the cheese and on the mayo.