His name was Sonny and he was Dutch, from Amsterdam, here for a few months doing work. I found out this information, the only information I really know about him, on the couple block walk from the Bedford L stop to his apartment.
I worked for 15 hours yesterday, the last portion of that working at an event doing coat check with this other cute boy, who I flirted with, sometimes the two of us finding some reason to brush against each other while going back into the coat check area. We exchanged numbers and lots of goofy smiles. This was followed by me heading to some goodbye party for friends moving back to Europe at Brass Monkey, where I consumed some drinks quickly, needing the feeling provided by those drinks after a day of working, after hours spent working at a party watching people drink for hours. This time spent at this bar was time I was supposed to be spending with this really attractive Mexican boy, Ali, I met on Sunday and who I was supposed to hang out with when I got off work at ten. I missed my chance to hang out with him and instead went to eat with Brian and some other people. At this restaurant, I flirted with the waiter, exchanging numbers with him, and was told I could wait an hour at the bar for him to get off work and then to go out with him somewhere. I declined the offer, not wanting to sit at some straight restaurant bar for an hour.
I was still quite horny though after this day of flirtations, of thoughts of boys, and wondered as I got on to the train if I had made the right decision, was thinking about going back to this restaurant to wait for this boy to get off work, his name Dom. I sat on the train, put on my headphones, and rocked out to Little Boots, which I have been doing pretty much every time I have been drunk or high for the last two months, me in love with this pop music every time I am a bit tipsy and all I want to listen to.
At Union Square, this boy sat across from me on the train, and I thought that it was Ali, the boy I was supposed to hang out with earlier, even though he had told me he was already home in Astoria. I kept looking at him, trying to figure out if this was him or not, and if it was him why he was not saying hi to me. I soon realized that it was not him, just someone dressed like him and that resembled him physically. This knowledge that it was not the person I thought it was did not stop me from looking at him. He caught me a few times and did not seem annoyed by it; rather he seemed amused by it, into it. My staring became a bit more lustful and we would hold a stare for long stretches, an intense stare eventually broken up with a smile. This happened until the Bedford stop, where we both got off. I pulled out my headphones at this point and said hello, asked him what his name was. This is when I found it was Sonny. Outside the station, he asked me where I was going. I said home and pointed in that direction. He said something along the lines of, "No, you're not. You're coming home with me," and I followed him in the opposite direction. In his apartment, we undressed and had really hot sex, me pretty much in heat after such a day, such an intense subway flirtation somehow so quickly transformed into something more, into me in this person's bedroom naked, the two of us sucking each other's dicks, his ass sitting on top of my face.
After we came, I put on my underwear and shorts, ready to head home. I woke up sometime early this morning being spooned by someone and seeing an unfamiliar apartment. I wondered where the hell I was, thought to myself that I had went home last night afterwards, but realized I must have passed out in his bed while getting ready to go back home. I realized whose bed I was in, not some regret, but someone beautiful and sexy. My brief moment of discomfort and feeling of disorientation gave way to comfort in his arms, to where I was. I slept a bit more, we cuddled, got naked again, and had sex again this morning. His cat kept trying to hop into bed with us and I kept shooing it out.
I got dressed this morning successfully and I left his house, not exchanging numbers, but saying that I hoped I ran into him again, pretty certain that I would, and that if not, then knowing that it doesn't matter. Things are going to happen or they are not, and the exchange of numbers would have only made me think otherwise, that a certain something should happen. It was really beautiful and as he opened his door for me, we kissed goodbye, the polite kind of goodbye kiss, but knowing that this may have been it, that polite kiss turned into something else. He closed his door and we made out intensely against his wall for a few minutes. I said goodbye again, stumbled home against the crowd, the morning stream of people heading toward the subway, to their jobs, me heading in some other direction. Recently I find myself wondering what direction that is.