Monday, June 27, 2011

Gay Daze

Jacob and I walked home with a guy to his place in Chelsea last night. We had met him at the Gansevoort Hotel, the roof of which we had been hanging out on waiting for the fireworks show to commence over the Hudson River. During the fireworks show, hands grazed bodies and they were welcomed, and so grazing turned into something else, something more intentionally deliberate. Hands were stuck down pants. Kissing commenced. Diana Ross's "I'm Coming Out" was being played in the background. Of course it was.

He invited us back to his place and we walked the few blocks there, quickly undressed once in his bedroom. The sex was amazing and dirty. There is sex and then then there is the hungry kind. This was the latter. This man had appetites and his energy for sex brought out ours. He talked dirty and gave me a cocky smile as he fucked Jacob, locking eyes with me, wanting me to see him getting my boyfriend off, proud of his body and what he could do with it. He then fucked me for a brief bit, brief because I am sometimes a terrible bottom and it hurt and I was not entirely sure that if he continued pounding me that I would not shit all over his sheets. And so I fucked Jacob and the two of us took turns sucking this man's dick and making out with him. There was a tremendous energy to the situation that doesn't always occur in these settings and it was probably the most hot sex I have had in a very long time.

This threesome served in contrast to the one we had had the night before, or tried to have. We brought a cute boy home with us from Boiler Room. It was nice and friendly and we had smoked some weed before hopping into bed together, which the next morning we realized was a mistake, because soon after this guy got ill and ran to the bathroom. The sound of him retching for the next hour or so from across the apartment punctuated the sex Jacob and I continued to have. Our air-conditioning unit provided a white noise that my stoned brain focused on, drowning out the noises of vomit that would occasionally interrupt.

In between these two encounters was a beautiful day spent drinking at brunch in the West Village and then drinking on the sidelines of the parade on Christopher Street, watching a stream of sexy shirtless bodies march past me. I went to a few bars afterwards, hopscotching my way from one to the next, taking in the amazing scene of thousands and thousands of homosexuals sharing the streets with each other. There was a press and crush of bodies of all sizes, colors, ages, and genders. There were lots of garish pieces of clothing involving rainbows and it was okay in this setting, even beautiful. Everyone wished each other a happy pride and we whistled at boys and girls we liked, telling them to work it girl, the queeniness factor unchecked for a day, all of us sisters together.

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