Sunday, July 22, 2012

"it's try and love me if you can"

I was at Diego's house. He was drinking vodka and sodas. I was drinking Four Lokos. We were seated at his dining room table. Pandora was playing in the background, some good songs, some not so good ones. We smoked the occasional cigarette. We talked.

Life is a confusing thing. I am going through a breakup with a 22 year old. Diego is falling headlong in love with one. We talked about aging and boys and youth, ours and theirs. We talked about our jobs, how we don't particularly like them, fears about what we may becoming. We talked and we drank, as we got drunker the conversation becoming more honest, less withholding, more in sync with how we actually feel. Communication became easier and we marveled at life's mysteries. Highs and lows, I said at one point, accepting that that's what it all is and you just have to accept that.

We watched various music videos online before we started talking about how amazing Sheryl Crow is, was. This was prompted by Diego singing off key but really emotionality to "Strong Enough." We then played that song online and then played song after song by her. We started doing poppers and singing along to these songs, getting more and more emotional, more and more unmoored from the usual feelings. Who knew that poppers made Sheryl Crow even more amazing? Thrilled by this combination, we sniffed the bottle of poppers again and again and again through this series of songs. In a fog of something, we decided that we needed to leave the house and go to the Spectrum.

We went there and from that point in the night, there are just flashes of vivid memories that come forward. The moments between these memories are a haze. I may or may not have bought a drink once I got there. I danced a lot, became lost in a groove immediately. I don't know what happened to Diego once we got there. I lost myself on the dance floor. A couple of boys came up to me, some of them very cute, maybe I knew them, maybe I didn't. I couldn't hold much of a conversation, didn't want to. There was this guy dancing with his pants down. I started sucking his dick on the dance floor, was really happy to do so because I have thought this person was sexy for years even if I find him to be a bit of an asshole. One of my first interactions with him was eight or so years ago at the Cock, back when it used to be on Avenue A and 12th Street. He was dancing around the place like an insane person. I was absolutely enthralled. I think I probably told him this, probably other complimentary things. He told me that he would sleep with me, but only if I found his cellphone, which he had lost somewhere in the bar. That's when that crush immediately came to an end.

But last night, my head was swimming with fruit-flavored malt liquor and the vapors of amyl nitrates. I was also insanely horny. I had such joy in finally sucking this dick that I had wanted so many years ago. He told me he had to go pee. I told him to do so in my mouth. He did not. He left for the bathroom. I danced more. I have no memory whatsoever of what the music was like last night, despite having danced and danced to it all night long. Later in the night, he was nearby on the dance floor and I went up to him and licked his armpit and started sucking his dick again. There was some other person that joined in. I may have been making out with him before this second round of dick sucking on the dance floor started. I don't know. The two of us both sucked this person's dick. This other person then started sucking mine. I don't really have  a sense of how inappropriate this behavior may or may not have been at this venue.

This little daisy chain disbanded and I danced for a little longer, danced until I felt the urge to go, danced until the point where being in my bed seemed like a better idea than being in this venue. A little after four, I stumbled the few blocks to my house. I microwaved some chicken and poured tomato sauce on it and melted some cheese on top of it. Some disgusting I'm-drunk-and-I'm-hungry-so-let's-see-what's-in-the-fridge creation. I ate this and then masturbated in my bed to these memories of his dick in my mouth, of people around me, of not caring, of how all I cared about in the world at that moment was this person's dick. That was all I held on to from the night, the stuff I could use for masturbation fodder. Everything else has already faded away.

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