16 April 2011

Prom King

I recently went to a birthday party with Rod, a straight guy friend of mine. It was one of those birthday parties in a shit-tastic hole-in-the-wall bar in Alphabet City where the people in the entire place are all there for one party. It's an interesting thing to play a straight man's wing-man. The idea behind it is you, as a gay male, present a safety net for these guys' prey. If a straight guy is cool enough to hang out with a gay guy, he must be sweet, open-minded, and fun. Perfect. During this particular outing, Rod spotted Sara - a girl he'd once met at a party, had a slight flirtation with and hadn't seen her since. He was dying to go over and talk to her however was so scared that he would be rejected by this phantom girl that he started spinning over how he was going to approach her.

Because I'm a brilliant wing-man, without batting an eye- lash, I told him I needed to pee, grabbed his arm, and headed toward the bathroom (which also happened to be in the general direction of Sara). On the way, I asked him to quickly fill me in on random tid-bits he had learned about her.

Him: Um...She's from Boston?
Me: Okay. What else?
Him: She has a sister?
Me: Mm...Okay. What else?
Him: She went to Ithaca?
Me: What's her last name.
Him: Jones


Me: Sara?
Sara: Yeah...
Me: Wait, are you Sara Jones?
Sara: Yeah...
Me: From Ithaca?
Sara: Yeah...
Me: Oh, I know this is weird but you're friends with my friend Jess.
Sara: Jess Johnson?
Me: (???) yeah!
Sara: Oh my god!! No way!
Me: Yeah, oh sorry, do you know Rod?
Sara:Wait...yeah, actually, I do. How are you?


It's always strange to me when people can't go up to another person and just say "Hi". I know it's out of fear of rejection but reall:, what's the most they can say, 'No"? That's it. Especially when I look at someone like Rod, who's good looking, funny, smart, calm, and tall. All the qualities I dream of in a man. However, when confronted with the idea of rejection, he just crumbles.

I've never had that problem. I'm very much aware of where and how my qualities lack and will not be surprised by any ounce of rejection I may endure. Before you start accusing me of being all Charlie Brown - I not only know where I lack, I embrace where I lack. I bought a house where I lack and I will live, raise a family, and die there. I own it, and if you don't want to come back to my house for a night cap, you can fuck off.

This came to full fruition one night when I went to a bar with my roommate, Joan (MY best wing-man, or wing-woman rather). It was meant to be a low-key night where we just went to the bar and had a few drinks. One of those "sit at the bar" kind of nights. So, about 2 or 3 vodka and tonics in, I noticed this super hot guy come up to us and sort of lean in. It wasn't a shyness that overcame me; it was more like awe. This beautiful Prom King looking boy was standing next to me and I didn't really know how to approach such beauty. Thankfully, I didn't have to because he talked first.

Prom King: Hey there...
Me: Hey

Or something like that. We ended up talking to the three of us for about 2 hours. He was from the west coast, an assistant to a flim director who then was just making a mark, and super charming. In the middle of our conversation, I had to excuse myself to the bathroom. When I came back, Joan was putting on her coat. However, it wasn't in a huffy way. She said she was going to meet up with some of our other friends. As she gave me a hug good bye she whispered in my ear, "He asked if I would be offended if he asked to take you home. If you fuck this up, I will be so pissed at you..." and left.

So, the Prom King and I stayed at the bar for a few more drinks and kept talking. By a few I mean like 6. And by drinks, I mean the dark cheap stuff. So by about an hour and a half later, we were so pissed we could barely get our coats on to talk walk home. Thankfully, he didn't live far. Oh, did I forget the part where he invited me over? Oh, he never actually DID invite me over? Right...we were that drunk/hook-up combo where you don't even talk about your plans, you just wander aimlessly until you find a bed.

In this case, we found his bed. In his completely dark sublet apartment. As I crashed and fell my way over a bike in the foyer, I realized for the first time that this beautiful man could potentially be leading me to my liquor induced death. We went into his room, he hushing me the whole way as not to wake up his roommate. Side note: I've never understood why people hush you when you bump into things. Right? I suppose if I picked up said random prop bike from hell and decided to raise it over my shoulder and throw it through his TV set, it'd be cause for complaint. But I doubt very seriously that I meant to smash my face on his seat and almost lose a tooth on the un-greased rust of his bike chain...

Anyway! So, we get down to our knickers and we start fooling around on his bed. I'm this way, he's that way, and he ends up on top, humping me with our chests touching. (For some reason, I end up being dry humped by everyone I've ever drunkenly hooked up with...) He started going faster and faster and then just stops. Mid-air, makes the sound of the pissed off T-Rex at the end of Jurassic Park and passes out, full weight on my chest. It took me a minute to get him off, but as I rolled him over, his breathing starting getting super heavy and raspy. I was convinced he was going to die. But with a lack of anything else to do, I just rubbed his back and patted his hair with his face over the side of the bed until he start breathing normally.

I waited until the sun came up before deciding it was probably safe to get out of bed and try to find my clothes to get the fuck out of there. As I put on my pants, my lighter and all of my change blew all over the floor (the sound I correlate with my father to this day) and he woke up.

Prom King: You don't have to leave, stay.
Me: oh, no, I really should go...
Prom King: *Silence*

That was enough for me. He was too drunk to fuck, let alone give a shit so I couldn't hold it against him. And I didn't want him to think I did, so I took out my phone to text him and realized I didn't have his number. So, I instead starting looking for a pen and paper to write a note. I searched all over his fucking room until I saw the unmistakable yellow of a Wendy's napkin and thought "Aha! Now I just need a pen...". During my search for a pen, I stubbed my toe on his bookshelf to which he grunted, "Sh...my roommate".

And then I thought, you know what? Fuck this mess. I'm gonna leave a fucking note? Get the hell out of here, I'm mad tired. So I did. No, note, no number exchange. Nothing. And I oddly didn't feel bad. I didn't have the morning after, grimey, slut tramp feeling as I walked past the Saturday morning trash pick-up. That was the moment I had full confidence. I may not be the Ken doll that this guy was but I can at least hold my liquor and my erection and I don't need a respirator to get me there. We each have our own things we bring to the table, the bar stool, or the bed room. I know what I have, and I also know what I don't. You get past what I don't and I show you what I do. If you don't wanna come back for a night-cap, that's fine. Like I said, you can fuck off.

Point of Conversation: Even the Prom King gets Whiskey Dick.

- Lean

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