14 July 2011

Reality Bites

My first night out clubbing in New York City was quite an event. In a time when Facebook was still new, and exclusively for college students, the gay boys all wanted to band together almost immediately. One guy who was living at his aunt's place, and therefor disconnected from the dorms, invited a bunch of the boys over for some pre-gaming before heading out to one of New York's biggest 18+ gay parties.

I entered my party phase late in live, so this was among the second or third time I had ever been drunk. On top of this, my host had offered me my first hit of poppers, and although the effects only last a minute or so, the combination with the alcohol really did me in.

The cab ride to the club was very hazy. I wasn't feeling gross. Just a tad dizzy with minimal impulse control. These symptoms carried on throughout the night, so things got pretty interesting when I saw a contestant from my favorite gay reality show.

Normally I would keep my distance, do the whisper-whisper thing with a buddy or two, but tonight I was feeling especially powerful and outgoing, and I went right up to him and said "Weren't you on Boy Meets Boy?" He acted like this was not common for him, and said "Yeah, I was!" I introduced myself like it ain't no thing, and he introduced me to his lady companion. Both were warm and pleasant, and we chatted for a bit.

Eventually we parted ways and I found my old crowd. At least, I think I did. The end of the night is pretty fuzzy in my memory. But I got home somehow.

I went to the same club a week or two later, and sure enough, I ran into him again. I was with the same crowd as before, but I was quickly learning that we weren't going to last, and I was apparently quite welcome among Reality Boy and his friends, so I stuck with them instead. It was mostly just him, me, and his lady friend from before, with occasional visiting guests. I was definitely into him, and I thought he possibly thought I was cute, but I didn't want to get too psyched up about anything.

Eventually, Lady Friend was drunk enough that she knew it was time to go home. We escorted her to a cab, then quickly got our asses back to the dance floor. Good behavior must have been left at the curb, because we quickly started making out. HARD. CORE. It was hot as hell. I think we both felt a little guilty, because I was 19 and he was 32, but it clearly didn't bother us enough.

We eventually made our way out of the club and into our own cab. We had a nice cuddly convo on the ride there, and promptly got naked after our arrival. This was definitely not my best performance, but it was my first one-night stand. I hadn't a clue what I was doing. Is there some kind of etiquette involved?

Apparently I passed with a high enough score to spend the night. We woke up the next morning and fooled around some more. After he got off, he informed me that he had to meet peeps for brunch, so I had to move my ass (not his words). I cooperated, but I was insulted when he hurried me out the door without requesting my phone number. I wasn't expecting marriage or anything, but I don't think means of communication are too much to ask. Apparently he did.

This was awkward for me because I was now stranded in a neighborhood I was not familiar with, and left to find a subway on my own. Luckily I soon discovered I was near Times Square, so there were, like, 50 right there. But it was still irritating.

I ran into the guy a couple weeks later, same time, same place. He was friendly, but it was clear that he was pursuing another piece of ass that night, and my services were no longer required. His loss. I was disappointed, but I eventually got over it.

I think.

Lesson Learned: That's how the gays do it up in New York City.

- Lucas

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