12 December 2011

My White Knight

Everyone dreams of a knight in shining armor (figuratively) to come and rescue them from the horribleness of life itself - even the straight boys, wink wink. This time I found him. Not MY white knight. THE white knight . . . from Medieval Times.

Tangentially related, I recently have had the worst luck with poop: Mine. Yours. His. Theirs. Whatever the case, it ruins the party, much like having Debbie Downer at a Christening: “I wouldn’t have the priest douse my kid with water like that; it’s almost like water boarding.” (whomp whomp) When I began my Saturday evening to visit a long time friend who said he would be working the door to one of the gay parties in the city, I was excited not only because I hadn’t seen him in the longest time, but because he was going to be checking the guest list in full drag! At venue, I saw a whole slew of people I had lost touch with over the years, but who he kept in close contact with because of a shared interest in transvestitism.

As much fun as I was having, a text message came in from Brent, a guy I had been hanging out with off and on for the past year and a half. We initially hung out one early morning when I was on a Craigslist posting-spree and he was the laid-back responder. He was very normal and pretty adamant about just messing around with no labels – especially since he had a girlfriend. He brought over some beers and we kicked back, made out, played some rub and tug, and some in-out in-out, but we also TALKED. We had so much in common. I was enamored by his sincerity so, of course, I fell for him; which is why I entertained his obvious booty call despite my good intentions of attending my friend’s first party-promoting gig. Neglect the fact that over the past year and a half, I only hung out with him four times.

In order to claim my prize, I had to drive 40 minutes into Jersey to pick him up, which wasn’t a big deal except for the fact I was crazy drunk out of my mind. Although, the ride back to my place was awesome: he asked me to pull over so we could make out; he asked me to un-zip so he could give me road-head; and he asked me to swap seats so he could get some head also. Hanging with him was so easy, we talked about anything and everything in the little time we had together. One thing that hadn’t changed was Brent always talked about the jobs he held – ex-Marine, manager at restaurants, server, and bartender. He also talked about his stints as a singer, actor and dancer. Yes: he was a triple threat. Most recently, he laughed about how he finally got to combine all three careers into one: he was a knight at Medieval Times. Classic! Sigh: the creative always fascinated me. Then we got down to it - hard. Noteworthy is lately, whilst sucking and fucking around with guys, I’ve had the urge to shove a finger or two in their butt – partly for the reaction, but mostly to remind them that what they were doing was gay – no matter how straight they claimed they were. Ultimately, all exploded in happy orgasms and passed out. In the morning, we were woken up by the alarm I forgot I set the night before so he would make it to work on time – I guess the princess needed to go over her lines or something.

As I was about to rub my eyes of morning crusties, I stopped in horror: my middle-finger was an ashy grey-brown color. Panicked I looked around at my comfy down comforter with beautiful, naked Brent laying on top sound asleep. All this messing around and all I had to show for it was a hangover and shit-stained sheets.

Point of the conversation: The thrill of the chase may end up shitty in the end - er, rear.

-  DeeCue

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