22 February 2014

Some Good Air

It was time to get the fuck out.

One of the best parts of my chosen career path is it affords me time away to get the fuck out of Dodge for extended periods of time. After some deliberation, the holiday destination chosen was Buenos Aires. Aside from my affinity to good ol' Madge and her semi-splendid rendition of "Evita" and the quest for a tasty empanada, I really had no outstanding reason to go. Except for one. This wouldn't be a true STWTG post unless a guy were involved, so of course: a guy is involved.

Initially a Grindr interest whose time expired, Mike and I have known each other, on a technicality, for the past year - touching base randomly but not ever quite being able to meet - and physically for the past four months or so. More on that later.

Mike, a mid-western 28 year old white boy, is a pretty smart guy. And when he reads this, he will throw it in my face any time he deems it necessary - and maybe screen-shot the post and throw that in my face, too. (Eeooww!) In any case, we both agreed on Buenos Aires for two reasons: one, neither of us had been to South America and two, it's winter down there at the time of this posting. (NYC in July? Girl, I can't.) Additionally, he knows four languages. English, Korean, Spanish and American Sign Language. Six languages if you count Sassy Bitch and Hashtag. The point is his promising-omniglot status would come in handy. And it did.

My Spanish sucks long, uncut Castilian chorizo. The con queso sin cebolla kind. For much of the trip, I kept my comments to a "sí" or a "no" with a smattering of "gracías" here and there with a sprinkling of "muchas." I felt like a US official with a personal translator - whose cock I jerked, sucked, and rode on their South American tour. They do that, right?

When we got to Buenos Aires, I felt lost. Nothing familiar: language, feeding times, public bathrooms. Nothing. My reliance was on Mike and I suppose I liked that. On day three of our 10 day Rainbow Tour, we went to a bar/club/strip show with a sassy, fast-talking drag queen. Of course, she picked out the two of us to come up on stage and grind with the hot as fuck BA boys. I may or may not have had an unwanted cock in my face with only sheer Lycra separating us.

By this point, I had thrown back enough (....) to give me strength to twerk up a storm with the locals. Mistake. Thinking that I attracted two leather clad boys with my salsa skills, one caressed and dirty danced with me while the other felt me up and pick pocketed the shit out of me. Alas, he had stolen my iPhone and before I knew it, they were long gone.

Enter Mike.

There were things about him that trip I could not stand about him. And I am sure he can say the same about me. But the one thing that made me forget it every single time was the gentleness and understanding he had the next morning when the liquor wore off and the bass beat stopped. We laid there in bed the next morning and he held me. Well, after I jerked him off.

Better times.

Point of the conversation: there is good in everyone.

- DeeCue

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