History of the Party

The History of the Party

A.Cheshire Catt

April 14 and 16th, at work.

This is how I live, Luke was simply someone I've met. This isn't a true story. I wouldn't really like to sleep with him either, he's just a metaphor for something.

Thursday night I went out to Soda. There was a DJ there from South Africa, she was phenomenal. Everyone was having a great night, it was so cool to hang out on the curb out front as the weather's getting more permitting, smoking and gossiping, everyone was having a great time, we were keeping Erica's birthday party a secret from her but at the same time everyone was excited about that party too because it was going to be a lot of fun, on Sunday afternoon.

After the bar I went down to the bath house, it's only a few blocks away. I was still pretty high, I'd taken my last ecstasy around 1.30am, as the party was getting really going, but around three, when the place let out, I was going a million miles an hour and though most people worked Friday, I didn't this week, and I couldn't imagine going home to just sit there and wait for the morning.

At the bath house I was fucked by four men. It happened up on the third floor where the porn-viewing room is, surrounded by black-painted walls, perched on the side of a black leather couch. I don't really get very hard when I'm high on E, but since I could tell these guys that were milling around me weren't about to be satisfied with blowjobs all around. So I seduced them with growls and grace and slapped one across the face just to get their blood rushing before I bent over and took it up the ass. For a solid half hour I took their cocks up my ass with the smooth professionalism of a porn star. It wasn't that I was hoping to enjoy it, I wasn't, but there was a mirror across the room where I could see them lined up to get in me, I could see the doorman, as he went about his business of collecting trash, standing by the door with his cigarette dangling precariously from his dumbstruck lips. It was hot. I love doing that.

In the morning I went out for breakfast and then went over to see two gay friends that I have. They live downtown and sell weed. I hung out with them. They were having a friend over and they decided that it might be fun to have a bit of an orgy. My story about the morning gang-fuck in the bath house had got them all excited so, using their two computers, we went online and arranged a bit of a fuck with three students. The guy they were having over was actually one of their cousins. You're right, we had a bit of a gang-operation again with two young cousins. My friend's cousin was only 18, so it was kind of cool, but it would have been better if the kid had been a virgin, but he lost that a long time ago. Afterward we all just draped ourselves from the furniture and smoked joints. I passed out there for a while.. Then I went home and crashed, waking up late Saturday morning.

I went shopping at the mall: new pair of pants, new shoes, a couple tee shirts for the bar. I got a blow job in the washroom of the hotel that's attached to the hotel. Tourists are so cute, the way they energetically suck our local cock as if it were a delicacy. While he perched himself on his knees between my legs on the floor of the bathroom stall, I pet his head affectionately but then suddenly stopped him as I was getting bored and my dick was a little sensitive. I went home and had a nap and when I woke up it was time to start getting ready for Saturday.

I ate light, took a pill, had a shower, smoked a joint, broke up some lines, accepted my friend Mel into the house. I told her all about my days and then we did a couple lines and walked around the house going a million miles an hour. She was yammering on and on about her new boyfriend, a weed dealer that we all know as we all party together. He is a cute boy and I was so happy that she'd recently had sex as she was getting to be a bit moody.

A couple hours later we packed up all the varieties of drugs that we needed for the next couple of days (as I wasn't about to head home any time before Monday afternoon) and headed to the party. Tonight we were picking up a couple of our friends at a gay guy's place just a couple of blocks from where I stayed. It was Nora and Eric. Nora and Eric were coming with us to the after-hours bar, which wasn't just quite open yet. We lit a joint and walked down the main drag Elgin Street, among all the partiers and mayhem of thirty-something dull drunkards there. We cut through the serene midnight mist of Confederation Park and talked about the number of rabbits in the grass this year. We walked through the Rideau Center and I smiled to think about the boy who'd been so disappointed I didn't cum in his face. I didn't tell the story now, I didn't want Eric to think I was unbearably slutty to be seen with him. Eric was the kind of gay guy that was smart and successful and destined for great things. I was the local-boy type. I've seen it all. I've seen it all in the last six months, generally speaking I see it all every six months or so usually.

Eric and I hung to the back and laughed at the girls, we talked about parties that we'd been to recently. Compared to my tall and thin 26-year-old dancer's body he seemed really young, shaved head and tight jeans, a smouldering hot ass, and the most beautifully cared for complexion I'd ever seen.. The girls got us involved in some gossiping which lasted all through the riff-raff on Rideau Street, and that gossip was about the party happening tomorrow evening at the House of The After-Parties, which belonged to three bachelors: Mark, Rob and Luke.

Anybody who's been partying since at least the start of last winter knows these people, we all used to go over to a basement apartment that was owned by Mark and Rob on the other side of downtown, way over on Somerset at Lyon. Those were crazy parties that last for weeks, without windows to tell us that days were blurring with nights, that days were passing, passing, passing, time would fly by and people would get to be closer together. Anybody who's been partying since the start of the winter knows that these parties so the most relaxed environments, very communal. Someone would bring some doughnuts, someone would bring some fruit, someone would bring whatever they could afford. It was also a hot-bed for drug selling. At these parties everyone was on everything, you could get whatever you wanted as long as you had money. These parties were so exceptionally cool that often DJs from the parties on Saturday night and Sunday morning would stop by and set up a makeshift stage in the living room and pump the music so loud that we'd all be dancing everywhere throughout the house. The house where these parties took place now was a nice three bedroom establishment, there were neighbors in the building but they never really complained. It was cool that Mark and Luke and Rob had these parties, and the coolest part was the sense of community that they were building among the people who referred to themselves as the After-Hours.

We weren't ravers or pub-crawlers; we're not some pack of wealthy jet-setting disco-hunters from all over the globe with bottomless debit accounts and lucrative investments. We're dealers, users, pusher, hookers and sluts.. We're smart and we read a lot, we all know that knowledge is power, we're both students and we're not. Some us are gay and some of us are straight. No one cares either way. Some of us are smarter than others, some of us are richer than others, there are those of us who sell the drugs and there are those of us who buy them. There are those of us who host the parties and there are those of us who don't even have to be invited. We are Gypsies doing this, we are like nomads, beautiful bastards abandoned by a society interested only in its own high-tech gadgetry. We care about music, connections, gossip, scandal and dancing, the passionate sunsets, the glory of sunrises: the madness of our minds at the cost of exhaustion.

Saturday night started out at the After-Party House because we wanted to get some pills and stuff, we all smoked a few joints with the people that were there. There were a few DJs hanging out before their respective shows this evening, one of them was going to the same club we were going to. (Suddenly I realized I was hanging out with the DJs, that's pretty cool.) There were a few promoters around, they have reputations like matrons. They push parties like cocktail tricks. Never reveal your schedule to a promoter as you'll never live it down. There were a lot of friends around, with whom I caught up about the actions of the week. All along I kept it quiet how much sex I'd been involved with in the last little while, but I enjoyed knowing it as all the straight guys grumbled about not getting enough. Across the room on the couch along the north wall of the living room I couldn't help but notice that Luke had taken notice of me.

Luke is an interesting character, I've always had a lot of respect for him. He actually plays a far larger role in the forging of my social life than he can imagine.

Years and years ago I had a crush on a straight dealer-friend of mine. His name was Archibald, to be honest. It was a crazy name for someone blonde, blue-eyes, toned, tanned and gorgeously popular. We called him Baldy, to the confusion of many, as he wasn't bald and in fact the contrary, he had a sheath of blonde hair upon his crown that reminded some of the emperor's that were of such stupendous beauty they were often kin to the gods. Baldy wasn't a god, I shouldn't have really said that, he was more like Jay Gatsby: popular, rich, beautiful, always partying, always meeting people, always running into people who knew him from somewhere. Back then I was just some country kid that had moved to the city and when I started to hang out with him in the parks on sunny afternoons after work, smoking joints and selling to his regular customers, I started to get an insatiable taste for the sociable life. A life he did well, a life he was excited to teach me about. I followed him around for a few of his runs, as he was one of the main dealers for the bartenders in the trendier bars in the heart of the Market District on the afternoon shifts. Back then I stood out like a sore thumb in this otherwise stylish, ambidextrous and luctrative seeming realm of students and their ambitions. I met this and that beauty, and then went off to the next place to take an order because we'd be back later on to celebrate. Little did I realize that this was something Baldy did almost every day and really it's not that great of a life, it just seems that way to those of us who wish we knew so many people. All of a sudden his list was complete, we were off to the house of his dealer. It was to be the only time I'd ever see him and really, I'd damn near forget about him entirely as he made very little of an impression on me at the time. The house of Baldy's dealer was right along King Edward, a stretch of highway that goes from Ottawa to Hull in a straight line, a line carved through what was once and what shall forever be the trashy Lowertown or Ottawa. On one such stark streetlight-lit corner there was house with an entrance right on the corner, it was a converted convenience store, now it was the house where the drugs were bought. There were young kids inside noisily practising their Tae-Kwon-Doe. On the other side of a table was a relatively young man drinking skotch from a dirty glass, smoking cigarettes as he weighed the the amount of weed out, counted the pills into bags, and arranged the powders in their color coordinated lids. My experience with drugs at that point was a few joints, mushrooms and a thorough reading of Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas. I thought I knew everything. The young man dealing to Baldy looked at me from his throne, giving me a leer that rather frightened me, as was his intention. He asked Baldy who it was that I'd brought and Baldy said it was bring your kids to work day. They laughed. I didn't, I really didn't like this place, it made me feel little and young and dumb. That night when Baldy went around delivering his drugs I wasn't allowed to come, nor would I go on very many more trips around the city with him, and years would go by before I'd even step into a club for my first time, and it would be years more before I'd take my first pill.

Here I was looking at Luke over there on the couch and I couldn't stop thinking that he was looking at me a little strangely tonight. I'd met Luke, as far as the recent history is concerned, at the after-parties. See, here, in this scene there's a certain graduation from one party to the next. The General Public parties on Saturday nights. They stop at two or three in the morning and the booze in their system starts to pull out. After the regular bars close there's Surface, which goes to about six in the morning. I remember when I was younger and I would be so proud that I'd stayed awake all night: then I started with pills. Then I was told about the after-party, which was just starting back then, and it wasn't very good, very popular, very busy. It was just a dive bar that was open in the morning. That dive bar closed and another took its place and the after-party on Sunday morning started to become better than Surface, and this place was Sundaze. Sundaze grew and grew and as that year wore on people started to need a place to go after Sundaze, and when autumn came we started heading to after-parties at peoples' houses. In the heart of the winter we started to collect as a group at Mark and Rob's place over at Somerset and Lyon, and then when the winter was coldest that party ended and people started floating around looking for somewhere else to go. It was at that time that Luke actually started to work as the House Dealer, as Baldy had done at one time in the Market Clubs, in the Day Club: considering I didn't know him before, this wasn't really his debut it was his return. He started to work at the club and, let's just say, it takes a certain kind of person to work as the Dealer at this club because generally speaking everyone's fucked, there are regulars and tourists, there are people coming in trying to sell that shouldn't, there are people that come in that can sell, though they shouldn't, and there are people who shouldn't and don't and will never sell anything in this town again..

Luke's not a big tough guy, no no no, not at all. He's smaller than I am, he's got a soft beard that he lets grow to a point just beyond the stubble. He's kind of pale and sickly looking, but he's sweet. He smiles. My first impression of him was one of the rarer Night-Parties at Sundaze. I had just barely met Luke and I was coming up to the door with Mel, one of those girls that gets away with selling in the club even though she shouldn't, but it's mostly because she's such a stubborn bitch that she can do whatever she wants. Mel told me Luke was the new dealer and he told me that we'd met the week before, he said Hi, and he used my name. I did remember meeting the week before. Considering I'm just a tall, thin fag in this otherwise straight-dominated crowd I was shocked that he remembered my name. And for the next couple of months, while he worked there, he was doing really well as the dealer and made a lot of friends. That's why he started inviting people back over to his place after the party of Sunday evenings. Because he was the dealer they came, because his was cool and spacious they stayed, but because he was so nice they returned. That's what I liked to believe. At the end of the winter there was a crazy party and Luke, who was admittedly epileptic, actually had a ceasure in the bar (with a bunch of very high people freaking out because they thought the cops were coming to shut the place down after that, though they didn't). That was when he retired as house dealer and sort of became A Connection. The sort of person your parents' worst nightmare casts as the leading man in the Tale of The One Your Son Shouldn't Meet, he was actually super cool.

There was one party when I was over there and it was me with all these straight guys. I mean, I hang out with straight guys a lot. I'm tall and thin and effeminate and every single person that knows me knows I'm gay and every single person that knows these guys that I was with would know that really under normal circumstances they're homophobes and wouldn't really be bothered with gay people or care about sheltering gay people from their sometimes rude comments. But somehow I'm able to mix in that crowd. Luke came over to me and told me not to worry about the comments that some of the guys were making about gay people, cock-sucking, all that gay stuff. He told me that they were all just giving each other a hard time. I wasn't worried about it at all. It wasn't like I was offended or even really paying attention. It was very sweet of him to take the time to pay attention to me but I told him it was really all that necessary.

Later on he laughed and said, "You know what I like most about you, you're so damned effeminate." I am too. I know I am. It's not that I'm a lisping queen with a desire to shave my legs and stuff my sister's bra. No. What he was referring to was my mannerisms in a very general way. It's a part of my character that gets the most comments.

Consistency is admirable and when people point out my consistencies I am flattered because that means that someone is paying attention to me.

I thought it was rather cool that he paid attention to me but I didn't let myself think about it too much because I didn't want to let myself get hurt like I did when Baldy started to ignore me. Attention is fleeting, like fashions, and what's big now won't be in a while. I didn't want to seem like a trend, so I played it cool. Crossing my legs, furthering my expedition on the computer in their living room. He watched me though.

Another thing about me is that I'm fairly smart, well, book-smart. He's definitely street smart. But someone like Luke, who's spent time in and out of prison for the sake of an unrelenting career in the shady business of drugs, someone like me, a worthy customer who reads and parties and does crosswords on dull days at the bar, who doesn't seem at all focussed on sex, who doesn't wear a flag or come across as someone from a magazine, he was watching me because he felt like I could prove worthwhile.

That Saturday night, before we all went to the club he was sitting there staring at me and between jokes and comments with my friends at this party I would look at him wonder what he was thinking as he wasn't the sort of person to do so much drugs that he'd sit there all fucked up and google at you with googly eyes. He was more calm, meditative, usually in some sort of pain from something that happened when the party wasn't looking (a drug turf fight or something like that). I didn't point it out to anyone. I didn't want to seem like a gossip. Instead I surrendered myself at the moment to being the object of his attention and let him stare at me until he was content.

When it was time to leave he accepted the hugs of the girls that came over to his couch and when I came up to him he actually stood. I was a little impressed and maybe even slightly embarassed. He did it all so nonchalantly.

He told me to be sure to come by for the party after Sundaze the next day. That was over fifteen hours of party away.

The night flew by, with the dawn there came a great sun-shining spring day. The streets were busy, the party in front of Sundaze was a blast. Everyone came out that week and the vibe for the party that was headed over to Luke's place, with Mark and Rob standing outside the club organizing the movement of the people (as it was just a short walk away), the energy of the people and word that this was to be the best after-party ever was too much to handle.

People bought more drugs, fresh drugs, different drugs, some people had showers, some people changed clothes, some people went for a short drive to their respective dealers before they came over. I was amid the crowd when it got there. There was about ten when we walked in at about five in the evening that Sunday, as the sun was just going down. I was paler, thinner, slightly more emaciated than I was when I'd last seen Luke. He looked the same, pale, thin, emaciated. My group had about fifteen and there were more and more people coming as we stood at the door to take our shoes off. Then all of a sudden the music started. One of the DJs from way back in the night had come to this party and there were always a few DJs, like Doctors in the crowd. The music was phenomenal and everyone danced everywhere in the house for a while. Soon the doors busted open and there were people on the back fire escape, down in the parking lot, on the front step. There were people in the all the rooms of the house, on every peice of furniture, all the lights were on, all the windows were open, and everyone was so happy. Everyone was quite at home.

It was in that situation that I escaped to the bathroom at the back of the house, by the kitchen, that was joined to Luke's room, when the pill I'd taken started to kick in. I was taking some long, important breaths in the calmer space. Suddenly Luke came out of his room into the washroom. We both sort of jumped. I wasn't pissing or anything, I was just staring at myself in the mirror (I looked pretty good, and when I've been partying for days I get the disco-glow which is sort of attractive in its own ways).

He laughed, "How was the party?"

"It was so good. There was one set at Sundaze this morning, probably around ten or so this morning, man it was on. The whole place was going, it was like back in the winter when they closed Surface for renovations and anyone who went to Sundaze was there for the party. It was a fucking great party." I was talking really fast because the party was still pumping in my system. I was talking slightly loud because I'd been talking loud for over fifteen hours now and I couldn't even really hear myself. The music in the other room picked it up a notch.

I really didn't think about Luke as a sexual creature until he came right over next to me and looked into the mirror, standing slightly in front of me to show dominance, but he was shorter than me so I seemed to be the one in control. I told, "Don't worry, you're still handsome."

"Oh I wasn't worried about it."

"Sorry, I didn't mean to --"

"You're handsome too," he said, and then he quickly fled the scene. Smiling. On the other side of the door there were a bunch of people who really didn't catch on that we'd just come out of the washroom at the same time but at the entrance to the kitchen, where there was a door to the fire escape, there was a lot of commotion and my friend Mel came by and saw that I was standing precariously close to Luke and she made some comment under her breath.

A while later I was sitting in the kitchen again, this time I was playing cards with Karina and Hilton: Crazy Eight Countdown -- the after-party standard.

I was telling them about Baldy when Luke walked in. Heard me say that name and he asked me how I knew that name and I told him that I'd met Baldy because of a call center job I once had and I went through the training and everything with him but that he didn't really stay all that long as he made better money on his own. He told me that he'd known Baldy as well. I'd met only a few scarce lad that dared say anything about Baldy if they even really knew anything at all. In the end he got out of town fast with a bunch of stolen merchandise, ripping off a whole bunch of people in the process. I rolled my eyes, typical demise of a dealer. I shared with Luke the bit of information that I'd had about Baldy, that he moved out west to Vancouver or something. It was merely gossip of a stale variety. But it was interesting that I had this connection to a time beyond these particular parties. It was like meeting someone who went to the same high school, even though we didn't know each other, but we remember commonly certain place-names and terms.

It was sweet really, the way he started to reminisce. All of a sudden though he started describing his boss at the time, a thug if there ever was one, Polish, fat kids, they faked their way through Karata lessons. He talked about babysitting those kids for his boss in the evening while runs were being ordered. He's sit there and drink.

I asked him again how old he is. He's the same age as me for Christ's sake. Like fuck.

When I was all pale-faced and wide-eyed and first stepping into this world of drugs, he was already in the chain of command, already had the trust of the big-wigs, already ran a business. I just sucking cock in the washrooms in the basement of the building where I had a lame call center job.

Seriously though, the guy doesn't lie about it. He talks about prison, people he met in prison, things he learned about "surviving" in prison, surviving things like running out of something to make you high. None of this information really impressed me. It shocked me that he knew so much about it, but I knew it wasn't really who he was, this was simply the life he had. He never mentioned anything like prison sex or anything, I'm sure it wasn't really anything that he dealt with. It's not like this guy, though smaller than myself and slightly more feeble now than he probably was a few years ago, it's not like he could have at any time been anyone's bitch. He's definitely a man's man.

But the thought of the prison sort of triggered something, or perhaps it all started to make sense once he started to tell me about someone he'd met in prison, a guy named Sean. I told him, "They're always named Sean."

By this time we were alone at the kitchen table, people were coming up trying really hard to join in the conversation but we muted them with our focus on our topic. Every so often we would lean in close to express some sort of truth about ourselves, I could tell there was something coming from him: I'm not stupid. The Straight Men that end up admitting the contrary always think they're being so clever in their way of undressing their inner self. They always think we're shocked.

Soon he said that he wanted to go into his room, he said it was because the sun was shining in and there was a big window in there: his bed, a heap of gleaming white, soft mounds of downy duvet and pillows, was a lovely nest. We grabbed some weed.

He rolled a joint post-haste and then we lay down on his bed, the sheets cool under my head and we were like brothers talking about something serious, having a conversation that not many brothers get to have.

I mean. I have a brother. Don't get me wrong. The guy caught me masturbating when I was about fourteen. He didn't see the stash of gay porn that I'd accumulated at the time (it was before the internet took over). My brother simply sat on the side of my bed, a crucial five years older than me at that moment. He said, "I don't masturbate but maybe Dad did. Want me to ask him?" The beg for him to stop teasing me about it still lingers in my memory. But I always keep myself sturdy because I know in fact it was a situation my brother would have died harder for if he'd known I was jerking my meat not to the fantasy of a fingered cunt, or bent over cheerleader -- no, I was doing the football players themselves in my mind.

Luke was like, "You're pretty cool. I'm really glad we got to chill out like this finally."

"For sure." I tugged on the joint and we ended up putting it out. I didn't really feel like having a cigarette built he insisted on giving me some of his at least.

When he passed it to me he was laying on his side and he adjusted the pillow with his hand, looking up at me silently there for a second. I had my right arm under my head and I bathed in the sunlight that poured in. The breeze was great too, the sound of the outside dulling the throb of the music in the other room.

"Can I tell you something that I've never really admitted to anyone?"

"Sure you can, but I know what you're going to say." It was a really bold statement.

"No you don't, don't give me that, like you're so good at this."

"Well, am I wrong."

He stopped smiling. "Do I have to say it?"

"Well, whatever, it doesn't matter what you call it. I think I understand really what's going on here."

"What do you think's really going on here?"

"I know you can have any woman you want, but I'm sure there's something else that you don't admit to or something that you've experienced before with a guy that you want o get back." I ventured, "You really liked that Sean guy didn't you." He did.

He grumbled and rolled on his back, one arm rested on the bridge of his nose.

"Can I just kiss you?"

He didn't look at me or anything.

I rolled over and looked at him.

"Why me?"

"Because I know you're a good person."

"Well, I'm hardly a good person. I mean, shit ... if you only knew some of the shit I did, and I'm not talking

Disco here."

"Ya, ya, but you're a good person. I'd trust you with shit more than anyone else here really."

"Okay."

He looked over at me and then quickly grabbed my head and pulled it at him. I was a little shocked, I'd expected apprehension. When our lips actually met there was this sort of confusion because his lips were trying to pull at mine and he was sort of just mashing my face. I gasped and pushed myself off him.

"Shit man, is that how smooth you are with all girls."

He laughed, "Sorry, I just kind of like exploded there."

"Here, let me do it."

Kissing is like dancing, I'm better at kissing guys, I'll lead.

First of all he was laying flat and I was on one arm over him. Looking into his eyes was something I really

only needed to do for a moment before he closed them and his lips slightly parted. I lowered myself down upon his waiting expression with ease, and like a beast sniffing at kin, my breath could be heard briefly smoothing across where his beard was starting to grow in. I softly gripped the top lip and then the bottom, as if I were ever so gently pulling open the tissue of a very expensive gift. I then pressed into him, I was tempted to caress the side of his face then. Soon there was a sense that this kiss was good for both of us.

I don't know, maybe it was the drugs, maybe it was the party or the music or the people that buzzed high all around us, creating some sort of environment or atmosphere ripe and ready for this passion to ignite. Soon he was holding the side of my body and he was trying to get to my flesh under my shirt. I struggled and found my hand going into where his chest hair was stubbled, I rubbed him gently on the side where I knew his ribs were sore from some fight, I told him I'd be gentle. After some hesitation he trusted me.

Then things started to get a bit more aggressive. There was this frenzy, totally drug-related for me, the sort of thing that makes sex great when you're this high. The sort of thing where reality smashes and movements are fast and fluid and flashing before my eyes, tickling me, stripping me bare. My neck was kissed, our beards rubbed together. There was much struggling, playful wrestling. He was stronger than me but I put up a fun fight, it makes the heart beat so hard to wrestle with a worthy opponent. He was smiling and laughing, he wasn't even caring about his sore ribs from some long lost battle. He was wrestling me down and I knew very shorty that I would have to submit, that he would want only the completion.

When he was hard I went down on him. The breeze blew in and our naked bodies were cleansed with it, carrying as it was a birdsong and the laughter of people in different parts of the house. He let me suck on his shaft, and it was a hefty shaft, though I could tell there were scars on it from when he was crass enough to have tacky piercing. He enjoyed himself, he held my head and fucked my face with simple thrusts of his hips. Being high I was able to let him do it as long as he wanted. He felt really good, he told me this as I licked even the sweat off his straight balls. When I got the cock all good and ready, I spit on it and then spit on my ass and mounted him with easy gestures. An acrobat on the horse, that's all.

Oh I was so tight too when I lowered myself on him. He wasn't really watching my face, he was focussing on the sensation of getting inside me.

Suddenly he was just about to get in me and then all of a sudden he was and my fingers clenched and my mind went blank as I let my ass stretch around the girth. He was getting anxious though and I let him start to fuck me slowly, I lowered myself onto him and was soon taking his whole cock in my ass. At this point we stopped and made eye contact.

He pulled me down and tenderly pecked my lips, I could barely breathe. His cock was massive inside me and sometimes when I actually feel something for the person I feel it more in my loins. I feel it. You know what I mean?

The orgy at the bath house that was out of hunger or something, you know, it was like I was eating for the sake of hunger. The orgy with my friends, that was more like eating, like the munchies. The guy in the stall in the hotel attached to the mall, that was like a doughnut or something, short and sweet and not really beneficial.

This was gay sex like "mama used to make it." This was realy gay sex. Two guys who were needing something from the same gender. A certain level of aggression was firmly forced. A certain kind of safety net was thrown.

When we shifted position and I put my hand way up on the wall while spreading my legs for him, my ass jutting up and out for him, I said, "You know, you can fuck me hard."

And we fucked. The music was loud in the other room and no one will ever say if it was really heard or not, the banging on the walls, the moans, but there was a burst of laughter in the other room when suddenly he came up my ass and pulled me up so that he hugged me warmly. It was a tender affectation, he didn't need to do that. It was a nice.

We lay there and slept for a few hours. When we got up there was nothing really said. I explained to my friends that I'd actually gone for a huge walk with Luke, that we'd gone down to the river, across the road and through a park. It was a good one. I drifted off the days started to go by.

I just sort of let them.

When it came time for me to leave it was actually this crazy moment when a lot of people were moving around the living room, some dancing and some not sure what they were doing. I really didn't have a good reason to leave except that I wanted to go at that moment.

I saw him in the chair over there and he saw me putting on my shoes at the door and I sort of shrugged like there was nothing I could do or say anyway.

He shrugged his too.

I said, "See you at the party."

And I left.

That's the kind of weekend I had. Generally that's the kind I normally have. But something was strangely quickening about all that. It would affect me all week, thinking about the position it gave me with someone so many people held in high accord.