Date: Sun, 16 Apr 2006 14:58:03 -0400
From: A. Cheshire Cat <kierkegaard_is_cool@hotmail.com>
Subject: The 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.