Sunday morning, pre-dawn taxi
Cigarette hair, whiskey breath
And one thought piercing:
These are not my pants…
I have been horny as fuck and ready to get laid since getting back from LA. It’s at the point where I don’t even trust my eyes anymore because every guy I see seems fuckable to me right about now. Guys that are clearly 4’s or 5’s at best were perfect 10’s just because I wanted to get off and my mind was willing to play all sorts of games with me to make my body happy. But it still didn’t matter because the couple of times I actually ventured out of my apartment with the goal of getting a BJ I couldn’t get myself in the mindset to actually close the deal!
Finally I had had enough self-imposed torture and I decided it was time to unleash the beast onto this quiet little unsuspecting town I affectionately refer to as NYC. I called my buddy Trevor and told him Friday night, I was getting laid and he was going to be my wingman! I am not really dialed into the gay scene but Trevor is, so I knew the second I decided that I wanted to get my penis touched, Trevor was the one who could make it happen. Luckily for me he would make it even easier than I assumed by throwing a massive house party Friday! Nothing like a place with it’s own bed to be conducive to me getting some.
Friday night I was nervous as hell! Walking into Trevor‘s party I was immediately struck with all sorts of doubts and second thoughts! But then my penis noticed where we were and took over all my general cognitive functions. I was hunting. Prey located! 6ft, slender, a mess of tight curly blond hair, and a thick Spanish accent. After 10 minutes he’s pleasantly surprised with my fluency in Spanish, and I have learned he’s from Salamanca and he’s finishing his last semester. Half hour later I am starting to get bored and annoyed! How long do I have to pretend to be interested in this guy before it’s okay to ask him to go upstairs with me? I wait 20 more minutes. He agrees, we hook up: Life is good!
When we finish, the party’s just about over. He takes my phone and adds his number telling me it’s in case I ever want to get together again. I can’t remember his name, but I am sure it’s going to be something Spanish, and I file it away in my brain as a possibility. It’s around 1am and I am still full of energy. Trevor tells me he knows a place where we can chill and get our drink on.
This is going to get really redundant, so I’ll summarize! 3 guys, 2 days, I am a slut. But it’s okay because that’s why god invented condoms. Right?
7 comments:
right !
"Sunday morning, pre-dawn taxi
Cigarette hair, whiskey breath
And one thought piercing:
These are not my pants…
setting the scene and the tone...your a natural...born to write..
do you know what I have been doing for the last (ahemm) 20 years..Im a creative in Advertising, I get paid a shitload of money to find good copy ... I know good copy when I see it...so keep up the good work
cheers from Xico
Three isn't too bad. We all go on those weekend benders every once in awhile. Enjoy it while your body is still able to keep up with the demand! One day you will be old and weekends like this will be but a memory.
Sounds like a fun 2 days. Live it up baby!
How many languages do you speak?
a lot
You should write copy. I'm write copy and make lots of money, so I should know!
If you need to tell someone you make lot of money, then you don't...
Very entertaining... Up here in Boston that would be referred to as a hattrick... perhaps the hockey analogy does not translate. Anyway, really enjoyed the entry. Thanks for sharing.
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