Party

Party

PartySaturday night Sara and I tagged along with Angel to a party he was invited to at a warehouse near Theater Row. From what I could understand it was a birthday party for a certain gay porn star, but I really wasn’t paying attention since all I cared about was getting fucked up.

Well that’s not entirely true since I actually wanted to get Angel to fuck me. But that’s a completely different story.

I had taken a Vicodin beforehand because I tend to hate people — after all I want to have a good time and be somewhat sociable to get some dick. Stepping into the warehouse, the Vicodin was working. I smiled at nothing in particular and wanted to hug everybody in there.

Granted there were probably only 25 people in a space that could probably fit 200 comfortably, but that didn’t matter. I just wanted to be a part of these people: the gay gym queens who have muscles that are only for show; the girls with the high heeled boots and leggings and plenty of glam; the weird ambisexual boys that you just want to cuddle up with naked.

Thanks to my acute alcohol sensing abilities, I found the ginny gin gin and and was talking it up with Matt, Steve, Kim. I don’t even think those were their names, but whatever. They were tall and skinny and loved the boots I was wearing.

While conversing about lord knows what, I noticed Matt constantly peeking over to the back of the space. A little off-putting, but not a big social faux pas mind you. Just as I was about to launch into a story about this gym queen who was about to fuck me but couldn’t get it up, he dragged the four of us with the urgency of an oncoming brushfire to the bathroom in the back. If I were a cat, my ears would have stood at attention.

Matt fumbled around in his pocket and popped out a tiny vial of white hipster gold. Looking at our reflection in the mirror I saw that Steve, Kim and I looked like starving kids given a shopping spree in a candy shop jumping up and down silent clapping goody-goody. Wiping down the counter Matt expertly cut four lines and in no time the particulates were suctioned up our respective nostrils. Four more lines, four more happy boys.

Being in the bathroom, the realm of everything impure, gave us license to feel each other up. Kim ran his hands up my shirt, played with the strands of chest hair and took a tug at my right nipple. The spirit of the devil truly overcame me, and I reached down his pants to stroke his dick. After unbuttoning his pants to let his dick loose, I grabbed the vial and poured out the makings of another line. Realizing actually forming a line on a dick would be pretty hard, I just went down and snorted it up. Not wanting to waste an iota I did the most practical thing – I took Kim’s dick in my mouth.

I realized how stupid that whole endeavor was as the coke was starting to burn a hole on my tongue causing my body to convulse in its dreadful taste. Hell, isn’t this something everyone has wanted to do? I can mark that off my bucket list.

I soon got the feeling that I wanted to get out of the confines of the bathroom, but not wanting to be rude after being given free drugs I went up to Matt. A sloppy kiss led me to affix my mouth to his dick as a repayment of the tingly happiness coursing through my body. I guess he liked that there was an audience because in five minutes I had a mouth full of his acrid cum. Swallow, kiss, thank you, I was out.

Released back into the wild I found Sara and Angel dancing on what I guess became the dance floor. Quite a few more people streamed through as last call approached throughout the city. I joined them and in my light-headed bliss I started dancing with Angel. My hands were everywhere on him, but his hands were. Well I don’t know where his hands were. All I know was that I felt every ridge of his eight-pack, the pencil points of his nipples, the contour of his ribs. I didn’t really care that his hands weren’t on me. After all I still had the three lines and some dude’s cum coursing through me.

Going from that, sitting and having mindless chatter with people on the sidelines, sipping my drinky-drink. It was all a blur until I realized there were only five people left. Fuck, I hate overstaying my welcome.

Sara, Angel and I were all in no state to drive. Angel, being the least inebriated one of us, drove us to Dennys more for his sake of trying to sober up. The fluorescent cage of depression at 4 a.m. that only a late-night diner can provide drove me to silence as I just idly picked at my omelet with my fork. There is nothing glorious about the end of a Saturday night as I was then driven home, shucked my clothes off and collapsed on top of my bed. Good night.