By Friday night The Voices had subsided. I had planned an evening alone, and was curled up on the couch watching City of Lost Children for 10,000th time when The 21 Year Old called and asked me to meet him at Sidetrack.
I agreed and phoned Goth Chris to invite him as well, hoping his presence would help me keep my libido in check once the drinks started pouring.
That night two very unexpected things happened.
For starters, when The 21 Year Old started getting chatted up by a coworker, I completely encouraged him to go after the guy even though it stung a bit. When did I get so non-possessive and detached?
Or at least, when did I learn to fake it so well?
Luckily for my ego, that didn’t amount to much.
But the thing that really threw me for a loop was how uncontrollably HORNY The 21 Year Old got after a few drinks.
Let me give you an example. At one point, I was leading him through the crowd at the “Untz-Untz” bar to show him where the bathroom was, and as we were making our way I felt his hands slide into the back of my pants and prod playfully around my “special place”.
I enjoyed it for a second before I plucked it out and gave his hand a half-ass disciplinarian smack.
A half hour later Goth Chris was nowhere to be found, The 21 Year Old was pinning me against the wall, and we were making out like two sissie boys at summer camp.
I have to say here, it is A LOT harder to listen to The Voices when you are three-sheets to the wind an a hot boy is stroking the bulge of your hard-on through your jeans.
I gave in for a bit, I admit it. It had been such a long time coming. But my conscious got the better of me and I decided I better quit before things went too far. So I carried him to a cab, took him home and put him to bed.
I’ve had a lot of respect for his whole celibacy thing up until this point. Now I’m not so sure. I know he was drunk and all, but I can’t help but question his beliefs when they seem to so easily abandon him after a measly three cocktails.
I don’t know - Maybe he has his own voices. Maybe his show up when he’s having a good time and tell him to put his hands in my pants.
It’s like a pot that’s just about to boil over. While a part of me wants to push the issue of intimacy and see what happens (and by “part of me” I mean my penis) – Mostly I’m feeling like I need to turn down the burner and bring this back down to a slow simmer.