Of Loners and Drunks

This is a letter a wrote to an online friend in Australia last week... after an emotional night. I thought I'd post it here, along with my erotic story below. I think I want this blog to be just about bits and pieces of me which most people don't know about. Skeletons in the closet, you could say.

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Ian,

Long time no talk. Been somewhat hectic.

I've a question. I've read plenty of amateur stories online. Lots. And there's always some common themes that for some reason are really popular, depending on the theme. With straight romance, its always the dark and stormy mushy stuff. But with gays... with gays...

It's always about this guy who falls for his straight best friend.

What the fuck is it with that?

Can you tell me, please?

Because I need to know.

I've got this problem, see.

Fuck.

Let me tell you a story, Ian.

Once upon a time there was this gay guy.

This gay guy convinces his best friend to go to a straight strip bar. His straight friend doesn't know, of course, about his gay friend. That's he's a lier. A big fucking lier. Sure, there's cracks...hints dropped now and again...but the closet doors still hides him pretty good.

Why a strip bar? For one thing, I'd never been to one, straight or gay. And for another...a fantasy. I had this messed up idea that he'd find this nice hot chick and then I'd pay for him to be with her, but he wouldn't know. I secret...a kind of giving... giving him what I can't give... to make him happy.

But things didn't go as planned. That night, he didn't find a girl. One girl... she had a curvy waist... "What would you rank her on a scale from 1 to 10?" I ask....he replied " 6". Fuck. None of them interest him. What's wrong with you, man? Were you telling me more when you said you wouldn't mind candles in your room, while you were lying in my candle-lit bed that night?

Or is it me? I'm slowly got drunk and bored to death. The world starts moving in sick-making motions, swaying. A heavy-breasted girl with an Eastern accent notices my disinterest in the dance table and misinterprets it as interest in her...

"Wanna dance?" she asks.

"Wanna know a secret?" I whisper back conspiratorially. I pull her towards me, "You know that guy there? Yeah, that guy... I'm half in love with him."

Never said that out-loud before.

She blinks, incomprehending, hesitates, "Wanna dance? Both of you?" I shake my head, she lets go.

We stumble out, me and him... or rather I stumble... he's sober. He can't get drunk because he's allergic to alcohol. We play pool. I suck, not into the game, though I try. Mess everything up, and he has to teach me to play. He can't be enjoying this. Pathetic. I can't even play pool. I can't do anything right.

We end up in a restaurant, late dinner. He knows something's wrong, because I've stopped talking... I usually do the talking. But I don't trust myself to speak tonight. I'm busy trying to keep from crying. He doesn't say a thing, just looks at me...except once..."I think you should have gone up with one of the girls." That almost does it. I don't WANT to go up with... God, I want... I want... can't look at him..."Yeah..." I reply, brightly. I'm so smart. I bolt for the washroom.

We walk back to his place. I'm numb, and not from the cold. The elevator opens. My head spinning. I stammer, "I think... maybe...I should go back..." He looks, questioning, puzzled, tries to laugh. So ackward. We're never like that. I'm so clever, tonight. "Yeah... I think I should go..." I leave. It's dark outside, and barely a soul. It's almost 2:00 in the morning afterall. Only losers and drunks are out at that time. And maybe the odd pick-pocket. But I wasn't worried. I didn't have anything worth stealing. Longest walk home ever.

Why does this happen, Ian?

Yours,
K