i'll have a perfect boyfriend soon, even if I have to make him up

I was out with my bud Jim (see “Heterosexual Boyfriend”) at this club with a fifty-fifty gay and straight crowd. As in some gay and some straight, not all bi. Well, that’s debatable.

Yeah, so we’re at this bar, and in walks Jim’s girl.  Only Jim doesn’t dance, so I do him a solid and fling her around the dance floor a bit.  Now I love to jive as much as the next ‘mo but I generally have more fun if my pelvic thrusts are directed at a more masculine recipient.  I spot a cute guy sitting at the bar and my show began.

I know, a little trashy, but you try being a prude after a few shots of SoCo.  I think he’s interested.  I abort my charity dance-off with Jim’s girl, only to see my latin hunk get up to start dancing as I leave. Now he is putting on a show for me. I cringe just a bit, because you never who you’ll meet in a nightclub. Take what happened a week earlier:

Guy introduces himself.  We make witty observations about the room/the bartender/the people/our clothes/everything really.  I decide that he’s normal enough to be a candidate for Next Top Boyfriend–the reality show disaster that is my life. Then, he bends down and sniffs my armpits, commenting, Yeah, I want your man-stench all over me tonight.

As if! I smell more like petunias than a man.

So I’m skeptical of Juan, that’s his name, but he’s great. He likes my moves. Well, I like (why can’t I think of anything) YOUR moves! I know, not my greatest work. He asks for my number, This is no place to chat.  You’re here with your friends, and I’m here with my friends, but let’s definitely get together. I get a text: I mean it. Let’s meet up. Yeah, he’s a total Betty.

His words are a bit ambiguous. Meet up. Does that mean booty-call or  candle-lit dinner?.  He calls me up. I’m so glad you called. We engage into some easy banter about our lives and what brought us to that club that night. It’s now or never, so I go for it. So. Do you wanna grab a drink somewhere or do you want  to get a bite? Juan doesn’t hesitate: I definitely want to have dinner with you, he says.  He means it. Definitely, he said.

We make pleasant conversation at a quaint little restaurant. He’s effortlessly himself, and I’m my best me. He filled every silence with delicious eye contact, and slow, seductive smiles. And every time he flashed those pearly whites at me, I felt a little pee trickle out.  A good sign, I think.

Two hours later, the thought of it being over was unbearable. So I said it: I don’t want this to be over. Neither did he.  So we went to a lesbian bar.  My idea–I love the ladies (Ode to Women) and I don’t need to compete with muscular go-go boys in thongs. Nothing could go wrong…

Just after we’d ordered our double-pints of beer, four of my closest friends stumble into the bar. I had no clue they’d be here, I promised.  Now I’m the crazy date that brings his friends.  But he doesn’t mind.  He’s great with them.  He’s quick-witted, and doesn’t even look twice at Mark (the hot one).  I don’t want it to be over, but we don’t have much intimacy in the lesbian Cheers bar (Sometimes you DON’t wanna go where everyone knows your name).  I have a romantic idea.  A walk through the cemetery. He loves ghosts and stuff, and I love getting kissed under the stars: a win-win situation.  It’s raining outside but it’s just enough to be fun.  We’ve made it to the entrance when the friendly drizzle turns violent. We’re drenched and we happen to be a block from my house. I didn’t plan it, I swear.

So we run to my house. We’re down to our undershirts and we’re sitting on the couch and I’m loving that no disaster can seem to ruin this date and then he kisses me.  Then we do a little more than that. A lot more than that. Right on the couch.  When he clears his throat, I panic.  He’s about to speak. He wants to know how come I don’t have any blinds in the living room, and if what we just did was visible to the street. Whoops.  So I grab his hand and lead him to my bedroom. But I didn’t have a bed yet, only an air mattress on the ground. Now you may not have realized this but I’m a stud. Halfway through, we popped it.  Don’t stop, I’ll buy a new one.  We laughed, we cuddled, we made love. It was beautiful.

The sleep was delightful but it lasted just four hours before enough air escaped that the bed was useless.  I had broken every dating rule in the book (even made a few new entries), and I wanted the morning to go right.  He’ll be thirsty, he’ll want his clothes, he’ll regret what we did. He’ll think I’m ugly in the morning. So I jumped out of bed, waking him up.  He smiles.  How beautiful it is when someone’s first conscious reaction to you is a smile! I fill a glass with orange juice and bring it to him, but he’s fallen back asleep.  When I get back in the bed, he wakes, knocks over the juice that I set next to him on the floor. Why is there a glass of juice right there? Sorry, I thought you’d want some juice. He laughs. We laugh.  I don’t know why I was so stressed. Juan relaxes his head backward but it hits the floor because of the air situation. Ow. He laughs. We laugh. Well, there’s the couch.  We cuddle on the couch and it’s so nice.  I have this hexagonal room, and in the morning the sun hits the couch in a beautiful way.  So there we were, together, being kissed by the morning sun, and held by each other. We talked for two hours straight before he had to make a call.  I’m quitting my job, he said. Today’s my first day, but I’d much rather be here. After that, the cuddling became a lot more than cuddling.  Right on the couch. With no blinds.  We remember, this time. Then it hits me. The shower. How fun!

But there isn’t really a classy way to say, I wanna bang you in the shower. So I just grabbed his hand and led him to the shower. Basically, I’m Jeff Stryker.

Now it was five o’clock and the next night and we had spent almost a full 24 hours with each other. Our “date” was over.  We went a whole two days without texting/calling each other. And so I sent him one that said, How are you?.  No response for a day, and then just one word. Good.  Nothing for another week, until I wrote, I just thought of you when I watched Dawn of the Dead the other night. Nothing for a couple days, then, Yeah, I love that movie.

I texted him back immediately after that message. No response. Ever. I don’t get it. Did my hair get flat? Did I stumble into some bad lighting?  Juan was my match, I was sure of it. It was such a short amount of time with him, but I’d never felt so great.  Of course, everyone who hears this story always says “Duh..you gave it up on the first date!” Screw them all.  It’s damn near impossible to resist a wet latin hunk in your living room.