Thursday, February 09, 2006

messy confess. (part 3, final installment)

"Isn't that Moby?" I asked meatcute.
And yes, yes it was. He was sitting at a table next to where the two of us were standing in the Slipper Room. We were there to hear oh-so-clever authors read at the Opium magazine anniversary party. Moby ostensibly was as well. I had to keep doing double-takes since he looked just like any other bald, be-spectacled hipster in the LES. Except he continually checked his BlackBerry and didn't seem to enjoy the witty, the precious, the earnest authors. Well, we were together there. I had to leave the bar twice I felt choked by it all. I did love the space. Beautiful proscenium.

It was Saturday night, and I had survived the two previous days of work despite the fact that I somehow contracted a virus that tried its hardest to wear me down. Let's blame it on the lack of sleep, too much drinking, doing god knows what with strangers. Whatever it was, I was feverish, shaking, in short, I was falling apart. I went to sleep, shaking and sweating, my mind racing a mile a minute. Dreams I remember:

My sister and a man were naked on a bench. My father and me stood behind them, watching as they sat in melted ice cream, the boy trying to stick his finger in my sister's butt crack. My dad noticed this and raged at the boy, picking him up and throwing him across the room, kicking and yelling. He had transformed into this large, muscular beast and I pounced to try and keep him from killing the boy (who was not my brother-in-law -- who I'd let him destroy -- but rather some nice, attractive guy). I was hanging off a bicep, yelling something like, "The more you try to control her, save her, the more you hurt her. Stop!" Then he took out a large pistol which had a barrel like a shotgun. He had to "break" the gun to load bullets. I put my mouth over the gun, stuffing my tongue in the empty barrel, tasting its dry, metallic death. Then I woke up.

Why do fevers cause dreams to be so much less subtle and more Freudian.

At least by Saturday morning I was feeling like I would live so, after a day of architecture lecture at Columbia I met up with Glennalicious and his ol' Lubbock pals. They were looking for fun, and I felt like P needed to get out and be gay again after a week of constant reading, writing, studying. So, after meatcute and I cut out on the lit crowd, I headed over to the Village to meet P. After a miss at The Other Room (no longer quiet or romantic but rather filled with desperate young things looking to score) we ended up at Barrage.

I like this Hell's Kitchen establishment: nice, friendly, never too crowded. We were accosted by a guy named Jeff who ended up introducing the disparate groups and got them all talking. "I'm your leader," he commanded, and he seemed to be right since he got several people making out or otherwise involved. Me? I wasn't drinking. I sat there watching as the others slowly got sillier and I got more tired. When Glen left with Ty and Anthony, I couldn't find P. I looked, I called, I figured he was otherwise occupied.

Finally, he re-appeared with a guy named Conrad soon to follow.

"I know where your were," I said coyly.
"Yeah, I felt the phone vibrate," he said and smiled. "But I was vibrating in other ways."
"I see. Well, good, you needed a little slutty bathroom action."
"Yeah, he followed me in and there are these mirrors so you can see the guy's dick next to you and..."
I went to check out for myself and found another guy standing at the urinal slowly stroking his stuff. Unfortunately he couldn't quite get hard although he wore a tight cock ring and was lubed up. Oh well, it's the thought that counts.

I left him there and returned to P. He was satisfied. He'd at least gotten a little attention and didn't feel like I was the crazy one galavanting around the city getting into trouble. That's all we needed: a little ego boosting and reassurance that we were still alive and kicking. Now it was time to go home and cuddle up in bed.


At 1:19 PM, Blogger Dee said...

This comment has been removed by a blog administrator.

At 1:23 PM, Blogger Dee said...

No sex with Moby?

Wha . . . snuggling!?!

Oh, girl.

At 7:31 AM, Anonymous suz said...

ah, a happy ending after all ... fairytale and otherwise...


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