Gay After Hours
Last night a friend of mine, who works abroad and just came back home, asked me to go out with him. Of course I said yes — I never want to miss a party. I dressed up, slipped on my brown watch (even though it didn’t match anything), and headed out. That watch is my little charm: every time I wear it, I somehow end up hooking up with someone. And honestly, I needed that, because lately I hadn’t been having much fun at all.
We went to a pub, but the vibe was a disaster — harsh lights, quiet music, and strange people scattered around. At one table, five policemen sat in uniform, staring at everyone. One of them was cute, but obviously there was no chance. The night dragged on as my friend and I talked about life, science, and politics. He’s a very handsome guy, but he’s not into men, so I knew nothing would happen there. By midnight, I was starting to think this would be the first time I wore the brown watch and didn’t get any action.
When the pub lights got brighter, we knew it was time to pay the bill. As we stepped outside, we ran into Billy — drunk as hell, full of enthusiasm. “Come on, you guys, let’s go to my place! More drinks!” he shouted. I looked at my friend and said, “Let’s go!” He agreed right away.
Billy’s apartment is modest, minimalist in style, but he always fills it with people. Minimalism quickly turns into chaos, and I love it — every time I go there, it’s a wild party. Within minutes I was dancing, shirt unbuttoned, letting myself go. A few more drinks, and I was just enjoying the night. Still, I thought maybe I wouldn’t get lucky this time, even with the brown watch, because I knew most of the people there and wasn’t in the mood to pick someone up.
Eventually I decided it was enough. I wanted to use the bathroom and then probably leave. But there was a guy waiting at the door. “Damn, I really need that toilet!” I said with a smile. “Too much dancing,” he laughed. I looked at him and realized I’d never seen him before. His eyes were big, deep, and brown.
“You can go before me,” he said, smiling. “Thanks. I don’t know you, but you have really beautiful eyes,” I replied, staring into them.
Just then, someone came out of the bathroom, and we stepped aside to let him pass. I asked, “You were serious that I can go before you, right?” and slowly moved inside. But he caught the door, pushed it open, and followed me in.
He pressed me against the wall, and the moment was overwhelming — intense, consuming, exactly what I had been craving. I felt both undone and exhilarated, as if the night had finally given me what I needed.
When it was over, he looked at me with a smile and said, “That was perfect. I’m Dave, by the way.” “Bozo,” I replied, still catching my breath. “And yes… it really was perfect.”
