Getting Past

I was looking for a way to get past missing Daniel. Some mortal preoccupation to yield new sensations that might possibly (please, oh, please) overwrite these old obsessions. The Cuff - an all-purpose gay nightclub complex with black walls, long hallways and strong drinks - was well stocked with men to suit any taste. I almost, but not quite, settled on the first guy who approached to talk to me. I hate coming to bars by myself. (Thanks for stopping by! Next!)

You have a beautiful smile, and I like the way that t-shirt pulls tightly over your pecs. (You'll do.) The conversation came easily. Even easier after two shots.

Did I hide my poker face well enough? It's not that I'm bored by the prospect of taking you home. I want to cry, but it's taken too much energy to pull myself together enough to look this good. Just because I changed my shirt four times before leaving the house doesn't mean you're special. Don't take it personally. I packed all my baggage tonight.

"Yes, you can give me a ride home."

"No, don't park. Just pull over. I live right here." (Look where I'm pointing, stud. Pull over!)

"No... No... Ok. Fine."

"Find a place to park. Try the next block."

I was just looking for a way to get past him. You've got great lips and I could kiss you like this for hours, but they're not his lips. I wrap my arms around your waist and pull our bodies together, but it's not the same. If I could just forget for a moment that your skin doesn't taste as sweet, maybe I could move on. Your dick is thick and hard (Damn!) and I think I'd like you to fuck me, but I admit I would be disappointed.

We keep touching and grinding into each other, and I keep kissing you long and hard so you don't have the chance to look into my eyes and see me looking at someone else. Your body next to mine, over mine, beneath mine feels so good. It's good to feel again. But that's all. It's not the same.

"You know what I'd love?" you ask. Did you sense something in the way I kept my distance? "I'd love for you to fall asleep right here with your head on my chest." Your hand grazes the ample black fur on the left side of your chest.

All I can do is smile. "Yeah. That would be nice."

It takes some adjustment to find the best possible position: My left arm drapes around your stomach. My right hand supports your left shoulder like a pillow beneath my head. (Oh, thank God!)

I close my eyes and breathe deeply. My face heats up trying not to sob, and I let a few tears escape quietly. I am grateful to have you here, but Daniel is here, too. I will not get past him tonight. Your heart beats. Your chest rises and falls more slowly. I let go. Just a little.