So, threesome?

Crap, it’s Sunday!  The Gay Pride Parade pre-party I was supposed to go to starts in like a half hour.  Bye, guy.  Yes, I’ll call you. 

 

I take my 1-block walk of shame home and get myself washed up.  I really wanted to wear my short sorts that said “Cocks” (like U of South Carolina Gamecocks) on the butt, but I couldn’t find them.  Fuck it, I’m wearing the shortest shorts I can find and some random shirt that’s gonna end up coming off anyway.  Let’s catch the train.

 

I catch an A train because of construction and get off at 125^th to wait for an express.  Another A goes by.  The C train goes by?  Then another A.  Finally, the D comes.  “This is a D train to Brooklyn making all local stops.  Next stop, 116^th street.”  (For you non-NYC-ers, the D train is always express in Manhattan, meaning it skips lesser stops.)  Heated! 

 

I finally get to the Village around 1 or so. I turn on Pearl St, and the Ivy League Crew et. al. are all standing out on the street. 

“It’s hot in there… and crowded.”

“Wow, there must not be anyone cute up there.”

“Well, I didn’t say it…”

 

So we officially ditch and make our way towards the parade.  I’m amazed how not-crowded the Village is outside of the parade route.  West 4th and 6th looked like any Saturday.  Somebody in our gaggle turned into a sit-down restaurant, and I’m like, “Since when do y’all eat?!”  And if you’re gonna eat at a major event like this, get portable food!  So I’m like, “Let them sit down.  We’ll go to the parade and leave our phones on.”  But the group can’t possibly break up for an hour, so we head towards the parade.  Cool, maybe Karavas Pizza N Pita (that 'restaurant' on 7^th and Christopher where all the loud gays get their pizza at 4am) will work for us.  Of course, it’s blocked off, and of course we have to go around the whole block to get there.  I lead the way through the crowds, and when I look back, it’s me, Urban Sprawl, and the Tink (he would be a twink, but he’s not quite white… not sure how he’s connected to the group, but we first met him at my b’day party, and he’s been hooking up with Rutgirls).  Where are the rest of the girls?!  Whatever.

 

So we settle in on Christopher between 7^th and Bleeker, and we were actually early for once.  I thought it was just the longest hiatus ever, but after about 20 minutes, the Dykes on Bikes came roaring through. 

 

Parade, parade, parade.  Float, walkers, float.  “Oh my god, Urban Sprawl.  Do you see that chick over there?  The turkey’s done, and it’s definitely tofu!”  This girl across Christopher St. had the biggest fake tits I’d ever seen in person, and she was definitely flashing high beams.  “They’re very symmetrical.  Maybe I should get her surgeon’s card.  I WANNA HAVE BOOBIES!”  The middle-aged Latin chicks in front of us are having a ball off our conversation.  Did I mention Fake Tits was wearing white?

 

That’s when I saw My Husband.  He must have been in his mid 30s, some kind of Latin, beautiful face, amazing body, and just enough confidence to make him approachable but untouchable (he’d indulge your attention, but he wouldn’t give you his number).  He was about 10 people east of Fake Tits.  He had no shirt, and he was wearing white pants.

 

Thunder claps.  So does the crowd.  “Oh my god!  How’d they get a DJ and sound system for an outdoor parade?!  I can’t wait for the bass to come in!”  20 minutes later, another clap of thunder, this time preceded by lightning.  “Wow, a light show too!  They have really outdone themselves this year, but Junior really needs to bring the beat in already!” 

 

Then it starts raining.  Raining doesn’t really capture the essence of the downpour we endured.  Raining tops and bottoms.  Raining bears and cubs.  Monsoon.  The Titan, Treasure Island, and Falcon Media casts are shooting water.  You get the idea.  Luckily, I had bought a Vitamin Water (no corn syrup like Gatorade has), so I had a plastic bag for my phone.  Unluckily, I was trying to be cute for Pride, so I had just re-twisted the roots of my hair (l have dreds, btw… think of it like a relaxer for the new growth… or a touch-up for your dye job).  I had about half a jar of product in my hair that was water soluble, and boy did it solu-ize.  Right into my eyes.  It was to the point where couldn’t open them for about 5 minutes. 

 

When the rain subsided a bit, the first thing I saw when I could open my eyes was Fake Tits, who had won a pack of NYC condoms and lube for her participation in the wet tshirt contest.  10 people east, My Husband must have stashed a 40-oz coke can in his pocket b/c if that’s his real size, there’s no way I’m taking all of that!  As serious a problem as this is, everyone within 5 feet of me thought that was funny!  Bastards.

 

The parade kept trudging on through the rain.  The drag queens were better prepared than I, looking glam as ever in and after the inundation.  I had brought a bottle of  “Poland Spring”, which was passed back and forth between Urban Sprawl and I (I guess Tink couldn’t hang).  We saw Ms. W as well as Uptown Brown marching in the parade.  Uptown Brown invited us to march with her non-profit, but I couldn’t deal.  I did the parade last year on the New York Blade (slash the Monster) float (me and some friends just crashed the float line-up at the last minute, and they handed us ugly tshirts and told us to get on), so I didn’t want to downgrade to walking.  Then again, there are drag queens who did the whole route in heels, so I may reconsider next year. 

 

My favorite float: okay, I have to be gay and shallow and follow the crowd… The W Hotel.  Just hott.  The saddest group: Cornell.  Then again, if I’m not mistaken, they were the only Ivy to represent in the biggest gay pride celebration in the country (well, I’ve never been to San Fran’s, so we'll say the biggest on the East Coast).

 

So eventually, some short dude kind of sidles up to us and is just standing there.  Eventually, Urban Sprawl starts talking to her, and I finally come to the realization that we know her.  Hear that accent? 

 

It just so happens that Fr(in)ance, named for her nationality and her area of expertise, has (in addition to the accent) a  apartment in the Village.  Sweet!  And she has alcohol.  Even better!  She takes us to her faaaabulously spacious apartment and makes us watermelon-vodka smoothies.  I don’t remember what the fuck we talked about, but it sure did keep me entertained for the couple of hours that we stayed there.  Eventually, East Village Latina came through, and we all went to HK Lounge to reunite with the rest of the Ivy League Crew.

 

(Grab the bonus DVD with deleted scenes, including D. Kareem’s suggestion to grab $5 burgers at McKenna’s Pub in Chelsea before heading to HK!... yeah, Fr(in)ance had to remind me about that one later b/c I had totally forgotten.)

 

We walk into HK, and there are about 30 people there.  At least 20 are connected to the Ivy League Crew in some capacity.  I think there wasn’t a drink special going on at that point, but we had finished the “Poland Spring”, so it didn’t much matter.  But when there was one, we were like vultures.  You haven’t seen so much double fisting since ffholewrecker's xtube channel. (that link is definitely NSFW!)

 

(Did Med School Mess just ask that boy if he was a bottom?!)

 

Spiky Hilton comes out on top of the bar.  She may or may not have performed.  I do remember her pulling boys up on the bar and making them show their asses for Andrew Christian underwear.  One of the Ivy League Friends got up and won himself a pair, too.  At the end, Spiky had one pair left in her hand.  My mind said to me, that bitch is gonna throw it into the crowd.  I prepped, she threw, I jumped.  They’re in the wash now.  I also caught a free tank top that the DJ threw out.  I later realized it was pink and said “Hot As Hell” on it.  Where the hell am I going to wear that shit?!  Out of town, that’s where.

 

(No, Med School Mess, I’m not a bottom either.  Try her.)

 

At one point, I saw a person who was already clearly coupled with someone else doing everything but making out with a certain friend of the greater Ivy League Crew (I kept an eye on this b/c I knew something juicy was about to go down).  So then the First Half calls over the Other Half of his couple and they start talking.  I stroll over and say, “So, threesome?”  The Other Half said, “Oh my god! You heard from all the way over there?”  “No, I’m just really smart.  Take notes.”  20 minutes later, the First Half storms up to me saying, “I have no idea what happened to the Other Half and the Third!  I’m pissed…”  Some of this quote had to be deleted to avoid further conflict within the greater Ivy League Crew, but trust that I was dying laughing!  I can’t quite remember whether this was before or after the free champagne toast, 3/4^th of which was devoured by friends of the Ivy League Crew (what?! They were lining up cups, no, shots of champagne, and no one was grabbing them, so I took 3 and poured them together… and then another 3).

 

For whatever reason, HK Lounge closed down at 3 (probably because we were the only ones left).  Don Juan from San Juan showed up like 5 minutes before they closed and offered to drive us to Chi Chi’s at 3am, which was obviously the only place to be on a Sunday night/Monday morning.  Honestly, I didn’t even remember going there on my own; Bottomless Pitt had to remind me.  They had a 2-4-1.

 

Did I mention that I took Monday after off work?  Yeah.