all I saw was pale ass diving.

I realize that I put a lot of people out there with my posts, so this will be the post where I put myself out there.  There’s a boy that I have a huge crush on (if you have to wonder, it’s not you).  A lot has happened since this, so I hope this doesn’t fuck things up.  Deep breath… and here we go.

 

Friday was the Baña party, again. The last one of the summer, so I had to go.  I invited a bunch of friends, but again most were too scared, too cheap, or had “conflicts” in their schedule.  Anyway, something told me to pack the essentials for that night and bring them to work b/c I really wasn’t sure if I would make a spontaneous decision that would keep me downtown.

 

Well, it’s a good thing I know myself because my SoHo Crush somehow convinced me to abandon my journey home for a disco nap and more sensible shoes.  I had met SoHo crush right after I came back from my 4^th of July travels, and things had been going extremely well.  Being the intelligent man that he is, he found a rather clever way of making sure he had nothing to worry about when I left his place to meet the boys. 

 

It was BRITney’s birthday, so we were gonna do what she wanted to do that night: Mr. Black (something the Ivy League Crew was very unlikely to do).  I met up with everyone at XES in Chelsea to "pregame".  I had only ducked in there once on an off night, and no one was there, so it was a box of instant ditch mix.  Tonight was not packed, but it was solidly busy.  I had had a few at SoHo Crush’s, so I wasn’t trying to spend money on the way to the open bar.  Besides, with the Ivy League Crew, I can easily have a good time sotally tober!

 

Cane, who is married to Able (no relation), had driven to the Financial District way too early, so he offered to pick me up.  Love it!  He honks, I slam, we leave.  Drive, look, park.  We arrive a little after 12:30, and Dill Pickle is waiting outside for us, ticket in hand.  Cane says he knows a promoter that can get us in for free.  Mm hmm, okay.  We walk in, and of course, the promoter's not at the door.  I check my clothes and come back.  She’s not there.  I have a seat and hum “Like Me” in all 4 vocal parts.  Somewhere halfway through the last one, the promoter strolls up with her strangely non-hairy (but still cute) Greek self.  Oh, look: free admission!

 

After grabbing drinks (the same bartenders… the hot one was already naked/was wearing shoes and a shirt), I give the boys a tour of their surroundings.  It was significantly less crowded than before, which was disturbing at first but ended up making everything feel a lot more casual. 

 

Dill Pickle and Cane decide they’re gonna get in the hot tub.  I decline (it seems like most of the pathogens I was wary about would be killed in the ultra-hot water… but wandering hands would not), pulling up a pool chair by the side.  After about 20 minutes, we migrated downstairs to the (low self-e)steam room.  It was all pretty innocent, which sucked b/c we were definitely looking for a show.  Dill was sitting in the middle of us, and out of the steam comes a guy, straight to Dill.  I can’t remember what he did to initiate it, but I remember Dill giving him this look that said, “Are you serious?  Fuck it, why not.”  Making out ensues for about 30 seconds.  Cane and I are looking wide-eyed at each other and silently cheering over Dill’s back.  Dill had gotten his fill after the 30 seconds, and the guy nodded and walked away without a word.  I turned to Dill and exclaimed, “Worrrrrrrrk!”

 

We’re standing in line, waiting on drinks. A group of guys is behind us.  Cane leans over, “Dude, they’re talking about your ass.”  Nice.

 

Flashback: when I first heard the word ‘screwdriver’ in reference to a drink (it was in a Son in Law with Pauley Shore), I figured it had to do with sex (i.e., screwing).  That night, I had had at least 3, not counting what I had at SoHo Crush’s place before XES (or “Sex Backwards”, as I was calling it the whole night b/c I’m never sure what to call it… kind of like that ENYCE brand… e-nee-chay? e-nice?).  Well, the screwdrivers certainly tried to get me to act out their name. 

 

At one point, we’re walking either to or from the hot tub, and I see this hot body pass me.  As usual, I’m really not sure what initiated it, but  he most likely saw me checking him out and smiled.  I took that as a cue to feel up his abs (naturally).  We both stop.  Wait, he’s checking me out, too!  Pull it together, girl!  “Hey, how’s your night going… guys, I’m gonna, uh, go downstairs.”  I may or may not have spent the next half hour alternating between making out with him and listening him and his friends talk about me in French.  He asks me where I live, and I tell him WaHi.  I return the question, and he answers Chelsea.  No mention of me coming over, which, in my mind, means one of two things: either he has a fucked up living situation (all 5 Frenchies sharing a fabulous studio) or he’s not that into me.  Either way makes me think twice about making moves to see him again (but doesn’t cease the current activity). 

 

At one point, Cane and Dill convince each other to go jump into the pool naked.  Sorry, readers, all I saw was pale ass diving. 

 

The party ends, and they turn on the lights.  We change back into our clothes, and the French guy says, “I know this is… well, kind of not appropriate, but I want to give you my card.”  I probably said I’d call, but I’ve definitely lost that card.  And believe me, I’ve looked for it.  Not so much because I want to take things further (although I have to admit that I’ve had good sex with the French), but because I don’t want to look like an ass if I see him out again.  There’s no fucking way I’d recognize him, especially with his clothes on.  “Hey, D. Kareem, what was his name?”  You think I know?  At least if I met up with him for a drink, I could arrive early and let him find me. 

 

Did I mention I’m couldn’t be farther from my apartment without leaving the island of Manhattan?  Yeah.