A few posts ago I mentioned I had met a guy, named "Justin", whom I thought was a great guy. Totally cute, funny, seemingly normal, etc. When I met a guy I think has potential it gives me hope that there actually might be someone out there, which then manifests itself in a high that lasts for some time. You know that nervous anticipation of wondering what could come next? I love that shit. Call me a hopeless romantic if you will...but I never intend a random hook-up to be just that.
Well, that awesome high was completely obviated by a seemingly innocuous text sent to me by mistake, by the guy I had held some hope for (see above). About an hour after i had invited the other Justin out for drinks on Tuesday night, he responded, and I quote: "one day some guy sucked my dick 3 hours before I fucked you".
Since he didn't fuck me, I was confused, not to mention crushed, but I sought clarification. His response was that the message in question was meant to be sent to someone else, and later added "it was a joke". Awesome. And I mean to use that adjective with extreme sarcasm. At this point, I won't be seeking his company anytime soon. And good luck to him if our paths ever cross again, because if so, he can expect a swift kick in the dick.
Moving on to this weekend's festivities, namely "Market Days", which I hereby propose be re-named "Un-Pride" since it's only purpose is to provide a venue for people to get fall down drunk and hook-up. Which is fine and all...but they need to add a Mardi Gras theme? Seems it a bit much...
After the recent experience with SLUT-BAG/SHIT-HEAD, I resolved to literally keep it in my pants last night. Not that I'm against hooking up and having some hot boy-on-boy action, but I wasn't then, nor am I still in the mood for that shit. I went down to Boystown with ex-roomie in tow, a belly full of whiskey and a mission to just take it easy and enjoys the "sights" (and also to see my favorite NYC blogger who happened to be visiting).
All was well in good, with the exception of the line wrapped around the block to get into the bar we were at. After 2 hours and several beers later, I needed a cigarette. However, the bouncers wouldn't let you leave and come back in; I'd have had to leave and stand in the insane line to re-enter (DICKS).
So I opted to just chill in the little spot my friends and i carved out for ourselves. Then they all went to take a piss en mass. I guess that was the cue for this dude to "make his move". At first i assumed someone was just trying to get past me, but when I turned around, he planted his mouth directly on mine, while also grabbing my junk. Classy.
I asked him to back off, and at least introduce himself first (see! I'm a gentleman!). He was cute, in a I-JUST-TURNED-21 kind of way, but like I said before, I was not looking to hook-up, and asked him again not to grab my junk, which he took as his cue to try to put his hands down my pants. Rather than break his wrist, I opted to leave the bar and have my much desired nicotine fix.
He followed me outside. UGH. It seemed like perfect timing when I spotted a friend of mine on the street outside, chilling on his bike. I was barely able to get in a "hello" before...said 'friend' and horny twink dude started making out in front of me. DOUBLE UGH. I walked away, and when I looked back, friend was riding off, and the twink had vanished into the ether.
These big Mo-Fests just aren't for me, I've decided. Too many people, too many expectations and frankly, I just don't feel like I fit in. Last right, while walking down the litter strewn stretch of Halsted between Belmont and Addison, I felt like an outcast, and also that the larger gay community in Chicago doesn't value uniqueness; I mean, (and to quote ex-roomie) "a gym teacher couldn't get this many people to dress this much alike".
Perhaps I simply have my head wedged up my ass (it's happened before)...I dunno. But I do I feel rudderless, and, to be annoyingly "poetic", adrift in a vast sea without a harbor upon the horizon. *BURP*. I need another beer.