last night (thursday) was weird. a pal asked me out to dinner, but I had already eaten, its cold as shit here, so I wasn't up for watching someone eat. I fell asleep around 9:30, only to wake up after 10 thinking, "should i stay or should i go?" and managed to put some clothes together, wash my face, and get out early. The Hole has that 10 buck admission, open bar 10-12 thing, and the lines have been around the block after 11 lately. Guess what? not that many people there at 10:40, when I arrived, but The Buzzcocks were blasting, so it seemed worth it. Open Bar seemed to mean not Rolling Rock, but Bud, for some unexplained reason. What am I saying? last night wasn't weird, it was lame. The music was at its peak when I walked in the door, a few more "classic" new wavish songs, then the barage of "classic rock" jethro tull, ac/dc, all that crap, then some really really bad choices. Like, "OOH that smell" - why the fuck play that, - EVER!? And some Boston, and cheesey 60's hits. Bad DJ. Not a single song I couldn't name within 5 seconds, terribly unimaginative. Meanwhile, the basement/backroom was cold and unpopulated, so I just sat there for awhile, smoking some kitchenweed. Some guy with a bad piercing comes down the stairs, sees just me, and doesn't even bother finishing his descent. A few minutes later, upstairs, he's cruising me. At first I couldn't tell if he had one of those bolts in his chin, or just wierd facial hair. He had oddly pouty lips, and soon enough, at just the right angle, I could see he had a ring thru his lower lip. Needless to say, as "ambivalent" as I was, later, as the downstairs backroom got a bit of action, I found myself bumping crotches with him for a few minutes. Before touching, everything about him was just "ok", but, it had been some time since anyone had expressed interest in me (or, at least it seems that way in my own little needy mind), so I went for it. His breathe was that bad alcohol breath, so I tried to avoid his mouth, going for his neck, ears, etc. He was kinda sloppy, pulled out his dick, pushed my hand into it, yank yank, pull pull, after awhile it just wasn't doing much for me. But, his breathing got faster, and heavier, so I figured a few more minutes can't hurt, get the guy off, whatever. He's pulling on my cock, not terribly well, but it responded half-interested. Suddenly, in this crowded room, he turns around, away from me, and his ass is pressing against me. He's no longer touching me with his hands, and I really couldn't tell what he was doing in front, so i just started buttoning up. Either he wanted to get fucked, which wasn't gonna happen with me, or he was busy with someone else, but was maintaining that bit of contact with me "just in case"; either way, big turn off, I was almost done putting myself back together, and he turned around. I just gave him the "I'm taking a break" pat-pat on his ass, and moved toward the stairs. 3 beers, a bit of weed, and the music upstairs was getting even worse. Fleetwood Mac? geez! and the Viagra GO GO Boys weren't so hot, their cocks all purple and pained-looking. There was a real long line for the coat check (thankfully my jacket was on me), mostly folks leaving, even though I didn't think it was that late. Knowing that the next beer would be 5 bucks, I knew it was time to head home.

Gosh, I thought I looked good, in my own modest way. I had the thermal shirt that made me look like I have a chest and a small waist, plus the black leather pants that make it look like I have an ass, and with the cockring and bottom button unbottoned so it gives the illusion of a decent cock. Not to mention my not-too-freshly shaven, but stubly face, and of course, my killer smile. Oh wait, I've been told I don't smile in bars, that I sorta have this deadpan look. hmmmmm, could that be it? Sure, that guy over there in the corner is thinking "Hot ass, big package, but such an aloof expression, too bad." Sure.......

oh well, my trusty bike was waiting where i left it, one of the few things that's pure pleasure; so, despite the cold, we took the long route home. Enough liquor to not think too hard about the evening, and enough wits about me to know to call it a night, I did my speed-racer thing for that one stretch east on 6th street, racng like a kid, cold-as-shit air hitting me in the face as I sped around the corner at Avenue C, then the short block, another sharp turn, and remembering a bit of ice cream in the fridge got the smile back on my face as I popped up on the curb and stopped sharply in front of my building.