Last night I had hoped to grab a few cheap beers, listen to the dj, get lost in my own thoughts about the various strangers who I hoped would be stumbling around the same bar. August in New York, it's hot, muggy, and most folks (but me) seem to manage to escape the city. I was there for all of 15 seconds, hadn't even gotten my beer, when an arm wrapped around my head pulled me towards him. Ah, one of the two men I had spent Gay Pride day/night with. He was out solo, boyfriend out of town, and just about to leave. So handsome, so sweet. I've thought about that night many times in the weeks since then, fascinated by my attraction to a pair, wondering often about something more, yet knowing there can't be a lot more there. Anyway, his hugs were fantastic, and genuinely affectionate. And on what started as a lonely Gay Pride Day, they were generous with their time and affections, and I didn't feel like singleguy with couple, but more like luckyguy with two good friends. But soon we were interrupted by more friends of his - and he kept protesting that he had to leave. One of the pals was someone who had given me his number/email, but never returned my flattering email I sent him the next day. As my pal was leaving, as were many others, and the crowd grew thin, I realized I would be stuck there with the idea of rejection hanging over my head. We did say hi, he mentioned the email, but in a sort of sheepish without explanation other than "I got it" as he nervously trailed off to talk to other friends.

Ugh, what was the point of this? I finished up the second beer, took a look around and saw only about 12 people in the bar, and fled. No, I didn't run out the door, but just knew it was time to go, that I wished the fantastic hug and handsome face of the first guy hadn't been spoiled by the silliness of worrying about the presence of some young guy who only gave me his number cuz he was drunk.