Eleventh and Amsterdam

One night stands have never been something I was fond of, and for the greater part of my young adulthood an activity that I never thought I would partake in. My first potential one night stand turned into a courtship of sorts with an amazing man in Baltimore who played the piano, loved Indian food, and despite being a bottom could pound an ass just as good as any top, given that you overlooked his propensity for going soft. However, this entry is not about my former lover in Baltimore, but of my second and to this day my only real and true one night stand.

I had recently broken up with my ex, Jarek, and I was still very much on the mend. I don't deal well with loss that is not death and breakups tend to be very difficult for me. My way of dealing with loss is often engaging in risky, impulsive behaviors. I often become hypersexual or hypo sexual, take up smoking cigarettes, and there is an obvious increase in my drinking. I also have friends who enjoy drinking and going out and being irresponsible, so these impulsive, risky behaviors are often bolstered by my friends, and with this cocktail of bad choices I was heading for a wake-up call.

In addition to my risky behavior I had also started dating another boy, and when I am single I go through boys like clothes from H&M. My friends are constantly hearing about the onslaught of coffee dates, dinner dates, sex dates, and sexual trysts. I am exhausting when single and actively playing the field. I'm sure my friends find me and my life exhausting to listen to and this is most likely intensified by my anxiety-ridden personality. Thankfully in my older and wiser late twenties I have slowed down a little in the pursuit of something long-term and meaningful. I think at some point most people will evolve to this determination after our need for random consumptions of flesh have been satiated.

I met my next conquest (Billy) at a gay club when I was entirely too intoxicated and he was also entirely too intoxicated. We began talking about God only knows what for God only knows how long and then at some point arbitrary conversation turned to making out and that lead to dancing while making out. We half-danced, half-made out until the club closed and we said our goodbyes and exchanged numbers and I assumed that after the niceties where concluded we would never see each other again (this was not so, and my drama-filled relationship with this boy continues till today, albeit unromantically). We went on several dates, and he was wonderful and intelligent, had a zeal for life, but was young and unsure of himself and lacked a certain dominance that I require in the bedroom. From the third date I felt my feelings waning and I knew that it was going to have to end. I was not over my ex and was not ready for monogamy or the confinement and expectations that come with relationships. I feel like we all need to recharge after a relationship because they take so much work and effort. I often feel that after a breakup I am emotionally spent and need to be selfish for about half the time that the relationship lasted.

I often attempt to be monogamous from the get go of dating. I try to focus on the person I am currently seeing because I think it's the best way to get to know someone without distracting yourself with other people. I do need sex regularly and once I have sex my thirst for it only grows and grows. I believe certain people would probably describe me as insatiable and my desire for sex can border on obsessive. That being said I had remained "faithful" to Billy for the three weeks we were dating and we hadn't even had sex yet, so needless to say I was fucking horny.

One fateful Tuesday night my good friend, Bob, and I had dinner, and whenever I hang out with Bob things tend to escalate. I'm sure he doesn't read my blog so I'm gonna divulge that he is most definitely a functioning alcoholic who self-medicates with a plethora of prescription medications. I think he knows about these maladaptive coping skills, but refusing to do much about them. He is pretty much complacent to go through life unhappy and pretty much always under the influence of three substances. I have tried to talk to him about his issues, but you can't force people to change or get help. We have almost stopped being friends several times due to his antics, but I always come back because at the end of the day we both really care about each other.

After we finished dinner on Tuesday and most likely two bottles of wine we started taking shots and then Bob had a brilliant idea to schlep into the city for some gay bar hoping. I know we began the night at Therapy, who was hosting a drag show, where I downed two dirty vodka martinis and from there the night becomes very blurry. I know that we ended up at Industry and I was beyond intoxicated, and at some point I was accosted by this French young man. In college I studied abroad in Paris and since then anything Parisian makes me week in the knees and this man and his accent were no exception. His name was Max, he was 26, and he was working in New York City temporarily, and would return to Paris at the end of the summer. Max continually attempted to get me to return home with him, and continued to feed me drinks, but I could not leave Bob alone and rejected Max's ploys. However, Max ultimately used one last ploy, he suggested we go out and have a cigarette. Now I am often an on-again, off-again smoker and currently I was off, so the promise of one of those sweet cancer sticks was too much to deny. We went outside and as we were enjoying our fags hailed a cab and easily prodded me into it. Off we went uptown and I forgot all about Bob and the fact that I was going who-knows-where in Manhattan when I had work at 8AM the following morning.

When we arrived at Max's apartment we had to climb an unknown amount of flights and we began sexual escapades that would last hours and would entail having sex three times, and once on Max's roof where I was fucked from behind while holding onto a chimney stack. I remember this one moment vividly because how often does one get to have sex on a roof?

When I awoke in the morning my mouth was dry, my ass was sore, and I had no idea where I was. I checked my phone and I had 3% battery and it was 7:45AM. I quickly found my garments and rushed out of Max's apartment. On my way out we kissed goodbye and Max said he'd text me, but we both knew this would never happen because we never exchanged numbers, and it wasn't that kind of thing.

I ran down the street, realized I was all the way uptown, and called my boss to report that I had woken up late and would be late; little did I know how late I would actually be. I then stopped at Starbucks to purchase my rescue beverage, a trenta half black, half passion iced tea with no water and three pumps classic syrup. It hydrates and cures hangovers, I swear. I also needed to take a mammoth shit. A night of all fucking and drinking will do that and there was dire need to evacuate. I then hailed a cab to port authority and took a bus to Clifton all with my phone on airplane mode to conserve battery. Once back in Clifton I called a cab to take me to Bob's apartment to pick up my car. I then had to drive home, shower, and head to work. I arrived at work three and half hours late and had to explain to my coworkers that I did not die. Thankfully no one asked how oversleeping would make me so late because I would not have been able to answer that question. When I look back at this day it feels surreal, a manic part of myself that I truly don't recognize.  

That night I had plans to see Billy and go out with my friends to this local gay bar in Jersey. I was exhausted from the lack of sleep from the night before and was stressed out with the weight of knowing that I was going to end things. I knew that I needed to end it, and the fact that I didn't even feel guilty about having sex with Max, even when I knew that Billy thought we were already exclusive was too much to handle. I knew I needed to be alone still, there were still parts of myself that I needed to work on and mend and I wasn't going to drag Billy around with me.

We got home early because I wasn't feeling well and I ended everything at around 1230AM. I offered for him to sleep over because he had a few drinks, it was late, and he lived an hour away. He of course declined and left. I knew he was angry and I figured he'd never speak to me again, which was fine because it would be easier for both of us. I've only had another one night stand since this one, and it too was not without feelings of regret. I'm fairly certain that one night stands aren't for me, but at least it has offered up a good story.