Shakin’ Off The Dust

R.B. Winters
R.B. Winters
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I’ve spent the last several days obsessing over The Devil. I finally have come to the realization that if I want to continue seeing this guy, whether I feel the love stuff or not, I’m going to have to accept the fact that it’s just sex. At least to him it’s just sex. I’ll do what I do best and suppress my feelings into that dark little box somewhere in the back of my mind.
To prove to myself that I can still have fun while hiding what I feel, I chose to go out. I made plans with three different people. It’s always good to have backup plans. I ended up meeting with my friend who works as an agent for a New York modeling agency. I thought hanging out with the Model Man and his batch of brainless bimbos would be entertaining at the least.
I arrived at the Model Man’s apartment, forty minutes late, to find a group of four guys drinking and having a good time. I grabbed a glass and joined the fun. It didn’t take long before I realized that this was a set up. The Model Man was trying to hook me up with one of his models. Don’t get me wrong, the boy was cute, but I could never play with a model. I downed my second drink, sprawling on the floor, talking with this model boy. I was impressed that he actually had some brains in his pretty little head. Then it happened. The Model told me something that made my jaw hit the floor. He was 18 years old and a virgin. That was the end of any chance this boy had of getting into my pants. I don’t enter virgin territory, you’re just asking for trouble. Plus if I’m going to have bad bumpy sex, I want it to be because we’re both really drunk, not because he’s never seen a penis before.
Later into the evening I was feeling good. All I wanted to do was sit on the couch and talk. I become very insightful when properly intoxicated. Suddenly I was being whisked out the door and into a car. I’m not one for letting other people drive me; I won’t even get in a taxi. The motion of the car nearly forced the vodka that was sloshing around inside me to erupt, but I held it in. Upon entering the club I informed the bouncer that I was too cute to pay the entrance fee. I was surprised when he let me in without paying, sober I would never be so brazen.
Once in the club everyone just wanted to talk. That’s what I wanted to do at the apartment, now I wanted to dance. That I did. Half naked and out of control, I danced with myself in the center of the crowd. A boy latched onto me, not that it mattered, I was in my own little world. We danced for about an hour, my legs beginning to throb from the gym earlier. When I was ready to go I grabbed the Roman by hand and dragged him out the door. I forced him back to Brooklyn. His apartment was closer but there’s a roommate situation and I wasn’t in the mood for drama. I’m not usually interested in guys younger than myself, but he did the trick. I took the Roman to bed in an effort to prove to myself that I didn’t need The Devil. 
Using sex to suppress my feelings is probably not the smartest way of going about it, but it’s the best thing I could think of in my vodka haze. It like no time before the Roman was waking me up. I told him how to get home unaware that he had run into my naked roomie in the bathroom. We laughed for a minute, then I passed out. Not to wake for several hours.