Tastes Like German

R.B. Winters
R.B. Winters
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A Friday night is not to be wasted… it’s for getting wasted. That’s what the motto has been for the past few months and there’s no reason to change it now.

Being the smart drunk that I am pre-gaming began around 7pm. The itinerary had London at 10:30 and sex likely at some point after. This was changed when a text message rearranged my plans. The Animator had a date blow him off (not in the sexy way) and was free for fun and sexy panda play time. I met him at Phoenix where were we had a few drinks and a round of pool. Staying busy was important because not far off was what looked to be a Mexican gay jabbing his tongue into his cheek and staring our way. Either that boy had a canker sore or he was lookin’ for dick!

Time has a magical way of escaping when fun is on the rise. It was time for me to go meet London but I had to make a stop a little farther Uptown first. Dragging The Animator all the way to Christmas Central we were in, out and back to the bar in the sip of a drink. We stopped at Therapy not only because it was time for another round of drinks, but I had to pee. Baby (the lady that inhabits and operates Christmas Central) has a new chocolate boyfriend who ushered us out as fast as we were let in. This meant skipping over my usual bathroom pit stop.

I sent London a text to invite him to the bar because it would take me forever to get to his friend’s house. I wanted to see London but there’s a risk when I go with him to a party. I’m likely to see Wall Street or his little faggy friend that always pretends not to know my name. Before I knew it we were heading to the Ritz for a quick dance and another drink. London wasn’t interested in attending, but that’s the downside to someone being your hump buddy and not your boyfriend, they can do whatever they want. Wait… I take that back. That’s a great thing! The Animator had a friend join us and we headed over to the daddy bar where I felt it would be a good idea to take some clothes off.

When you’re at the daddy bar you have to watch your ass; I was more interested in having people watch mine. I only stripped my upper half and was suddenly getting that itch to move on. We left as the sun was rising and everyone was ready for bed. Except for me, I had no interest in going to bed. Beer was still pumping through me and I wanted to play. After all, I had pent up excitement from London. So, on my cab ride home I picked up a German boy that happened to have moved to Brooklyn two days before.

Let’s run down why this hook-up was a bad idea. German means he may not be circumcised. Sadly my drunken brain did not think of this at the time. When we actually got back to my apartment the German wanted to talk. When he finally did shut up it turned out he had no idea how to kiss among other things. In fact, this was the clumsiest/worst sexual encounter I’ve ever had. I would have had more fun with a lesbian and a paper bag. Last but not least, the boy had that gross sweaty European smell. EEK!

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