Still Just A Guy Friend, And Liking That
“What are you guys,” Rosie asked.
“Just friends,” I said. “Who like to go on dates. And have sex.”
“Are you dating anyone else?” she asked.
“Then he’s your boyfriend,” she said.
We don’t talk on the phone. We text maybe every other day and go on dates every two weeks. Three dates ago we met up right after he got back from a business trip to Italy. We planned on making dinner but when I arrived he was too tried and didn’t want to have to clean the kitchen afterwards. I offered to do it all but he said, “Let me just take you to dinner.” We smoked a joint after dinner and he started to fall asleep on the couch. I kissed him good night and said, “I’m gonna let you catch up on your jetlag.” Two dates ago I canceled because my manager pleaded with me to work a double so I did him a favor. Before last night’s date, I struggled not to masturbate so that I could save my load for him. You know, something guys do that’s special for other guys. It wasn’t long before our trousers were around our ankles and he said, “Lemme shut the front door just in case the neighbor walks out. He probably won’t, but you never know.” Once finished, I went in the bathroom and used his last baby wipe to clean the sticky off my skin and lube from my crack. We got dressed and went to a Mexican restaurant, one that’s been around long enough to where the Mattachine Society probably met there for cocktails after their meetings. It was dark and classic and had a great gay presence. We sipped Patron on the rocks while waiting for our main courses.
“I’m noticing that I get up more frequently to go to the bathroom,” I said while breaking apart the shell of the guacamole bowl and throwing a piece in my mouth. “I used to be able to sleep through a pee like no other. I don’t know if it’s because I can’t tolerate discomfort like I used to, or if my bladder is just smaller, but I’m waking up to go pee.”
“Just wait until you lose your stream,” he said. “Those quick trips to the bathroom last a lot longer.”
Losing my stream? Yet another thing I get to look forward to. It reminded me of Dad and how he used to come in the bathroom while we we’re taking a shower (the downfall of having only one bathroom and a father who drank a six pack every night) and his pees would last for-ev-er. Trickle, trickle, trickle. I’d leave the conditioner in extra long just to kill time so when I finally got out my slick afro would fall in my eyes, just like Simba’s mane when he got soaked.