He says the craziest thing: “I miss you. You should come and visit me.”
“Where are you at?”
“New York City. I have a bar called The Warehouse.”
“You don’t?”
“I told you I would someday own a bar.”
Four weeks later, I get on a plane and fly east. He picks me up at a famous president’s airport, gives me a long hug, a kiss to my neck, and the rest becomes history. 4: Easy
Our chests touch to the music as Radiohead, Depeche Mode, LMFAO, and Antigone play for the next hour. Our nipples touch and hands lock together. Our buckles graze, grind, and brush together. Navels glide against each other. The music shelters us, causing us to become closer. The thick smell of boys jerking off in a shadowy corner hangs around our bodies and lingers in our pores. And sweat on our bare torsos—glistening in the disco ball’s reflective silver-white light—combines and sticks us together in a heated and sexual moment of bliss.