It was late one Saturday night at the DC Eagle, or more likely very early one Sunday morning. I was standing on the first floor near the stairs, scanning the crowd and getting ready to leave, when a cute guy with a great porn mustache walked over to me. He introduced himself as Bishop and we talked for a few minutes until I said it was late and I needed to head home. Bishop didn’t have a beard and while he seemed nice, I wasn’t especially attracted to his look. But he seemed nice and asked if I would like to go back to his place, adding that he thought I was really hot. Oh, sure, thanks, OK.
I followed his red pickup a few blocks across town, parked where he did, and followed him into his townhouse. I asked who else lived there, as the place struck me as too big and too full of stuff for just one person. He said something about a housemate being away. OK. We ran up to the bedroom and pulled each other’s clothes off. Ya can’t go wrong getting a man out of his clothes as quickly as possible.
He must have needed it badly because after only a few minutes of naked cuddling, he wanted to bottom for me, for me to fuck him. The fine art of man fucking was still mostly beyond me, but I gave it my best. I dribbled some of his lube on my erect dick, unrolled a condom over it, lubed the condom too, and gently inserted it into his warm, tight ass. (Gently—my erection is on the large side of the bell curve, did I say?)
I fucked him as best I could, my hips bumping against his ass, again trying to find the tightest spot in his sphincter to rub to get myself off. Even so, it seemed more tiring than anything else, for me anyway. I hoped it was the nut he wanted, though I forget what exactly regarding exactly who had what orgasm or how.
(My contact lens case teammate and) I slept over, and the next morning Bishop and I exchanged good-morning kisses, cuddles, and showers, and then went downstairs and sat in the kitchen for coffee. As we chatted about the usual nothings, I was pleasantly surprised to find myself increasingly attracted to porn-stache Bishop, noticing more and more what a nice guy he was. And even though he should have had no use for a thing of beauty like me to hang around after sunrise,[1] he also wasn’t hurrying me out the door. The more I kept looking, the even-more handsome he was getting, with that sexy mustache and strong cheekbones.
But as I glanced around the kitchen, especially at the notes stuck on the refrigerator, it became clear, alas, that he did indeed have a lover-partner-person (this was long before marriage equality) who was probably just away on travel. Bishop had probably just picked up a guy (me) on the side to get his ass plugged.
I didn’t say anything about my partner guess, but I told him, pretending I hadn’t guessed, that I’d like to see him again. I don’t recall how he declined except that he did, and that it didn’t leave me feeling lonely or used, probably because I knew anyway.
I never saw Bishop again.
But wouldn’t “It Became Clear, Alas” make great book title? Or maybe a torch song.
Aside: When I met Bishop I hadn’t yet seen a man wearing a commitment ring (this was long before marriage equality), and I don’t recall if Bishop wore a ring. But I did eventually learn to glance at men’s left hands for a ring on the fourth finger—not necessarily a deal breaker, but an indicator of any long term (or disappointment?) possibility.