Back in my days at the Ritz Carlton, I used to hang with a gang from work, the gayboys, and we often went out late together following work functions. There was another gayboy group who were more A-list and either "married" or into the meth-disco-sex thing that was rampant at the time. (Is it still? I wonder.)But they didn't hang with us, and a couple of them would even pretend not to see us if we went out and ran into them. We were more of the misfit type, all single, kind of looking for love, kind of figuring ourselves out, not totally comfortable with who were were yet - you know, growing up. We encouraged each other to get laid, and secretly resented it when any of us did. I remember it fondly as a younger, gayer version of Sex and the City. I've only kept in touch with one person from this gang, but this story is not about him.
After heavy drinking and dancing one night, and having a nightcap at my apartment, the gang dispersed except that one member stayed behind. When the last person left, he yawned an "I'm tired" and went into my bedroom, took off his clothes, got under the covers and shut off the light. Now normally, the more I hang out with people and get to know them and consider them a friend, the less I can imagine sexual relations with them. Luckily or unluckily, alcohol has this amazing effect - it makes you reconsider. So, without saying a word, I too disrobed and got under the covers next to him and he rolled over onto his side, facing away from me. I stayed flat on my back.
A minute later he reached around and took my hand and brought it over his shoulder. That's a sign right? Well I thought it was, so I snuggled up in the spoon position. Ah youth, things spring into action so effortlessly. This was turning out to be quite exciting. It was the first really hairy guy I had been with, and that was more thrilling than I had thought it would be. At some point in the next few minutes, I managed to do the accidental brush with my hand to verify whether or not he was excited (or awake). Indeed he was. I rolled him over and started working on him. He did absolutely nothing. Zero. No movement, no sounds, nothing. It was really weird, I felt like I was the commander of a ship, a ship I knew nothing about. Long story short, I got him off, then myself, cleaned us both up and went to sleep. The whole time he was virtually still.
We never spoke of it.
Yet it happened again, and again, and again. Each time was like the last, me doing the work and him just lying there. We continued going out with the gang, never speaking of it, and every once in a while, we'd end up in bed. Looking back, I suppose this is what might be called a fuck buddy, and despite the lopsided nature of the efforts made during sex, I started to have some feelings. Ugh. How does sex do that? Makes you overlook nearly everything. He was rather flaky, and certainly always broke, plus, a lump in the sack. I liked his dick though. And that seemed to trump everything else.
A few months later, the gang decided to go to Hawaii together for two weeks. We were so excited and used all our employee benefits to stay free at the Ritz Carlton in Maui and the Big Island as well as an Outrigger in Honolulu. At the last minute, fuck buddy backed out and I knew that it was finished then. I can't say I wasn't disappointed, as I had imagined maybe sleeping with him on the trip. Hawaii ended up being one of the best experiences of my life, but it also served as the pinnacle for the gang, for there was no way we were going to top that, and little by little life chipped away at our cohesiveness and eventually we lost touch. In Hawaii, I met a boy who decided to move to California to be with me. And that was only one month before I met Serge. But that's a story for another day.