Sex + Love

August 11, 2011

What is this Love? Part 3 “The Chub and the Club”

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Written by: Kyle
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what is love 3

I was sweating bullets. I was so nervous, but I was so turned on. Voyeuristic, public kinda things really get me hot.

I closed my eyes again. Listening to the rushing water I thought of him and I in the shower together. Our skin barely touching, connected by the steam. I could feel his breath on my shoulder. His lips glided against my neck, sending shivers down every inch of my body. Then, the soap. Of course, the soap. Irish Spring, I imagined. How butch. He took the bar and started lathering my chest hair from behind. His dick was getting hard and I could feel myself losing control.

“Hey, I forgot to tell you about the hot water in the shower!”

He burst in. He just came right in. My heart stopped. My body grew rigid. I couldn’t move.

“Oh I’m. I’m sorry”, he sputtered. He left, closed the door gently.

I must have been in there for a minute. My fantasy lasting much longer, I completely was unaware that I forgot to lock the door. But who barges in, anyway? Whatever. It didn’t matter. My life was over. As the Toronto hipsters say, OVAH!

I must have stood with my hand still down my pants for at least five minutes after he left. It had obviously retreated into a dark place of shame. I felt it. Shrivelled. Alone.

I snapped out of my daze to hear him knocking on the door again. “Hey, um, you ok? I mean, it’s cool, no worries.”

OMFG, I was making it worse by just standing in there. I had to get out! Like, yesterday!

I contemplated the window, but that seemed a tad dramatic. Just a tad.

So I quickly put back on all my damp clothes. Waited a bit. Open the door and bolted for the door.

I didn’t see him after that day. Not by his choice. I was constantly screening his calls and avoiding his facebook messages. He said it was ok, but I just couldn’t bring myself to see him.

I mean, I feel like it was worse than the time my mom caught me trying to fuck a watermelon when I was 15. And that was traumatizing! Mom never could look at a watermelon at a family picnic the same again…

I eventually bumped into him at a club one weekend. Two months later. Our eyes locked and we drifted close together. What he did next was very unexpected and I guess was his was of clearing the ice.

The music blaring. The smoke and strobe lights flashing in our eyes. He said hello with one hand as the other lowered and grabbed my cock. My mouth must have been gaped open with shock as the next thing I knew his tongue was in my mouth and our lips were sealed together.

Everything stopped. The music. The lights. The drunk bitch in the corner talking about how not “mainstream” her new shoes were. Everything. I went to a place. A place that I had been begging myself to visit one day. A place that made me feel like I was invincible and I could do anything I wanted. He smelled like everything good in the world combined with everything else good we as humanity had yet to discover.

The blood rushed through me. It exploded through my lips and tongue. We were locked in this simple series of heartbeats.

“WOW!” I said. “Amaze!”

“I thought you’d like that”, he belted in my ear.

He gazed in my eyes. I could see them drop slowly and follow through to my chin, neck, chest, stomach. Finally his eyes just looked at my crotch. He must have been wasted. I just got there. Only a few Jaeger bombs in.

He looked up.

“You wanna get some air?”

We emerged on the “terrace”. Bumping music. Hot boys everywhere. He grabbed my hand and we walked through the crowed. My heart sank. Where is Pablo? And do I need to assemble my army of ninja lesbians to protect my gay-boy ass? They and their legion of cats could take down a whole set of Pablos.

He led me to the bar. Right to the front. Some twink gave me attitude about budding in front of him. I just turned around and licked my lips. His nose turned up, he scoffed and went on his fairy way. It’s like the animal kingdom out there. I was bordering on Bear but hadn’t earned my paws yet. Actually, I had no idea how to “earn my paws”. I was lost.

“Whaaat?!” I yelled.

“What do you want to drink!”, he said.

“Tequila”, I said. “Let’s get this party started.”


To be continued…

 



About the Author

Kyle
Kyle
|Contributor & Photographer| MA in cultural and political communications. Currently live in Montreal with my boyfriend and his cat, Shakira. Writer, #hashtagabuser, slow food advocate, culinary master, avid photographer, hopeless romantic, handsome pants, part-time lumberjack, occasional super hero, determined professional, master of witt, and self proclaimed food and wine junkie.




 
 

 
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One Comment


  1. Ty

    OMG Kyle!

    Great piece, so many people are following this story.. it’s hot hot hot.



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