I still have to fess up on the rancid details of Thursday night, but also have this other little thing to get off my chest.
A Saturday night with the boys on the town. It went, to put it bluntly, badly.
I started with a nice bottle of Chianti to get going. I had been apprehensive about going out, because I much preferred to see my crush again, who suddenly decided to text me on Saturday morning (wtf?), hinting about next weekend. Honestly, I'll take that. I'm such a sucker, but I like the guy.
So I said my date had cancelled (all bold and shit!) and that I would go to town to see this great German DJ, a hero of mine since high school. I wasn't really into it, and once I joined my fantastically metro friend at his down town pad, I was feeling worse.
I hit the beer: bad idea after the wine. Of course people started questioning about the date. I lied, made up a story about meeting a girl through work. I hated that. Then someone else, a guy I hardly know, follows up on this with a comment about gays hitting on him (wouldn't touch him with a bargepole). Just great. It was only mildly derogatory, I reacted well to it, but the overwhelming impulse was to just admit the whole thing. Not the time, not the right audience, wrong vibe. I hit rock bottom at that point, wouldn't recover in this crowd.
We move on, to the venue. Not really a club, more of a hard rock joint hosting a techno party. A bad one. Piercings, dirty rasta hair, and only beer served. No good looking men or women in sight. My DJ is not coming on till two, beats are hammering away, no melody, and I'm pouring down five awful, over chilled beers in twenty minutes. I don't really enjoy the group, hate the joint and this relentlessly monotonous music does nothing for me. I want out.
By about one I'd had it. I took a leak, and just walked out. To the gay strip.
The first club was nice, but I ran out of cash so I had to find a machine. One problem with my town: we hardly have any banks so I had to walk a long way and queue up like a good Brit.
After that unfortunate transaction, I hit another club: it was closer to the bank.
Within minutes I'm talking to a Belgian guy. A bit older, OK looking, good conversation. I was pretty drunk by then, having had at least two more Bacardi Colas since leaving Straightland. Within twenty minutes we're going at it. He was a good kisser and I'm addicted to that, but didn't want to take it any further.
He wants to leave with me. I guess he wants to go to my place, but I'm definitely not up for that. We walk to his car (a VW Fox, piece of shit), parked real close by. He wants me to instruct him where to go, so I vaguely guide him to a street close to my neighbourhood. He parks and starts unbuttoning my shirt, feeling my dick.
In the end I just tell him I'm way too drunk and not into it enough to go further, get out and walk away. I was struggling to get my shirt back on and later I find my fly had been totally unbuttoned. I take a long, piping hot shower when I get home.
Yes, I was a tease, and behaved like a prick to anyone who was around me all night.
Today I pleaded drunkenness and nausea to all my friends. They were nursing hangovers, so it wasn't an issue really. I do feel ashamed, but I wouldn't have enjoyed staying at the hard rock joint and I don't plan to compromise on pleasure any more.
Conclusions for the night:
Older guys are good kissers, I need the experience, but I don't want to take it further;
I have to learn to draw the line in a nice, polite way;
My friends probably know about my sexuality;
I need a few friends to join me in the clubbing thing to be less of a target;
Perv management is important;
I want to make a move on someone myself for once but haven't had a chance yet;
Seedy straight places don't do it for me any more;
Picking up men is just too easy and I need to become a lot more discerning.