“You Party?”

“You Party?”

The first time a guy asked me that ( I think in a bathhouse), I figured he was ready to share a six pack of vodka coolers. I learned pretty quick that he was either looking for a fellow druggie to smoke or shoot up with, or more likely, some free junk.

Listen, if anybody should have been on drugs, c’est moi. Raised by a more than slightly psychotic mother who my sainted father wouldn’t rap, I was a lonely, highly introverted, nerdie adolescent, self conscious, not about being “different,” but about the fur sprouting all over a body that was made to play sports. Feeling unpopular and unloved, I thought of suicide more than once.

But at a point in my life where turning to addiction would have been oh-so-easy, I instead refocused my energies into building a career, and became a successful public relations executive in New York, and later an educator in Florida. Never once, in college. the workplace or even the scene, did I buy drugs or pursue them. Not even grass which never gave me a real high until I tried medical marijuana years later with a crippled friend who used it for pain.  But, hey, if a trick offered me a line or handed me the pipe, why not experiment on his dime, right? Though I confess I’m an addictive personality in other ways, I was never concerned I’d get hooked.

Nor, to my surprise, did I, til I did it with one of the handsomest men I ever had in my checkered gay career. From that point on, like Pavlov’s dog, I forever equated Tina with the most sensual sexual experience of my life.  Another problem, at least down here, in sunny Lauderdale, is that the hottest guys are on it and the only way you’re gonna get ’em is to do it too. That is, of course you have the stuff not them.

But the immediate setback I quickly discovered was that while coke or crystal meth puts you in seemingly Perpetual Arousal, Horned Up Heaven, Mr. Peter is taking a nap. Viagra or no Viagra. For me, if I and the guy can’t get it up – isn’t the penis the reason we like men? – well, what’s the point, pray tell? Apparently, not a problem for my drugheads, even the ones butch as hell with a nine inch dong between their legs, who love being bottoms. High on shit, they could lie there for days getting fucked while Mr. Hard does all the work, that is, if there were an army of dicks at their beck and call. But it you’re the Top, it’s a different story.

Safe sex? Huh?

Of course, if you got a meth head buddy with some Trimix and he gives you a shot in your pecker, you can be high and hard all night, just as long as there’s still someone around to be hard for at 5 in the morning.  (That’s why the gay God invented Xanax and its poor man equivalent, Benadyrl.)

Another sidebar to partying is the eventual paranoia, like the time one methhead I was playing with suddenly got all uptight, stared at his pc, and stammered, “You think the cops are camming me?”

I had a fuck buddy years ago in Jersey whom I rendezvoused with at his place after work. We’d start in the living room with a beer, then we’d have a joint, then we’d move upstairs to the bedroom where we’d each sniff a line. By the time we were ready for more shit, our dicks weren’t.

Or take my 6 foot, 4 cowboy from Austin, Texas, who met me at my snowbird condo in Lauderdale. After getting high on his coke, we caroused on the outdoor terrace, rolling around in perpetual horniness but unable to even jerk off.

Then there was New York transplant Mitch, my meth-head clone, 5 foot, 8, humpy, hairy, and one of New York magazine’s “handsomest men in NYC”, whom I knew I could fall in love with if I let myself but didn’t, and who despite a thick beer can uncut cock wanted me to fuck him all night. But after a mutual feast of meth and G, all I could do was use my fist.

So today, when I’m on the web and a hot guy, after making me think he’s really interested in having sex with me, drops the bombshell, “You party?”-  and sadly an ever increasingly number of them do – now I know what he’s really fishing for is free drugs. My stock response: “My boys bring their own candy to Daddy’s party.”

You wanna know how fast he disappears into cyberspace?

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s