In New Orleans for Spring Break. A smoky gay bar. Fog machine’s on full blast. Hate that. Big black room with lots of fog, just looks dirty to me. Christian and I have spent most of the night at Bourbon Street’s other gay bar, across the street. It’s after 3 a.m.—maybe after 5 a.m., it’s hard to tell, the bars serve all night. This bar’s emptying out though. Which accounts for the smoke machine. We wandered in here, not ready to go back to the hotel yet. On vacation, still looking for trouble. More trouble.
I spot Tom ordering a drink at the bar. Tall. Dark, shaggy hair. Sexy, in a vaguely midwestern, puppyish sort of way. That’s pretty much it. There’s no one else I’m interested in here. I point him out to Christian, which is what you do when you’re out with friends and see a cute guy. As if voicing your interest will somehow make something happen; as if whoever you say this to will know exactly what you should do to get the guy’s attention. Except that I don’t need anyone to tell me what to do, because I’m already making my way through the fog toward Tom. I say, “Hi,” and before much else is said he’s kissing me and I’m telling Christian that I’m going back to Tom’s hotel with him.
He’s a surprisingly nice guy, goofy and sweet, in town for someone’s wedding or bachelor/bachelorette weekend. Something like that. I end up fucking him for a really long time that night. Morning. And the next evening, I meet up with him again at his hotel to hang out and I fuck him again before we head our separate ways, on separate adventures on Bourbon Street. He shows up at my hotel the night before Christian and I leave to say goodbye. Christian is there so we don’t fuck. We just sort of cuddle on my bed for a while and then I make him leave.
He stays in touch for a few weeks. A month or so. He lives in Texas, or he’s moving to Florida or something. He’s a sweet guy and he seems to like me, but it doesn’t take long for us to lose touch.
0 Responses to “Tom – New Orleans, March 2004”