two months of anxiety for a few seconds of wild sex

by theappliedprocess

I am not sure how personal I am going to be. This entry is about last Sunday night, and the events are still a bit too fresh, a bit too recent. Furthermore, I’m not sure if it’ll make me feel better or worse to remember and write something I wish I could forget. Regardless, let’s hope it’s therapeutic, and let’s hope when I read this again, a few weeks from now, I’ll just laugh at how stupid I feel at the moment, and have this as a constant reminder the next time I choose to give in so easily to my manic episodes.

Sunday after work I went to SoHo house for, as I aptly named it, pool o’clock. Me and ‘The Lady of Derbyshire’ had been craving a nice swim since the weather had been horrible here in NYC. I messaged a friend who’s a member, he told us to come after 5, and so we did. We walked our swimwear wearing petit derrières to the A train on spring street and north we went to 14th and 8th. The trip was miserable, it was too damn hot and muggy, but in a way that sort of made the advent of a pool much more appealing.

Upon our arrival, we ordered a nice jug/pitcher of Pimm’s, laid on the grape and white stripe lounge chairs, and admired the view: the gentrification of the meatpacking at its best. We got in the pool and ordered some SoHo pricey food. The water was just the right temperature, and although the sun was a bit hot, the real burning came from some of the eyes of the other members. I enjoyed it. I find it somewhat hilarious, and a true testament that money and class are not directly proportional. Some unknown rapper performed a quite catchy and fun set next to the pool. A Scott Disick-esque varmint was dancing on a table and spilling champagne. An inebriated plastic orange (referring to the color of her skin) and her skeletal fedora-wearing wannabe something beau were “dancing” on the made up stage with said rapper. A certain quasi famous nobody with crispy skin and fried hair was at the other end of the pool acting like he owned the place. The place was packed with characters.

After the rapper finished his set, we decided to leave and go to a tea party at Dream Hotel which ended up turning into another pool party, except this one was filled with people who were true testament that lack of money and lack class are somewhat directly proportional. The pool was gross both literally and figuratively. The drinks were weak, but I did manage to drink quite a few of them as we had to order a giant pitcher to be allowed a place to sit, and I am not a fan of wasting alcohol. We didn’t stay long either. Me and ‘AK47’ left to the Gansevoort for a classier than Dream Hotel, but trashier than SoHo house change of pace, ‘The Lady of Derbyshire’ went home. My friends ‘Jose Maria’ and ‘John G’ met up with us. We had a drink and headed for Cielo, where I’d never been. Sadly, the place didn’t live up to its name and soon after I ended up in my own personal hell. I left with an Australian who’s name I can’t even remember.

The Aussie took me back to his hotel room at ACE. The details of the night start getting blurry, but on our way up to the room we met another gay couple who invited us over. Both of our horny drunk brains agreed this was a good idea. We entered their room and it seemed kind of sketchy so we left and went to Aussie’s. Somehow, we decided to go back. One of the guys had left, the other one was laying in bed naked and gross. He asked if we “partied” which is code word for doing drugs (meth to be precise), we didn’t but decided to stay regardless. As I’m typing this a voice in the back of my head is just going “idiot! idiot! idiot!”. I should’ve gone home. I didn’t. Again, it’s all blurry but I’m fairly certain all that happened is that Aussie got fucked by gross dude, per my request and I jacked off. I don’t think there were any exchange of fluids other than maybe spit. Another guy showed up and that was sort of our cue to leave.

We went up to the room and ordered some room service and drank a bottle of red wine. I think we fooled around and for some reason I somewhat remember having sex with him. I blacked out. Next thing I know I woke up at 6 in the morning projectile vomiting all over the room. Aussie was speechless and so was I. This never happens to me. For a second I thought I got drugged. I showered and we went back to sleep.

The next morning we woke up and fooled around. We were both still pretty drunk/hung over. This time we jacked of and did cum. We talked a bit about the night and tried to get our stories straight. As far as we know it was all safe and the only time we came was that morning. I started my walk of shame feeling not only shameful but also mad, stupid, anxious, and irresponsible. I bought a smoothie and went home. Monday wasn’t a good day. I felt the usual omne animal post coitum triste time a billion.

I took a nap and woke up to a text from ‘The Lady of Derbyshire’ who came to visit. I talked to her and I felt a bit better. I talked to ‘Jose Maria’ as well, he tried calming me down which kind of worked but still… I am just very disappointed at myself, and to be honest, although this feeling has happened before, it never gets old. I know the outcome. I could almost certainly bet my life that once I get tested I’ll be fine, but ironically, maybe I say that I can bet my life because that’s exactly what I was doing: gambling. The next few days included a lot of ups and downs. The worst part of it all is the anxiety of waiting till I can actually get tested, the stupid “window period”. I talked to Aussie a few days later on Grindr (he found me after the fact), we checked our stories again and I felt a bit better, but like I said, it comes and goes. It’s just a slight burning in my stomach that won’t go away till I go to the clinic, but all I can really do is wait. I don’t know how to end this post so I’ll just say “to be continued…” updates on my physical and mental health to come in a few weeks.