Rick Shory

Offering a little something you might not otherwise have

Leave a comment

Big Puppies

“I could give you guys a ride home,” I offered.

As soon as I said it, I thought better of it.  They were drunk.  What if they spilled stuff in the rental car?  What if they passed out, threw up?

Then I thought, no.  It’ll be fun.  It’ll be an adventure.  I can handle it.

Always before, I had breezed over the Sweet Party announcements in the weekly emails.  More gay BS, I thought.  More overblown claims to be something that never panned out.

Then, one night I went out dancing here in Fort Collins.  I remembered the magic.  Dancing somehow gets me out of myself.  It takes me to a really good place in my head.  Not to mention loosens up all my joints.

It was great.  The whirling, writhing energy.  The fun things they do with light shows nowadays; the lasers and the smoke.  The occasional nice looking man on the dance floor.

I had a really good time.  The only way it could be better, I thought, would be in a gay crowd.  So I made a mental note to check out the Sweet Party.

Finally, this weekend I was in Denver the night of the month when the Sweet Party happened.  Of course, on the way to the bar, I considered just canning it and going home.  But, no, I said to myself, if I don’t like it, I can just leave.  And then I’ll know.  And I won’t ever have to do it again.

Dancing is simple.  You just feel the rhythm in your neck, and let the rest of your body follow.  I stepped onto the dance floor and brought the music into me.  It happened.  It clicked.

The floor was crowded, but I’m adaptable.  I can swirl through a hundred feet of space, if I have it.  Or less, right down to body contact.  Far better, I considered, than what’s often happened.  Me, the only one gyrating, while everybody else stands around stiff with drinks in their hands.

This was a real dancing crowd, maybe twenty, forty men; one or two women.  My favorite light-show effect was the spaghetti swirls of laser light, knifing through the puffs of chocolate-scented smoke, so it looked like gouts of red, yellow, and green flame.

The little sandy haired guy with the moustache was first.  His hand brushed me.  His face was friendly, tipsy.  He danced with me, putting his arms around, from time to time.  After a song or two, “I’ve got to take a break,” he yelled over the music.  “That’s my partner,” he said, pointing into the darkness.

Gay men who are courteous are prompt to answer the unasked question: “How available are you?”

Then his partner, dark haired, with a sort of Fu-Manchu.  He was more drunk, and much more forward.  He bumped and ground against me.  I gave it right back, in the joy of the dance.

It was fun, through the evening, to have the two of them come and go.  Swirls of innocent carnality, playful lust.  Finally at 1:30 AM the DJ wound it up, and we were out in the main bar.

“I’m Tom,” said the sandy-haired one, “And this is Andy.”  They were about ten years younger than me, and adorable, though not really my type.  The bar was closing down.  They were talking about calling a cab.  I realized I had a perfectly serviceable car at my disposal, and made my offer.

They stumbled the two blocks up the sidewalk to my car.  I held one of them up under each arm.  They playfully groped me.

“We’re going to have sex with you, when we get to our house,” said dark-haired Andy.

“No, thanks,” I demurred, “I’ve got a long drive home.”

“Just an hour,” said Tom, “Then you can go.  Or you can spend the night.  In a bed alone, if you want.”

“No, I need to get home.”

It was a long two blocks.  I felt a mixture of self consciousness about what kind of spectacle we were making, and pleasure at all the attention.  “You’ve got a really nice ass,” said Andy, cupping his hand.

Am I going to be able to drive, I thought, with these guys all over me?  But it turned out to be fine.  They were like two big puppies.

You know, you could have two excited, friendly puppies in your car.  They’d try to lick you and nuzzle you, and get in your lap.  You’d pat them and scratch behind their ears, and gently parry their energy.  You’d still be able to drive, just fine.

So I piloted the car through the 2:00 AM streets of downtown Denver, Tom pointing to turn here and turn there.  As I dropped them off, “You sure you don’t want to come spend the night with us?” Andy slurred.

“You’re a hot man,” said Tom.

Now it’s next morning, and I am still tickled about it all.  I have a nice afterglow.  All that attention I guess.

It’s much better than if I’d actually tried to have sex with them!