Waking up this morning, I found myself in the middle of a classic, “Where am I?” moment. You know the one. After slowly opening your crusty eyes and chalky mouth, you look up at the ceiling, around the room, and take about five seconds to remember that you slept at a guy’s place last night. You confirm all of this by turning to your side, and seeing said man sleeping beside you. In these moments, I always find it’s important to re-evaluate my situation and surroundings as soon as possible. Am I wearing clothes? If not, where are my clothes? Do I have my jewelry? Where’s my phone? How far is the bathroom? All of the essentials, really.
Austin woke up. Smiling at me, he moved in for a kiss. I didn’t know where that kiss was leading, but I knew that I needed to be prepared for anything. Tiptoeing to the bathroom in my underwear shortly after, I tried to avoid waking up Austin’s roommate and the guy he had fucked last night. After doing my thing, I returned to the bedroom.
We made out. It wasn’t long before Austin had migrated south, and was putting his mouth to further use. Fuck. It had been way too long. I needed this. We went back and forth for a bit, before eventually climaxing on one another during a fairly quick masturbation session. Yeah. I know. I wanted penetration. I suppose a rubdown was more time-effective, though.
We cleaned up. After Austin brought me the water and Tylenol I had requested, I got the sense that he wanted me out of his apartment. It was nearing 12 p.m. at this point. I had brunch plans with Kevin Sutherland at 1:30 p.m., so I was ready to leave. I also got some jizz on Austin’s sheets after it had dripped off one of our stomachs. When I started getting flashbacks to 2010’s “Prince Phillip in Dr. Phillips” virginity moment, I didn’t want to hang around any longer.
Pulling my pants up, I grabbed all of my stuff and left. It’s important to note that this week’s trip to the United States is quite different than most. For the first time ever, I’m able to use my phone’s data plan while traveling. The roaming came at a cost of $5 per day, but was totally worth it. No more hunting for Wi-Fi.
Once outside Austin’s apartment, I basically stopped on the sidewalk in the middle of a very misty New York City and went through my phone for 15 minutes. I’d missed the chance for my usual morning round-up while in Austin’s bed. I needed my good mornting! During this time, I also remembered that I’d stashed my champagne flute in a planter outside of the bar we went to last night – Barracuda in Chelsea. Walking two blocks down the street towards the subway, I found it buried in the mud.
With a dirty champagne flute in one hand and my iPhone in the other, I strutted down the street as if I were a high fashion runway model. Onto the subway, up the steps of Aaron’s apartment building, and with my coat blowing behind me in the wind the whole time. Hey. I remembered the entire night, plus I got my dick wet. Last night was basically perfect.
With only 30 minutes to wash the semen off my body and change ensembles, I hoped to God that someone would be home. Fortunately, Sonny answered the buzzer and let me into the apartment. I did my thing and was ready for brunch in record time. I looked fucking cute! Listen. It’s a rarity. I have been loving my new hair, so I’m going to own it.
Sonny was getting ready to leave as well. Since Aaron was going to be working until 10 p.m., he asked me what I was going to do with my suitcase. I didn’t have time to worry or think about migrating my luggage to Greg’s place in Brooklyn in that moment. I told Sonny that I’d figure it out after brunch. If I had to meet Aaron and get the keys, I would. Remember: I didn’t have a set of my own.
Here’s where things began to take a turn for the worse. Well, first, they get better. I met Kevin and his Ivy League friends for brunch just down the street from Aaron’s place. We settled into our long table at the back of the restaurant. The friends were cute. I caught up with Kevin a lot, but I was meshing well with the entire group.
An important part of this story is the brunch menu. For $24.99, your entree included bottomless mimosas. Yes. Bottomless. Naturally, we all went in on the deal. The waitress would come around every few minutes to fill us up. Starting the refills on my end of the table, I would be ready for another fill-up by the time she had finished.
I blacked out.
I fucking blacked out. Despite this being a brunch for Sterling’s birthday – one of the guys I went to Fire Island with in August – I got so excited about the drinks and being the center of attention that I completely overdid it. The last thing I remember at the restaurant is going into the bathroom and making a series of Instagram posts – some of which included me lip-syncing to Mariah Carey’s Christmas songs.
What began as a super cute afternoon had taken a drastic turn to the dark side. I’ll also note that this brunch was limited to 75 minutes. During less than that time, I managed to completely lose my fucking mind. I don’t remember leaving the restaurant. Actually, the real last thing I remember is Sterling picking up the check for the entire table. Thanks, Sterling!
If brunch was at 1:30 p.m. and had a time limit of 75 minutes, I think it’s safe to say we left the restaurant between 3 p.m. and 3:30 p.m. by the time everything was squared away. Like I said, I don’t remember leaving. However, I do remember going to Kevin’s apartment building in Hell’s Kitchen.
As if things weren’t messy enough at this point, we all decided to hang out in Kevin’s party room. I had been to the building last year, so I was familiar with the layout. I still can’t figure out why we went there or who was with us, though. I vaguely remember sitting on a chair in the party room, and becoming quite frantic when I realized that I didn’t have my phone on me. Kevin insisted that it was in his apartment, and gave me his keys to go upstairs and find it. 15 minutes later, I still couldn’t get the keys to work. I asked Kevin for help.
I blacked out again.
Although I vaguely remember leaving Kevin’s apartment, I have no idea what time that was. This was so fucking messy. Even writing this now, I am pulling my hair out. I know what a bad situation this was. It was cold, raining, and I had nowhere to go. I needed to get to Greg’s place in Brooklyn, but Aaron and Sonny weren’t going to be home for a long time. What was a boy to do? I decided that I’d just go to the building and wait for them.
I don’t think it’s necessary for me to mention this again, but I’ll repeat: I was blacked out for most of this.
Arriving at Aaron’s well-secured building, I remembered a CNN special I’d watched a few years ago. Lady Gaga and Anderson Cooper wanted to get into the singer’s old apartment building in New York City, so she pressed all of the buzzer buttons at the same time and someone let them in. I tried it. Sure enough, someone opened the door. At this point, I was just happy to be inside. I set up shop outside Aaron’s apartment door, and spread myself out on the floor – like a fucking homeless person who had just broken into an apartment building. Literally.
Residents kept stepping over me on their way down the stairs. Since Aaron’s apartment was on the second floor of a multi-level building, this happened a lot. I think. My stomach is turning right now as I write this. The whole thing was so horrible. I was blackout drunk on a Sunday afternoon. I had nowhere to go. All that stood in my way was an apartment door, which I wouldn’t be passing through any time soon. Fuck!
I can say this now, because I remembered it after the fact. I drunk dialed Natasha and spoke to her and Konrad as they were in bed. I don’t remember what I said, but I remember Natasha looking like a 50-year-old housewife, with her hair in a bun and reading glasses on, while under the covers next to Konrad. Meanwhile, I didn’t even know what my last name was. I was also sleeping on the doorstep of my friend and his drag queen husband’s apartment. What the hell was going on?
I don’t know who eventually let me into the apartment. I don’t even remember packing my things. The only recollection I have of Aaron’s apartment is washing some dirty forks in the kitchen sink with scalding hot water, while someone insisted it wasn’t necessary. To be honest, I don’t want to know what happened. This is one of the many moments in my life where I would rather not know all of the details. The ignorance makes it easier for me to move on during the recovery/hangover process. To whoever let me inside – thanks. I owe you.
With my bags in tow, I headed for the subway. Next stop: Brooklyn.
After what felt like an absolute eternity – probably because I was documenting the entire thing through Instagram – I got off at a subway stop in Brooklyn, and walked a thousand blocks to Greg’s apartment. When I arrived, I basically charged up the staircase with my suitcase. My hands were frozen. I was still extremely drunk. Judging by my messages to Aaron, I only left Manhattan at 8:35 p.m. If my math is correct, that means I probably got to Greg’s place around 9:30 p.m. The majority of what happened between leaving Kevin’s place and leaving Aaron’s will hopefully remain a mystery forever. Yet another moment I would like to press delete on.
Once at Greg’s, things began to calm down. Likely because I had finally settled somewhere for the first time all day. And what a fucking day it was! Busting my nut with a guy I met on Fire Island four months ago, getting blackout drunk at brunch, losing my phone, breaking into an apartment building, sleeping in a hallway, and then moving to Brooklyn. I needed to calm the fuck down.
I began to unpack. After meeting Greg’s hilarious roommate Michelle – whom he hates but does everything with – I gave Greg his Mariah Carey candle. I also made the stupid decision of popping open a bottle of champagne. You know, because I needed it. Idiot. Although this part of the evening is a bit clearer in my mind, nothing apart from a few standard story swaps with Greg and Michelle really stand out.
Michele went to bed. Greg and I watched Mariah’s World before I eventually settled onto a surprisingly comfortable futon.
I’m going to pass out. Again.
I hate myself.