Blog Virgin loses his virginity at Blake's party

I’ve decided to lose my blog virginity. My life is too dramatic, capricious and bizarre to not read about when I am senile and, in restrospect, can laugh at myself. Perhaps writing will also help alleviate some of that pent up frustration that has bottled inside throughout the years. And I’ll try to write to the best of my abilities using “good” language, but we’ll see what ensues. I don’t want to concentrate too much on word choice especially when content is the primary thing that you and I care about. See, I am doing it already. Moving on.

I’m going to get straight to the action. Went to a party at Blake’s party last night. The rapacious E-mail invite that was mass-distributed exclusively to the Queer Student Union (which I am not officially a part of; I’m not even on the mailing list) sounded very orgiastic since:
a) The party was going to be hosted by two older gay gentlemen
b) The house where the debauchery was scheduled to occur was in the middle of nowhere, meaning that there was nowhere to run in case you got attacked by a sexual predator (or a gay person who hasn’t had sex in six-months).
c) There was going to be a bonfire with cute tiki-torches , adding to the flaming-ness of the evening
d) Lots and lots of alcohol (the good stuff)
e) Citation of tents and sleeping-bags
f) And the most important reason: FIRST YEARS!

I'll paste the invite so that you can judge for yourself.

At 10PM on September 10th Dave Laibstain and Blake Bullard will be hosting a party for the QSU at their house on 175 acres just a few minutes south of C'ville. The house is situated on a hill overlooking expansive pastures and mountains. At the start of the party we willhave a variety of delicious appetizers. These should last until about 11 or 11:30. Around 10:30 we'll light the bonfire on the hill beside the house. We'll be making smores. The bar will serve beer, vodka, gin and bourbon and mixers like OJ, ginger ale and tonic. Also, people are welcome to bring tents and sleeping bags if they wish to camp in one of the fields surrounding the house following the party. (We have a few tents people could borrow if they'd like.) We also have 3 couches and plenty of floor space in case a few people need to crash in the house. Designated drivers are welcome to drive themselves and guests to the party as this will lighten the load placed on our shuttle drivers. We have plenty of parking.The shuttles will pick people up at 10PM, 10:30PM and 11PM from the Chapel. (remember, those who show up the earliest will eat thebest food. Dave is an amazing cook!) Starting around 1AM the shuttle will begin dropping people off back at the chapel. The shuttle is expected to run from around 1am until 2AM.

And before moving on, a quick definition.

Gay Party at UVA: A scheme to pack and defile a bunch of horny-sex-starved-underage teenagers into your house/lawn room and feed them alcohol to guarantee yourself or some boy you don’t know fulfilling, satisfying and meaningless (as opposed to meaningful) casual sex . Usually, but not necessarily, hosted by someone older than the average age of the attendees.

Off course I was going.

Let’s acquaint ourselves with Blake. I’ll just say something briefly. Blake was in my class and graduated this year with a degree in History. He is still in Charlottesville and works with horses for a living. That is good for Blake since he likes horses and because ninety percent of the men in the horse-industry have questioning sexual identities. Blake’s always been a good friend, even though I have heard stories of his bitchiness and sketchiness from other people. But he’s cool, always fun to talk to, and always wiling to discuss the sexual business of the UVA gay pool.

We went to the party pretty early. Not that early, but relatively. I hate going to places early cause lets face it, making an entrance is just more fun. It’s like lightening a candle in a dark room or giving life to a dead person. Plus you get to experience the delicious feeling of knowing that everyone is eyeing you as you walk in. Anyway, Jesse wanted to leave early so Charles picked me up with Jesse sitting next to him in the front seat (more on both of those later). We were going to pick up JT and young-Nicholas (fresh meat aka first years) before heading to the party. But we lost our way driving from my place back to grounds (UVA campus) where the first years lived. It wasn’t my fault; after all I am a stranger to this neck of the woods and occasionally suffer from paying attention to and giving directions to my place (which is not even mine; more on that in another posting). After driving on dark sinuous roads for around fifteen minutes, we found our way back to grounds to pick up fresh meat and head to the party (All first years at UVA are required to live on "grounds"; the word grounds refers to campus at UVA).

Driving out of Charlottesville on Route 64 for another fifteen minutes, we approached a dark unpaved alley flanked with tall trees. This was the driveway to Blake's house. The fresh meat screamed, not in fear but in anticipation of the events that were going to occur during the course of the night. Charles parked the car and we got out heading towards the action. The house, though decrepit, was quite nice - old and southern with a nice wooden porch ideal for barbecues or beer and pizza (if that's your thing). There weren’t a lot of people as we walked in; just Allen-K, english-major-Dave and the two roommates (yeah it’s sad how I only remember the names of the people who I want to remember), lounging on the deck outside. We stayed outside, and walloped to the area where the alcohol was going to be served and the bonfire was going to be lit. The area was already embellished with luminous tiki-torches and midnight stars, therby providing a very surrealistic tone to the night. The hosts hadn’t started drinking. It seemed that they were waiting for us, and rightfully, ha.

The night went by, and so did the liquor. A motley of lascivious queers started pouring in, so as the alcohol, with Blake being kind enough to offer shuttle rides from grounds to his house. What an excellent scheme to get laid, I thought. Amongst the flaming bonfire and the even-so-more-flaming boys, I was standing next to Charles, occasionally making small-talk with acquaintances or strangers who would accost us. It was getting painfully difficult to avoid a conversation with loud mouth lesbians and the boys I felt would not be fun to talk to (the unattractive ones).

Jesse was avoiding me, I think. I could sense that he was somewhat uncomfortable, which made me more comfortable. It’s kind of sad to take comfort in other people’s lack of comfort. But I really don’t like people like Jesse. I dislike guys who pretend that they want a boyfriend while continuing to hook up with the next person they deem to be attractive. Oh, and then avoiding them for the rest of their lives, to avoid commitment. God, how judgmental I am. And as if I WAS not like that. Maybe I still am. Guilty conscience speaks?

My tongue was on a roll last night. I mean seriously. When I’m drinking and if I like you, you’re my best friend. But if I don’t like you, then stuff just starts spewing out. And the humor never stops; the snide sexual comments or the insulting banter. Plus, it’s so easy to pick on first years and older gay men. I wish it were something that I didn’t enjoy but it’s so hard to stop once you start. Sort of like drinking. It’s fun, just to get a laugh. I never do it to hurt anyone, seriously. And I love it when people make fun of me; friendly sarcastic comments are definitely a turn-on. Maybe thats why I do it, because I expect people to be turned on by the same things that I am. And I only make snide comments if I know that you can take them or can dish them out at me. Come on, what do you think I am, a heartless bitch?

I started feeling hungry at some point of my inebriated state. So, I went inside where I saw people feasting on chips and salsa and the ex. Yes, the ex. I looked at him balefully and wondered why the hell he was there. I’m going to pretend that the ex does not have a name to avoid giving him an identity or meaning in my life. Maybe that way he will also cease to exist from my memory. Well, I DID get the last laugh (totally different rant). So, to avoid the pleasures of watching Jesse and the ex conversing, I joined in the hoarding of the snacks. The salsa did taste good, after all.

And then the unimaginable happened. I kissed a GIRL. French kissed.

Ok, so what happened? Well everyone went outside all of a sudden. English-major-Dave walked towards the bathroom to relieve himself and Jesse and the ex went outside to join in with the rest of the crowd. This is the conversation that ensued between me and the girl, as I vaguely remember:

Me: Where did everybody go
Girl: I don’t know, outside
Me: Okay, lets make out
Girl: Ok

Why did I do this? I have no idea. And it's one of the most random and shocking things that I have ever done. But looking in retrospect to all the random shit that has been happening lately, I shouldn't feel stupefied. After our brief drunken salsa-tasting moment, I started sucking on a lime. Maybe it was because I could still smell the sharp taste of onions on my tongue (mental note during kissing: can she smell my onion breath like I can). Or maybe it was because I was trying to console the expression of disbelief on English-major-Dave's face as he walked in on us while we were going through our fifteen seconds of drunken bliss. I don’t think that it had anything to do with the ex, since I’ve seen him way too many times since we broke up and I know that I am aging better than he is.

The night progressed but there was more to come. Young-Nicholas got shit-faced and was being hit on by the drunken host (Blake’s gay law-school roommate). Nick does have a nice wholesome body after all and was wearing this tight Abercrombie shirt (I hate tawdry labels but I'll forgive him since he's a first year) which nicely complemented his workout earlier at the gym (something that he had mentioned in the car). And what happened to JT? We’ll we couldn’t find either him or Allen-K. Someone said that they had witnessed both of them grinding to faggy music earlier. After my embarrassing I-want-to-shove-my-tounge-down-your-throat experience, I ended up grinding with some other drunk chick who was enchanted by the way I was dancing with the bois. She had seen me dance earlier with Nick (more so feverishly rubbing against) and some new boy we met, AsianBoy1 (sorry I am bad with remembering names of strangers). Nevertheless, I was in a three-way-train behind young-Nicholas who was behind AsianBoy1. The screwdrivers were paying off and I was moving, grinding, rubbing. The interesting thing about gay people dancing inebriated is the complete loss of space and time and the hypersensitivity to the human touch, particularly the propensity towards loving everyone and everything rubbing against their accepting behinds. It was fun though, to dance I mean. I am a good dancer, no wait, “grinding-machine” after all. Or at least that is what they tell me.

And there were other things that happened. And things that I must forget. No wait, nothing promiscuous. Hello, my slutty days are over. But, meet AsianBoy2. This is the guy who was was sporting a black-tank top with paisley-gray Versace pants and a honey-mustard D&G satchel (I don't mind designer clothes but it is to tacky to mention nonchalantly what you are wearing to a room-full of people). This is also the guy who Ryan (Charle's last year's roommate) kicked out from his room the night before, when things started getting hot-and-heavy, with the pretext, "I am not feeling it". So, AsianBoy2 embarked on his lugubrious brooding over the events of the previous night; how this had never happened to him before and how embarassed he had felt. And, to drown his sorrows, he started taking straight shots and licking everybody's face (I am serious) to convalesce from his grief. When it was my turn to be licked (joy), I fibbed "Hey, you've already licked me", which saved my moisturiser laden skin from being soaked by a stranger's saliva. Also in my drunken stupor, I did say to Adam (another queen who graduated in my class and is now working in Charlottesville) “why do we hate each other so much”, to which he answered with a scowling expression “I don’t hate you, I don’t hate anyone, I even said hi to you at the gym”. So, he made ME look like the bad guy. Fine. I’m the bad guy. Enjoy your piece of mind, queen.

As I continued to observe the shadiness at the party standing next to Charles, with the flames from the bonfire almost dying, some random guy comes up to us confessing his attraction to the ex (my ex). A reproduction of the conversation:

Random Guy: Ex is so hot
Me: No, ex is VERY hot. Why don’t you go after him ?
Random Guy: But he (ex), said no
Me: But he means yes, he’s just playing hard to get, he always means yes
Charles: Yes, ex’s no always means yes
Random Guy: Okay *as he leaves us and walks towards the ex*

Funny. It's sort of true though since Charles just told me that he saw the random boy kneading ex's head later in the night. And off course there were other sinister ways of messing with people. Only for self-entertaining purposes though. Not to cause drama.

Oh, and before I forget, I also got hit on by a fat lesbian cow with twenty-something piercings claiming to be “bi”, which made her even more desirable. Oh, and the girl that I made out with was also bisexual. Or at least that is what she claimed to be when I got a word in with her later in the evening. Super, that just makes me feel so fantastic about myself. I mean what is up with this being "bi" shit? That's a rhetorical question, since I know the answer, or should know.

Fortunately, before my capriciousness began to take over, among the voices around me probing "are you going to stay over", I heard that we were leaving. Not really sure of when we left, since I wasn't wearing my wrist-watch. I left with Charles while English-major-Dave gave young Nicholas and Jesse a ride home. JT was still not to be found, so we assumed that he had left with Allen-K (or maybe they were doing something in the bushes behind the tiki-torches). It was expected though; the twenty there year old law student (Allen-K) is known of taking advantage of the innocence of naïve seventeen year-old first-years (JT). As we were pulling out of Blake’s driveway, two chicks (one was the one who I had danced with earlier) asked for a ride back to grounds. So, without us having much say in it, they hopped on as I continued to ramble about my night. Thank God, Charles hadn’t been drinking and was sober enough to drive me back to my place.

What a night. At least, it was funny. And I ended up feeling maudlin and bitter, which are familiar after-gay-party emotions. There is a price to be paid, after all, for a night of debauchery with the gays.