ex-millennial girl

I Got It Back

After Chantal flew back to New York, me and Michele’s partying in Miami got insane. Tina stopped going with us to the clubs. We were too intense.

One night, I sat on a plush couch in the VIP section of the hottest club (this was important to Michele, of course) and waited for her to return. She usually went out hunting, leaving me sitting. But I actually enjoyed the people watching more then the actual interaction, so it was a fine arrangement.

I saw her face first, leading an entire entourage. She’d hooked up with a group of at least a dozen guys.

She ran up to me, excited, "I found this boy! Oh my God, he’s got to be 15! And he’s so stupid! (But it’s sweet, not retarded.) Now don’t be a bitch to him." She acted all anxious. "Shit! I know you’re going to be a bitch to him."

"To who!?" I practically screamed.

"They’re all models, see? Those two fat ones are their agents, but look at them. Models!"

I looked at the group of bewildered boys. I assessed the situation: the two fat, queer agents had been in control before Michele barged in and took over. Now that she was sitting, talking to me, the entire group was confused and aimless. Michele followed my gaze and made the same assessment I’d just made, only ten times quicker. She jumped up and grabbed my arm. "C’mon. I think I found one for you, Stef, His name is HD or HG - I don’t know, it’s some kind of weird initials. You’ll find out, I’m sure."

The next thing I knew, I was linking arms with a young man who looked about my age (21) and resembled Ryan Phillipe who I’d just seen in the movie "54". He was wearing a dark, ribbed, short-sleeved mock turtleneck shirt that showed off his tan and muscles. His name turned out to be HM.

Not my type, I thought, but immediately I noticed his shyness. He wasn’t faking - he was terribly shy. I hardly managed to get his basic info, he seemed afraid of speaking. Well, I can do this, I thought.

And Michele’s "boy"? Oh man, what a boy! He really did look 15 years old. At the end of the night, after many lies, he admitted he was 17. He and most of the other models were backwoods hicks who’d been "discovered" in the most stereotypical ways possible - at the supermarket, et cetera. They were just clueless children, y’know? It amazes me that we as a society revere and attach so much emotion to the images of models: emotions that make us hate ourselves for being so ugly, but if you were to talk to one of these models, all you’d want to do was hug them and knit them a sweater. And the accents! These boys were backwoods.

After an hour, the queer agent guys stormed off and left us all. I heard a rumor that Julio, one of the gay agents, had HM in his sight and was looking to score with him that night. Oops! I’d say HM made the right choice. Moui!

We all club-hopped together and everyone else was dancing. HM and I sat together, and then we kissed. We never stopped. The night was a blur, and it wasn’t due to drugs or alcohol. Me and HM were sober and kissing kissing kissing for SEVEN HOURS STRAIGHT.

I could take the opportunity to hyper-sexualize this story, to describe tongues lustily lashing and meshing, but that’s not how it was. It was a cosmic makeout session. At one point, I whispered to him, "I feel like I’m on ecstasy." He said, "Me too." We didn’t try to lose the crowd, go off and fuck. That’s how it usually is, right? Kissing is just the beginning. But not that night.

Every time the group wanted to go to another club, they’d tap us on the shoulder and eventually drag us out to the new club, where we’d resume kissing.

While we made out, I barely felt his body or his mouth. We just seemed to visit another plane of existence. It was incredible.

Once, he slipped my boob out of my dress and started to suck my nipple. Almost immediately, an employee from the club descended on us and threatened to kick us out of we didn’t stop being so lewd. So we stopped, and resumed kissing. The employee left, scratching her head. "I’m watching you two," she threatened. I barely heard.

It was wonderful. Neither of us had any illusions about falling in love or that we were each other’s soul mate. It was simply an experience we both enjoyed. We were impressed by each other, though, for bringing out such a natural high from a simple makeout session.

When the clubs closed and the sun rose, HM led me back to the hotel room he shared with 12 other models and the agents. I sat on a cot, feeling lost. That’s when Michele’s boy, Tim, whispered in my ear, "Listen, you two really need to leave here."

"Why?"

"Just go. Me and Michele will meet you on the beach out front."

It turns out, that gay agent, Julio, was in the other room at the hotel, threatening to seriously fuck me up for stealing his piece of ass. I didn’t feel the need to ask HM if he was gay, since we weren’t even having sex. We were just innocent, kissing lovers.

The four of us then found ourselves in the swank hotel room of a local celebrity artist. He was a man of about 60, painting scenes that were appropriate for young clubbers, a very hip gentleman. Cocaine was everywhere, but again, me and HM were sober and kissing.

At one point, I begged HM, "Take me into the bathroom and fuck me."

We had to fight for entrance because everyone was doing coke in the bathroom. When we finally made it, I bent over and reached behind me for his cock - it was the size of a horse’s dick. We tried a little to get it on, but it was obvious that for a cock his size, a bed and the utmost concentration on my part would be needed. Oh well.

We left the bathroom, and two women, ages about 35, entered, but not before the metal foot of the door caught in one of the women’s toes. It created a huge gash and blood shot out of her toe, but she was so fucked up on coke, she didn’t know how to react. She certainly felt no pain. She just kind of floundered there until someone led her into the bathroom and shut the door.

After that night together, I exchanged numbers with HM and made him promise to meet me in a hotel room to consecrate the passion we’d felt that night.

We did meet in a shitty hotel on Ocean Drive. The sex wasn’t what it should have been, given the buildup, but neither of us were disappointed. We made no promises, and that was totally okay with me. He was the first man I’d fucked since Brit, and I probably needed that to be disposable, not some rebound relationship to make things worse.

Right before he left the hotel room, I snapped this pic.



When I got the picture back from the photo-mat, I said to Michele, "Oh my God! He doesn’t look like Ryan Phillipe!"

"Sweetie, he never looked like Ryan Phillipe. But that’s cool. He was what you needed him to be."

I stared crying. "I feel so much emotion, but I don’t know why. We didn’t fall in love or anything. I just feel like crying sometimes."

"You’re not a slut Stef. I know what you’re feeling. You think you’re a slut, don't you?"

I nodded my head, crying.

"You’re just feeling the "low" after all that high. It’s okay. What you did with HM was healthy, even if he was a queer. Hey, you turned a gay man straight! You should be feeling proud!"

We laughed, even though I was still crying.

"I saw you guys together. You were just having fun. You used a condom, right?"

"Yeah."

"Good. Just cry and cry and get it all out."

"Sometimes I worry about Brit."

"Stef, I wouldn’t worry about him. I talked to him yesterday. He’s with some skank bitch. I don’t like her."

My stomach froze. "WHO?"

"I don’t know. Do you know some trick named Donna?"

posted by Stefanie at 9/28/2005 12:44:00 AM