I didn’t intend to fuck him; it just happened. Something between the coke and the floor to ceiling comic books in his room worked a spell on me so later when we were at the club in SOMA and I asked for a cigarette and he said No have your own; it’ll taste better when I make out with you in a minute, I just laughed and took it even though I didn’t really mean to kiss him until he said C’mere and walked me around the side of the building onto Folsom and then grabbed me by the front of my t-shirt and then his lips were touching my lips and my hand holding the cigarette was stroking the side of his face, careful not to rub the cherry into his cheek or ash on his neck and I knew right then that yeah, I’d probably fuck him, even though I’m a dyke.

That makes it sound weird, to say I’m a dyke when I guess more appropriately and how I usually identify is queer which means I fuck boys and girls and transkids and basically anyone who wants to fuck me has a decent chance of fucking me if they’re remotely cool and have a good CD collection but don’t ask asinine questions like What does that mean? when indicating the hair band on my left wrist as if it were a political statement and not a hair band, on my left wrist because the one guy who did that was erased from my cell phone, pronto.

The point is, I hadn’t had sex with a guy in a really long time, like two years which is not to say that I’ve not had any cock since my silicone is holding up just fine, thanks but that I hadn’t been fucked by a cock with a man attached to it in quite a long time and in fact, I’d been focusing on improving my box eating skills and working on working up the nerve to talk to cute butch girls, not tall intimidating comic book nerds with serious video game collections and lopsided smiles who told me that he grew up in a neighborhood full of Chinese, that Cantonese was almost a second tongue or at the very least not the unfamiliar assault on the ears the way it can be for the less traveled or more insulated. When he goes to work now at 6^th and Clement, he doesn’t feel out of place among the dim sum parlors and slaughter rooms, those grocery stores where chicken feet are always on sale. Maybe this is why he adores Sonny Chiba, owns more kung-fu movies than t-shirts, has a throwing star embedded on his closet door.

Just so you know, I didn’t just go home and just hop into his bed either, circumstances forced me there, most particularly the people from the party who came back to the apartment to drink and do blow, none of whom apparently have jobs or lives since they were still up at 2 when I crashed out, half-asleep and half-shaking from all the coke in his bed, while him and certain of his friends traipsed in and out, snorting lines of the back of a Django Rhineheart CD, while I lay two feet away under the covers in my t-shirt and panties and nothing else, my dirty socks tucked into my book bag with my pens and papers and me figuring out how much sleep I could get and still be presentable for work at 9 am.

I finally fell asleep with my heart still pounding out but my earplugs firmly in place which is why I guess I didn’t hear the Turk St. traffic or him come in the room, just felt the bed shift as he settled in, already naked and turning towards me, already stiff and hard and substantial which is amazing considering the amount of coke he’d ingested and he said Look how hard I am now it’s ‘cause of you and later he said that I turned to him first and started to make out with him but I must have been half-sleep kissing because I don’t remember a thing about it until he went about biting my nipples and leaving tiny bruises that will take days to heal and woke me up entirely.

His kissing was the kind that left you wanting more, and I didn’t want to stop kissing him even though I don’t really like kissing too much while I’m fucking because it’s simply distracting and I was already having a hard time coming because of the coke and his good sweat smell and how weird it was to be beneath a boy again and even though his fingers felt good inside me, swabbing around for the g-spot it wasn’t quite right and maybe it was because I was trying to keep my voice down for his roommate and the reason I was there was asleep in the next room and I didn’t want him to wake up to the sound of his best friend nailing me because I’d rather tell him later.

Then he decided to go down on me even though it’s not something I’m that into but since my ear plugs were still half-in and he seemed determined and rather enjoying himself and I was on a slow streak I thought It really can’t hurt and he was actually pretty competent at it, as good as any girl who’d ever been between my knees and he kept at it for a long time and when I decided Now is the time for cock and pulled him up over me, hovering by the back of the head, and he went right in to kiss me and I really liked that because it makes sense I would like to taste myself and even if it’s a little gross, a little gross is always a lot hot.

Before I even thought about it, his cock was inside me and I could have stopped, protested and demanded a condom and proof of purchase but seeing as how my heart was tripping all over itself with excitement and fear and blow and it felt so fucking good and he was saying things like Fuck, I cannot believe how tight you are and This is so good, I can’t wait to fuck you when we’re not doing coke since this could only feel better and that just made my hips rock with him harder and even though I got worried about VD and not keeping the rhythm with his thrusts, I realized that it’s something really hard to fuck up and that I should just go with it and stop trying to worry about my orgasm and my breathing patterns and just lie back and enjoy every second.

It’s difficult to imagine him outside the environs of Turk St, out in the city when I only see him indoors, and then mostly in a darkened bedroom, his face mashed up with mine, our glasses fallen comrades engaged in illicit non-Soviet approved positions. Ok, I’ve seen him walk up Divisadero before; he’s not a shut-in by any means. The night after the night I’m telling you about we drove to the Castro to pick up hangover food, left another roommate crowing orders about his burger and parked deep in the neighborhood and after long kissing moments, walked up 18^th together, our hands loose at our sides but bumping hips on the odd step.

But that night, when it got to about the 25 minute mark, I got nervous because it had been years since it took me so long to cum but then I did, I did and I jerked my head back and screamed a bit and thankfully, thankfully he didn’t stop in the middle the way some guys do but just threw it in a little harder while my fingers dug into his shoulders in little half moons and it wasn’t long after before her pulled out and onto my stomach and gave his own long moan and left a sticky pool around my belly button which he proceeded to towel off immediately with a damp bath towel from the floor and I liked that he didn’t need to lay there and pant on top of me like some boys I’d fucked in what seemed like another life but that he didn’t immediately roll over and fall asleep either.

We talked a bit and touched softly on the arms but he didn’t need a cuddle and I never really want one which may be a symptom of me being cold or frigid but if we’ve been fucking for however long, we’ve been touching even longer and I kind of like to have my space afterward so I can recoup in my own head and not have this long drawn out conversation where things are said that neither person really and truly means yet feels incapable of not saying which I know because some ridiculous shit has come out of my mouth after sex, including the stunning time I told my ex about a member of his favorite band being killed in a bicycle accident as he was recovering from his come and still lying across my back breathing heavy, which wasn’t a very nice thing to do but I figured it would get him off and out of me and hopefully not spooning me sooner than later but this, this wasn’t the case because we just talked for a minute, acknowledged how weird it was but weird good.

So obviously I didn’t go there with the intention to fuck him. It was all the coke and comic books until I went back to visit a week later for my friend’s birthday where we cooked the most amazing lasagna and I had a single glass of red wine and ended up fucking him sans condom again after all the guests had left and we were alone in his room and he shut the door so carefully, telling me how good  looked and how much he’s wanted me all night and this time there really was no excuse. None.