Going Out of Business / Grand Opening
Going Out of Business / Grand Opening
As the gypsy blood in us begins to boil over, we tend to succumb to our wanderlust and pick up stakes. In a gay world, where the sun shines a little brighter, lips are a little glossier, and asses are a lot rounder, this “need to leave” is underscored and italicized.
Announcing one’s imminent departure is usually met with one of three responses “Bon Voyage”, “Meh” or the ever-popular “Can I have your apartment?” What most don’t realize is the underlying phenomenon: “The Going Out of Business” Sex. Fire Sale! Everything MUST GO. It’s funny who will fuck you because they think (and they’re probably right) that it’s their last chance to do so. I announced my departure recently and feel I should do a commercial a la Crazy Larry - If I took everybody up on their offers, that is - I would literally be up to my eyes in “inventory”. It’s easy to become slightly bitter…The whole time Mr. Dreamboat is hitting on you, you’re thinking “Oh sure, NOWWWWWWWW you’ll notice me. Now that I’m moving, surrrrrre.” Don’t get me wrong, you still fuck ‘em, you just…find some way…sniff…to work…through…that pain...snort.
To extend the analogy, the only event that trumps the “Going Out of Business” Sex is of course, “The Grand Opening” Sex. Fresh meat. Picture it:
It’s Friday, about two weeks after you’ve arrived at your new City. You’ve had a great week, still very much in the Honeymoon phase with your new job, apt., commute, roommate, dry cleaner, blah blah blah. You just got paid and you’re fresh from the shower. On your bed in a towel, you sit with scissors, clipping the tags off of your new threads. Hair and cologne (just the pulse points dahlink), and you’re out the door.
You emerge from the doorway of the strange new bar, enveloped by the din of strange music, lights and gazes. As your eyes adjust, you roll up to the well and get your “A” drink. Finding an optimal vantage point, you survey the playing field. Everybody’s cuter when they’re unfamiliar. Exotic even. Soon, these will become the faces of your ex-tricks, or no-sex friends and if you’re anything like me, both, as the former usually begets the latter. So, while the new car smell still wafts from their asses, you are swarmed and ravenous and fulfilled. Enjoy it while it lasts.
As the gypsy blood in us begins to boil over, we tend to succumb to our wanderlust and pick up stakes. In a gay world, where the sun shines a little brighter, lips are a little glossier, and asses are a lot rounder, this “need to leave” is underscored and italicized.
Announcing one’s imminent departure is usually met with one of three responses “Bon Voyage”, “Meh” or the ever-popular “Can I have your apartment?” What most don’t realize is the underlying phenomenon: “The Going Out of Business” Sex. Fire Sale! Everything MUST GO. It’s funny who will fuck you because they think (and they’re probably right) that it’s their last chance to do so. I announced my departure recently and feel I should do a commercial a la Crazy Larry - If I took everybody up on their offers, that is - I would literally be up to my eyes in “inventory”. It’s easy to become slightly bitter…The whole time Mr. Dreamboat is hitting on you, you’re thinking “Oh sure, NOWWWWWWWW you’ll notice me. Now that I’m moving, surrrrrre.” Don’t get me wrong, you still fuck ‘em, you just…find some way…sniff…to work…through…that pain...snort.
To extend the analogy, the only event that trumps the “Going Out of Business” Sex is of course, “The Grand Opening” Sex. Fresh meat. Picture it:
It’s Friday, about two weeks after you’ve arrived at your new City. You’ve had a great week, still very much in the Honeymoon phase with your new job, apt., commute, roommate, dry cleaner, blah blah blah. You just got paid and you’re fresh from the shower. On your bed in a towel, you sit with scissors, clipping the tags off of your new threads. Hair and cologne (just the pulse points dahlink), and you’re out the door.
You emerge from the doorway of the strange new bar, enveloped by the din of strange music, lights and gazes. As your eyes adjust, you roll up to the well and get your “A” drink. Finding an optimal vantage point, you survey the playing field. Everybody’s cuter when they’re unfamiliar. Exotic even. Soon, these will become the faces of your ex-tricks, or no-sex friends and if you’re anything like me, both, as the former usually begets the latter. So, while the new car smell still wafts from their asses, you are swarmed and ravenous and fulfilled. Enjoy it while it lasts.
posted by jaaybug @ 12:22 PM
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