Being gay in LA, you meet tons of absurdly hot people. One day, you're scrolling Instagram liking pictures of guys with 8 pack abs, the next day you're running into them at the gym, a bar, or a house party. Over the years, I've fallen into a friend group that could make even the most hydrated of gays thirsty, all thanks to my best friend, Sam. We met two years ago in Palm Springs and hit it off—now, we're practically brothers.
Sam is 6'4 and 210 lbs,, blond hair, blue eyes—the spitting image of a Nordic god. I'm no shrimp myself, at 6'2, but a little bit on the skinny side, at around 170 lbs. What can I say? I used to run track. I've got long brown hair that nearly reaches my shoulders, brown eyes, and a pale, freckled complexion. I'm not unattractive by any means, in fact, I'd say I'm pretty good looking! But when you're constantly surrounded by tens in one of the hottest cities in the world, it can fuck with your self image a bit. Also, the fact that I am now 29 and have never been in a serious relationship is not helping matters.
Anyways, a few weeks ago, Sam decided to throw a house party. His house was sick, three floors and he only had one roommate—coming from money had its perks. All the usual suspects were invited, gym friends, party friends, and everyone even tangentially friendly with our core friend group. One in particular was one of Sam's old vacation buddy Christopher, a gorgeous asian instagay. 6 feet tall and 175 lbs, he had high cheekbones and a six pack for days. Christopher and me were always friendly, but his confidence felt like arrogance and he always seemed a little full of himself.
He had brought with him Jay, a 22 year old, gymnast that barely reached his chin, the latest in a long line of bottoms that he would date and dump as soon as they started getting frustrated by his "no labels" policy and tried to get him to commit. Christopher's reputation was well known as a total top (with an ass to die for) that has a revolving door of guys going through his bedroom. Being a total bottom myself (and one that many people assume is a top) and having little confidence to flirt with strangers means I spend a lot of time playing the wallflower, but even if I was feeling confident, I would know to steer clear of Christopher.
"Hey Jeremy, how's it going?" he said, his deep voice reverberating through my body as he gave me a hug. He did the standard introduction of little Jay to me and Sam and then kept it moving, ushering him by the ass out to the balcony to catch up with some of his friends. Like I said, politely friendly, but I'm pretty sure if I wasn't friends with Sam, he would probably walk right by me in a bar.
The night progressed and people got progressively more fucked up. Drinks were flowing, powder was being cut and doses were downed. By the time 2am rolled around, I was sufficiently wasted. Me and Sam are dancing in the living room and I see Christopher usher a very out of it Jay into an uber before returning to the party.
He joins us on the dancefloor by looping behind Sam and giving me a small smirk.
"Where'd the child bride go," Sam asked, yelling over the blaring music.
"Home. He got a little too fucked up...I think he was nervous." Christopher shrugged.
"Your first time hanging out with the big kids is always tough. I get it." I said.
Christopher looked at me and laughed.
"What a nice way of calling us old, Jeremy." He said, winding around Sam and throwing his arm around me.
"We are NOT old. He is just VERY young." I said, the liquid courage doing wonders as I stared into his eyes. He paused and for the first time I felt like he had really noticed me. In fact, his assessing gaze looked almost predatory.
We continued dancing for the next hour, and Christopher spent equal time between me and Sam grinding on us. The attention felt nice and I was getting a little heated, even though he just seemed to be messing around and having a good time.
Sam and Christopher walked outside to go talk to some of the stragglers smoking cigarettes and pot on the balcony and I went to the kitchen to grab my self some water, already way too drunk for how late it was. I went upstairs to go to the top floor for the bathroom and some privacy as the upstairs was quiet and empty.
I splashed some water on my face and looked in the mirror, assessing the damage to see how wasted I was. All in all, I was a little sweaty, but looking good. No bloodshot eyes, no shit on my face. I smoothed my hair back and opened the door and on the other side was Christopher.
"Hey," he said, leaning against the doorframe .
"Hey," I said, surprised. "Does the bathroom downstairs have a line or something?"
"Or something," he replied, with his tiny half smile on his face. He entered the bathroom head on, making me step back to make way for him. We kept walking until my hands were against the sink countertop. "I wanted to chat with you."
"About what?" I laughed nervously.
