'Word' / words enclosed by apostrophes = thoughts
"Word"/ words enclosed by quotation marks = spoken words
***
'She said to meet her down here..,' I think to myself in the summer heat as the parade starts trickling down Christopher street. It's the pride parade; my girlfriend is bi so she dances on a float every year. No problem with that, she is who she is and I love her for it. I just wish there was an easier spot to meet up afterwards — the end of the parade route is always the most congested of places — it's damn near impossible to cut through the hordes of people.
But if I have to wait, I may as well have a good view — using a lamppost for leverage, I have just that. Toes hooked on the cement riser, I'm a head and shoulder above the crowd; it's not a bad place to be, it's just an obvious one. Everyone can see me.
'Hopefully Teresa will be able to see me from here; finding each other afterwards is always a bitch.'
"Nice kilt!," many people yell at me in passing; others yell out over the music and cheers, "I like your style!"
I just yell back "thank you" at the top of my lungs with a smile — I can take a compliment, even when more than a couple people yell that they'd like to get up under my kilt.
Them though, I just laugh them off. I applaud their confidence, but I'm just not into it. I'm a 6'2" white guy with a short cropped beard and buzzed head wearing all black. I don't think I'm traditionally handsome but I suppose I'm something to look at. I mean, my girlfriend likes me despite the fact that she usually goes for women. If I wasn't attractive at all, I doubt I'd have a chance with her.
But among those aforementioned aggressors, there's one guy in particular, one more bold in his flirtation. Older, bald, naturally tan, he's taller than most of the crowd around him. I mention him because he hasn't stopped looking my way since arriving — now I'm not a shy man but enough staring and my ears are burning so I shoot him a look from my place on high and he just smiles and mouths "you're hot."
I just nod, mouth "thanks," and look back to the parade thinking that's the end of it —a marching band is pacing on by, the streets shaking from their drum line.
"We should step away" tan and bald yells, much closer now. His hand on the back of my calf.
"I'm good here. Thanks for the compliment," I return over the noise.
"I can give you more than a compliment " he yells back and smirks, his hand is still in place.
"I'm taken" I yell and reach down to swat his hand off my leg. With that, I turn my eyes back to the parade. Rather, I keep my eyes to the parade until he sidles closer, snaking his arm back up my leg and vanishing under my kilt. Anyone at a distance can't see and anyone closer just assumes we know each other. Besides, it's too loud to eavesdrop. As his fingers graze past my balls, a nervous shudder grips my chest.
'What the actual fuck?!,' I furiously question.
"Still have a girlfriend?," he mouths up at me, wrapped around my leg.
"YES."
"If..." he teases me, his fingers slow dancing along my taint, he adds "You..."
Millimeter by millimeter, he creeps along.
"Say..."
His finger glides to my asshole and presses at the rim. Uncertain what to do, I merely grapple the post all the tighter — I'm dizzied.
"So..."
He holds it there, applying just the slightest of pressure while everyone else cheers at the floats blasting glitter. Normally I'd beat the person that tries to sexually harass me — I tend not to take shit from anyone but something about him is jarring, undoing. He shrugs with a knowing smile and slowly undoes himself from me, easing his way back into the crowd.
'Ignore him,' I try to convince myself.
I just watch as more groups march by, as more floats drive slowly while blasting bass.
My ears are still burning though, like I know he's watching me.
And thinking about his finger on my asshole only makes it quiver.
'WHY?!'
Daring, I chance a glance back at him — he's parked himself at the back of the crowd so he can lean against a brick wall, so he can watch me. At my glare. he calmly looks away, pretending to not care, pretending he didn't just have a hand up my kilt.
I'm getting a little nervous now, the thought 'where is she? I thought she'd be here by now' moves through my head. 'She's nowhere in sight' whispers through my body. But do I want her to parade faster?..or am I trying to justify something?
This is all so...
Unsure of what I'm doing, I climb down into the crowd and ease through the throngs of people pouring in. Avoiding elbows and flailing limbs, I struggle to the back, to Mr. Tall, tan, and bald.
'Don'tdoitdontdoitdontdoit' screams my insides like the brakes of a train but something still is urging me forward. Weirder still, the only words I can muster through my drying mouth are "where" when I finally reach him.
He casts me a glance, lazily tugging his eyes from the festivities. "Right. Up. Stairs." He stresses — every pause a powerful flirt in its own right. He looks to me, his smooth face unflinching as his eyes hold me still; he reads my every move as he awaits my answer.
My mouth goes desert dry, I'm riddled with anxiety — I glance around for anyone that might know me, for Teresa's float, but no one is looking our way now. All are focused on each other or the parade.
"Yes" I hesitantly mouth and he smiles.
He goes to unlock the building door and turning around for me, he reaches down and wraps his fingers around my confused cock through the tenting fabric of the kilt. With little tugs, he guides me inside and no one is the wiser as the door shuts behind us. No words now, he leads me up the staircase and to the first door on the right. Every step just sends my heart racing...surely he feels my pulse through my cock.
'What the hell am I doing?!'
