(((This is a more freewheeling entry in the series with comedic elements based on my drunk persona. Feedback is always welcome.)))
I've always been a happy drunk. Someone once described me as 'a giant stumbling teddy bear' and 'a hug machine' while intoxicated. I tend to become best friends with people I had just met when drunk. Seriously, hang out with me for an hour and I am ride or die. I frequently wake up to texts like, "that was crazy, thank you so much. Don't go back Wawa for a few weeks until things calm down."
My now-friend Amit had met me when he'd been my Uber driver, and his sister had called him in the middle of a domestic violence incident. He said he needed to pull over to let me out and I could grab another car. I told him it would be safer if we got her together. That's how I found myself standing on a lawn behind a five-foot-eight-inch Amit, while his sister packed her stuff, and her boyfriend eyed us both. Do I know how to fight? Hell no, I'd have gotten my ass kicked in seconds. But I'd wanted to help.
Tonight, I had been at the bar for hours, and it was an increasingly frustrating experience. Being six-foot-five at a gay-friendly bar, meant every bottom on Earth was laying down their best game. I thought about setting up a deli ticket machine, or, at the very least, charging by the minute.
"If you tell me you're proportional, I'll have to crawl under this table and verify it... I want to climb you like a tree before riding that trunk... You are a tall drink of water, and I'm very thirsty... I'm going to have a friend stand on my shoulders in a trench coat so we can have a threesome."
Okay, if I'm being honest, that last one made me laugh. But I'm not interested in topping short guys, not even two at a time. I've known for a while now that I am a bottom to the core, and a lot of tops don't think to look up for their next conquest. The only upside to tonight is several of them had bought me drinks, and if I am going to be disappointed, I might as well also be drunk...
* * *
The drunker I became, the more friendly I was, to the point where a scorned suitor accused me of being a straight guy looking for attention before leaving in a huff.
"Thank God, another straight guy," one man sitting next to me said.
He was early thirties, clean shaven, maybe six foot with a slightly heavy appearance. He was sitting, legs spread wide, nursing a beer.
"According to that guy, I am, but he also said I looked like Jason Segel, so his judgement might be off," I replied, trying not to frighten him away.
"Yeah, I don't see that."
"Right? I'm clearly more of a Bradley Cooper."
"Not seeing that, either. Conan O'Brien maybe?"
"No need to be rude," I said, chuckling. "I'm not even a redhead, it's more of a burnt sienna."
"Burnt sienna? Jesus, I'm rethinking the straight comment now, too," he said, playfully.
"You do know where you are, right?"
"Hey, it's not a gay bar, it's a gay-friendly bar," he replied.
"That's what they tell straight guys to lure in the curious ones," I said, and he burst out laughing. He held up his hands in mock surrender.
"You got me. I, uh, am going through a nasty divorce. Paperwork is done, but we're still living together until the first of next month, when my new place opens up. I've been... curious... for a while. This is the first time I worked up the courage to visit. My name is Darryl, by the way."
"Keep your voice down, Darryl. Don't ever say you're a curious straight man in a gay bar. You'll be torn to shreds," I said, with a smile. "My name is Derek. I'm sorry to hear about your living situation, that sounds like a really shitty setup."
We spent some time discussing his marriage to Liz and subsequent divorce, and I could sympathize having been through a bad marriage myself before discovering I was bi. As the night wore on, I found myself really enjoying spending time with Darryl, and I couldn't tell if I was making a friend, or flirting. For the moment, he needed someone to vent to, and I was enjoying his company.
"The worst part is, Liz has been seeing someone else for a few weeks. Brings him by the house, tries to rub it in my face. That cunt. Sorry, that's too far. I shouldn't say that about a woman I loved for years. But she is a cunt," he said, and I realized we had been drinking for hours. The bar had slowly been dwindling and there were only a handful of us left.
"I want some fucking revenge, you know?" he said.
"Want to pee in her gas tank?" I suggested.
"Dude, I bought that car! Hell yes, I want to pee in her gas tank!" he shouted.
"Or, hey, we leave a positive pregnancy test in her trash for the boyfriend to find," I said.
My drunk mind had entered problem-solving mode, and I knew from experience-- it wasn't going to stop.
"We're drunk in a gay ba--sorry, gay-friendly bar. Where are we going to get a positive pregnancy test?" he said, chuckling.
"Pretty sure I heard some guy over there say he was going to breed a twink's ass," I said, as beer came shooting out of Darryl's nose.
"Goddammit, dude. You are a bad influence. I just want her to feel the same shit I feel. Like, I'm taking this hard, and she's doing whatever the fuck his name is, I think it's Kyle, on our bed," he said, swinging his beer around.
"Fuck Kyle," I said.
"Fuck Kyle," he replied, raising his glass as a toast. "You know why it fell apart? I told her I might be bi. I told her I wanted to be honest and not hide it. I wasn't asking for anything, I didn't want an open marriage or a threesome. I just wanted to be myself with her. She called me gross, and that was that. Can't unring that bell."
"I'm sorry, that's rough. But, it was that or lie to her and yourself for the rest of your life, right? You took charge, you made the decision. And at least you know now she's a cunt," I said.
