I'm standing outside, smoking a cigarette I bummed from some queen on my way out, waiting for my uber outside the gate of whatever "industry" guy's mansion I was just at. Shirtless and sweaty... swaying a bit as all the bourbon takes effect.
A black sedan rolls up in front of me after a few minutes. I throw my cigarette in the street and open the door.
"Justin? For Scott?"
"Yup!"
He's a cute young thing. Not really my type but definitely attractive. Blond hair, tight muscular body under a tight t-shirt, clean shaven with smooth, lightly tanned skin... the typical LA muscle twink.
"Sorry, I lost my shirt somewhere." I say as I slide in the back passenger side seat.
"I don't mind." He replies softly.
"Water?" He asks, handing me one of those little 8oz bottles of Poland Spring.
"You're the man!" I boast as I take it from him.
Fuck I'm drunk I think as I chug down the mini bottle.
I can tell he's trying not to stare at me through the rearview mirror but I don't mind. I'm used to it and honestly, love showing off.
At 41 I'm probably in the best shape of my life. Always been fit but in the last year since I moved to LA from NYC, all the competition, hiking, sunshine and forced healthy living in West Hollywood has have all taken my 6'1 frame from beefy muscle to shredded adonis. My broad chest is swollen and covered in dense fur that continues down my tight 6 pack and v line.
Working from home allows me to spend most of my time between meetings laying out by the pool keeping my olive skin bronzed and glowing. It's a nice contrast against my thick salt and pepper hair and big hazel eyes.
It's only a 15 min ride home with Saturday night traffic, and if I hadn't had those two last drinks I probably would've done the unthinkable - walked the mile and a half home from the infamous Hollywood Hills.
We're slowly cruising along and I'm bopping my head to the music. I can't make out the song but was just dancing to a remix of it earlier at the party. I feel a buzz in my pocket and pull out my phone just as we come to a full stop.
T: Where the fuck did you go Scotty?'
Read the first of many texts from Tarick, my best friend since moving out here. He begged me to come out tonight, only to spend the whole night flirting with anyone who looked at him at the Abbey. Fast forward to us in an uber to a house party in the hills. I always fall for it, house party is really just code for sex party.
They always start out fun, dancing and drinking by some rich guys pool or through out his sprawling mansion with other hot men of all ages. Then, the drugs come out and things just get a little too weird. I partake from time to time in some recreational usage, but whatever comes out at these parties always tends to be laced. All the patrons slowly turn into glassy eyes zombies.
I knew I had had enough for the night when I walked past a pretty young thing in stilettos and fake nails but only wearing a jockstrap and harness who asked me if he could do a bump off my dick. I did my best to graciously decline and not offend him but asked for a cigarette from the pack tucked in his waistband and left.
T:?
T:?????
T: HELLLO!?!?
