Suds, Studs, And The Kindest Buds

The invitation said "Sunday night suds and studs party. Call Jack for more information."

I was intrigued. I assumed (wrongly, of course), that a s&s party was some sort of beer thing; hot guys with Harpoons and Amber Bocks. Hot guys in skimpy clothing would be walking around with a variety of specialty beers, flirting with the ugly queens in order to get them to buy more beer.

I hate beer. I don't particularly like ugly queens, or false flirtations from hot guys in skimpy suits and bowties. Still, I called the number on the invitation and asked to speak with Jack.

Jack explained how wrong I was about a suds and studs party. He had rented a gym after hours. At 2 AM, any guy with an invitation and the special password can come into the gym. They are to head immediately to the locker room, where they take off all their clothes, and have their "bikini area" covered in foam.

The foamer, surprise surprise, was a hot Brazilian kid with a bikini that revealed that he either had an enormous cock, or he had stuffed his suit with a Beanie Baby. I had little doubt, looking around the locker room, that Gilmar would be the hottest guy I'd see all night, and he wouldn't be going home with me. But I'd already decided that I wouldn't be going home with anybody.

"How about I just play doorman?" I asked Jack.

A disparaging term for female genitalia was muttered in my general direction. It wasn't the first time, I'm sure it won't be the last.

I watched the various entrants get sudsed and make their way to the shower area. All the partitions had been taken down, creating the perfect Nazi gas chamber ambiance. Well, it would have been the perfect Nazi gas chamber ambiance had the room been full of anorexic men and children. However, the room was filled mostly with grizzlies and orcas. Clearly, I was not the only person in the room without a legitimate gym membership.

Remember, I like chubby guys as much as I like slimmish guys, and I'm not completely averse to obese guys, but I felt really uncomfortable being both the youngest, and one of the most in-shape guys. I should never be the hottest guy at a party. It's a position I've never held in my life, and have never wanted to hold. After all, being the hottest guy in any given situation would mean that there really aren't any hot people at the party. I'd much rather be the most Interesting guy at the party, or the least likely to be molested by a creepy stranger covered in foam.

I was so glad I didn't have to pay the forty dollar cover charge to get in. Jack had invited me for the experience and waived the entrance fee, under the conditions that I write about it, but not give either his name, or the name of the gym we used. He was also kind enough to give me Gilmar's e-mail address. Jack is now my favorite fag in the world. Well, except perhaps for Gilmar or Dmitri. What can I say, I'm fickle.

"You want to go out and smoke?" Gilmar asked.

"I don't smoke." Haven't smoked a cigarette in three years.

"Not a cigarette." He smiled. And with a smile like that, I would have gone out and smoked a cigarette with him. But he didn't want to smoke a cigarette. So what then, crack? Pot? I haven't lit anything on fire and stuck it in my mouth since I lived in Pieceofshitdeserttown. "Some cock."

I've never lit cock on fire period. Well, maybe with friction.

"What?" I asked.

"I'm kidding." He smiled again. Bastard. "I don't think I've seen you at one of Jack's parties before. Are you one of his boys?"

Boys? I'm not a boy anymore. I reverse Pinnochioed years ago. "No. He uhhh...he knows me through my writing."

"Oh. So are you..." Single? Famous? Sporting an erection? "gay?"

"Yea."

I'm gonna be picked up by the hot guy. I'm gonna be picked up by the hot guy. I'm gonna--

"Cool. Every other guy I've met at these parties is some skeezy old guy who looks at me like a piece of meat." Hey, I didn't write his material. If he wants to speak in cliche, it's his right as a hot human being.

The bottom line is, Gilmar has only been in Boston for two months (he's from the exotic world of Barnstable, Massachusetts, proving that the world I live in is entirely too small..send in the Disney animatronics), and wants a gay friend with no romantic interest to show him around Boston. I'm gonna be the platonic friend of the hot guy. I'm gonna be the platonic...wow, that's not nearly as fun to say. Maybe the rhythm is off.