July 1, 2012 by E.
After a 15 hour drive, full of sexual innuendos and covert groping, A. and I, along with our two friends/chaperones, arrived in Miami. We checked into our hotel, changed quickly, and all headed out to dinner. All A. and I talked about was the wild bar scene in Miami, with clubs that didn’t close until 5 in the morning. The more we talked about going out and partying until the wee hours of the morning, the less our friends wanted to come along. It was rather manipulative, but A. and I didn’t care.
We came back from dinner, pregamed with tequila on the rocks, and headed out, just the two of us. Our eventual destination was The Bar, a popular University of Miami spot that was recommended to us by our friendly and helpful hotel bell boy. First, though, we had business to take care of. The sexual tension had been building all day, and we were both dangerously close to our breaking point. At dinner, his hand had brushed by thigh under the table and I had shivered I wanted him so badly. We’d never make it once alcohol got involved.
His car was parked in the lot behind our hotel, which was much too high-traffic of an area for what we needed. So we decided to drive and park a few blocks away, on a quiet side street. Hopefully the parking spot would still be open when we returned, otherwise we’d have to come up with a plausible reason as to why we’d moved his car before we took a cab to the bar. It was a risk we were willing to take. At that point, we really didn’t have any choice.
I gave him head in his car, pausing a few times when couples walked down the sidewalk or cars drove past us on the road. I don’t think anyone gave us a second glance; if they did, we certainly didn’t notice. Once each of us had been satisfied, we drove back to the hotel. The original parking spot had been taken. Oh well, we’d deal with that later.
Off to The Bar. At The Bar, we acted every bit like the couple we were not. He held my hand, ordered our drinks, convinced me to join him in double-shots of goldschlager. I returned the favor by ordering us double shots of jager. We listened to the band, talked about our favorite music, and I have no idea what else. The shots worked their magic, and before long, neither one of us could stand up straight. I think I nearly feel backwards off my barstool at least twice, and A. had to catch me to keep me from breaking my skull on the concrete floor. We stumbled the several blocks back to our hotel, but once we got there, neither one of us wanted to go inside.
Instead, we sat on the curb and talked for a few minutes, which turned into a few hours. At one point, I started crying. At some point, he did too. We were fully and completely honest with each other, and even though it was alcohol induced, it felt cathartic, like both of us had needed this for a long time. We moved to his car and had sex in the back seat. Except this time, it wasn’t just feel good hook-up sex. It was I need you sex. It was deep, and personal, and soul-baring, and terrifying. I think I cried again. I wanted him so badly, but it was only when I was drunk that I was allowed to need him. He still had a girlfriend, after all, and my pride wouldn’t allow me to handle myself any other way.
We stumbled back into our hotel room at 4:55 AM, waking our friends and mumbling excuses about the amazing club with its extended hours. In the morning, I woke feeling as though something had changed last night, but not sure what it was or if I was allowed to ask. I went for a long walk in the morning before everyone else woke up, hoping to avoid A. until I could clear my head and untangle the knot in my stomach. I was worried he would be upset at me, for crossing the line, for opening my emotions up to him, for having the audacity to cross the line from fuck buddy over into…I wasn’t sure, exactly.
Of course, as soon as I saw him and said good morning, I knew he wasn’t upset, and that everything was fine. We concocted a story about why the car had moved, and prepared to head to port. Our cruise adventure was just beginning.