My first pickup line had worked. Danny had agreed to go home with me, “home” being a cheap motel in Marietta. Since Danny lived in Atlanta, in what I would later realize was the gay ghetto, he followed me in my car to our tryst in suburban Cobb County.
As I drove, checking my mirror periodically to be sure I hadn’t lost him in traffic, I pondered what I’d just done. I was a bit like a dog that chases a car. The dog has no idea what it will do if it catches the car. I had caught Danny. Now what would I do?
Remember that this was my first pickup, my first “catch.” Before this, I had been the one who was chased and caught. Well, I thought, Danny had done this before. I’ll just take my lead from him.
Upon arriving at the motel room, I checked all my worldly belongings I had earlier unloaded from the car and introduced Danny to Athena, my two-year-old tabby cat. He petted her a bit, she sniffed his clothes and checked him out a bit, then headed for a corner to nap, leaving Danny and I to check each other out.
Then began the customary embrace-fondle-grope-explore routine, the start of most all making out, straight or gay. Standing face to face, we embraced, then began exploring each other with our hands, first all around the back, then down toward the waist, then back up again, kissing all the while, first the lips, then the cheeks, then the lips again, whatever we desired. Once I glanced aside to the corner. Athena was sound asleep. As a cat, she apparently was uninterested in what a dog does when it catches a car.
My hands continued to explore Danny’s back, his shoulders and spine, then his waist. And then, remembering what others had done to me, I slid my hands down and began caressing and, I think, squeezing his butt. He returned the favor.
Then I almost screwed up. I slid my hands up and slipped them under the waistband of his jeans, and over his underwear. Boxers or briefs, I wondered, but I couldn’t tell. Well, one way to find out. I removed my hands and slipped them between us to undo his belt. And then he – rather gently – pushed me away.
“Uh, can I use your shower? I really need one before we go any further.”
I was taken aback, suspecting he had some concern other than personal hygiene. Had I come on too strong? Did he have second thoughts? Though I was new to all this, I knew most guys showered before heading to the club, in order to be ready for just such an occasion as this. But he insisted, saying he hadn’t planned to go out that night, so he’d just gone to the club for a couple of drinks and really needed a shower.
Stupidly, perhaps, I wasn’t buying any of it. Much to my surprise I pulled him back toward me and proceeded to undo his belt buckle and top jeans button. I had to wrestle him as well as his zipper as he continued to protest – though not at all violently – that he really, really needed a shower. His protest failed, the zipper came down, followed by his jeans. It was then I saw his concern.
He was wearing blue nylon panties.
A brief awkward silence. “Well, I guess that answers the ‘boxers or briefs’ question,” I said, smiling. “Actually, they look quite good on you,” I continued, and they actually did, but this boy would have looked good in anything.
“Uh, they’re not mine,” he stammered, “I don’t usually, uh . . .”
“Relax,” I lied, “I’ve got a pink pair just like them.”
I don’t know if he believed me or if he was just relieved I didn’t ridicule him, but he seemed to relax a bit. “Go take your shower,” I said, gently patting his pantied behind, another first time experience. I needed time while he showered to think about what would – or should – happen next. Actually, I needed time to consider my own behavior up to that point, being rather surprised at the aggressiveness I’d just shown. I was still too new to all this to have any understanding of male-male roles, of “top” or “bottom.” I had assumed Danny would “take the lead,” but my libido seemed to have other ideas. That would soon change.
Danny emerged from his shower, a towel wrapped around him. I was still fully dressed, but Danny soon remedied that situation, then dropped his towel and pushed me on the bed.
What exactly happened next – and for the next few hours – isn’t nearly as important as the fact that Danny was still there with me in the morning. Today was to be my first day at my new job, selling advertising for a local radio station. Danny didn’t have to be to work until just before midnight as an assistant manager of a Dunkin Donuts franchise located next door to his apartment complex.
He asked, “What are you doing tonight?” I told him that I was going to ask off early to locate a place to live.
“Well, you can come and stay with me and Charlie for a while.” His reply was so quick, I was sure he’d already thought about the offer. I reminded him that it wouldn’t be just me, but my beloved cat, which would join them. “No problem,” he replied, again appearing to have already considered the matter.
I had just about an hour to get cleaned up, properly dressed and presentable for my first day of work, so I agreed. He wrote the address and drew a sketchy map on a piece of motel stationery, kissed me goodbye and left.
The night of “firsts” had continued into morning. My first pickup line had resulted in my first pickup and my first pickup had been my first sexual encounter to stay the entire night and now he was to become my first gay roommate.
No, we hadn’t said the “L” word. Yet. But when – and if – we would (and we would), it would be another first.
The dog had caught the car. Now the dog had apparently found a home.
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