Another night at the Hot House ends in disappointment. There is a sizeable crowd, but they are hard work, and I don’t feel like engaging, I just want to lose myself in a mass of heaving flesh and lusty, breathless, anonymous sex. The men tonight seem reticent, shy, unavailable. Ironic, since the one thing you are, at the Hot House, is available. I am impatient, and take the first man who makes eye contact, fuck him, and leave. I feel distanced from my soul, tonight – like a body, who hasn’t realised it’s dead yet, trawling the streets – a sexual zombie, unable to love, unlovable, unable to live.
The drive home is long, and hot. Tomorrow will be better.
© Dave Luis 2012. All Rights Reserved.