Flavio

Flavio was probably about five years older than me. I like that. And he didn't turn away from me after I asked him twenty times to repeat his name. Flavio? His name is Flavio. Well, he looked somewhat latin. I figured it would be okay.

And he was a banker from New York.

"It's so cheap to drink here," Flavio said, buying me another Cape Cod from a shirtless bartender at JR's in Dupont Circle. I'd sorta made myself a regular at JR's because, the crowd was older (I like that, remember) and they all wanted to buy me drinks and have sex with me. Flavio could've had me without the drinks. I didn't tell him that, because, being a poor graduate student $9 cocktails were still a bit pricey for my budget. I let him ply me with liqour and think that he was all sly.

While we stood crammed together in against the wall, a younger guy I recognized from school walked by. He smiled at me. His smile made me smile. It was odd -- I almost couldn't contain it. For a brief moment, I wished that I didn't have my arm wrapped around Flavio's waist.

The moment passed quickly in my drunken stupor. Flavio's friend, whom he was staying with in a tiny studio apartment just down the street, joined us at about 11 p.m. I don't remember his name. I'm lucky I remembered the time. But it was the friend who got things really rolling.

"It's so crowded, let's go drink at my place," he said.

How Flavio's shirt got off, I don't know. His chest made me smile. A bit hairy for my tastes, but, Leonardo da Vinci couldn't have scuplted it better. We were drinking some toxic swill of a cocktail that his friend had mixed and porn was playing on the tv.

(It was "dirty porn" according to the friend, to which I replied, "when is porn not dirty?")

Soon Flavio only had his boxers on. Then we were making out and I was rubbing my hands over his chest. Then I was sucking his cock. His uncut cock (I guess that's the Latin boy in him).

"It's not fair that you've got all your clothes on," his friend said, as they promptly slid off my pants. I'm sure you don't need the play by play for what happened next.

Yes, Flavio wanted to fuck me. And he did. He didn't ask, which was a bit bothersome. I mean, I probably would've said yes, he was a doable size and all, but still, common courtesy, right?

It was about 2:30 a.m. when I'd showered and had all my clothes back on. Walking anywhere in D.C. at that time of night is like an extreme sport, so the friend walked me outside to get a cab.

"I'd like to see you again," he said.

I'd like to be fucked by Flavio again, I thought.

I smiled, said goodbye, and jumped into a cab to take me back to Capitol Hill. I woke up this morning thankful that I don't get hangovers. I'm unthankful that I have tons and tons of reading to do. The intracacies of contract law don't compare with having sex with Flavio.

For now, though, I'm off. Later.