If I was tired as we leant against each other in the backseat of the cab, it was mixed with the headiness I felt I shared with him. Going to Valero Street was all right by me. It would be a good finale to a good night out.
Neither of us spoke much during the ride. He mostly talked. About go-go boys, drag performers, the bug bites he got from the beach, adopting to help control the population. But for most of the time, there was silence. It wasn’t an awkward silence we shared, but rather one of safety and comfort. I was looking forward to his place.
The cab drew up a block of buildings. He pulled himself up from the backseat, rifled in his wallet for the fare and paid it. I followed him up to his room on the 17th floor of Tower 2.
He let us both into the unit and once we’re settled, he went to the small kitchen area to get me a glass of cold water then he excused himself to use the bathroom.
Looking around the place, my first impression was that it was untidy. A refuge from his hectic schedule at work. It appeared to me that in spite of his busy hours in the office and recent travels since he came back from the States, he was at least aware that he needs to recharge his batteries because the bed was made.
He came back all fresh and clean from the shower wearing a black underwear, and cuddled up beside me on his bed. His dog joined in and one of our hands rubbed its back, our spare hands entwined in each other. I couldn’t hide the sleepiness in my eyes, I was dog-tired. And just sitting there, comfy on the bed, it was really nice to end an evening.
We fvcked, we showered, we went back to bed and chatted. Hours passed and we just stayed at each other’s glow until we both fell asleep, locked in each other’s arms.