By: The Narrator
Let me introduce you to a specimen. We’re going to call him “Dickhole.”
Dickhole is a gay man.
Dickhole is also a dick, if you didn’t gather that. And by a dick, I mean a giant asshole. And not in a good way, either. (Is there such thing as a good “giant asshole?” They’re either shitty to you, or too loose, or both.) Anyway, I digress.
However, Dickhole has one thing going for him. Dickhole is hot. Which means that no matter how much of an asshole he is, there will always be gay men out there who are willing to sleep with him, even multiple times, even after he shows how much of a dickhole he really is.
He’s in his mid-to-late-20s and could be categorized as a jock, at least at one point in his life, but as of now, all of his legitimate athletic ability is long gone. But his sharp jawline and technically good physique are more than enough to make guys throw themselves at him, and he would like to take full advantage of that as long as he can, thank you very much.
Which means that he goes out often. As often as possible.
Let me tell you a story about one such night…
***
It was a regular, smegular, typical Saturday night, and Dickhole was getting ready to go out. This particular night he was going out alone, which didn’t happen too often, but often enough that it was kind of sad.
None of his three friends out of “the one who enables him,” “the one who feels bad for him,” and “the one who feels like he needs to have at least one gay friend to meet some sort of quota” could hang out that night. But that’s never enough to stop Dickhole, he wasn’t about to not go out on a Saturday night.
He put on tight hoochie daddy jean shorts.
He put on a skin-tight short-sleeved shirt that showed off his bulging biceps, titillating tits, and thick auspicious abs (how does he still have these?)
He put on his knock-off name-brand cologne (he figured that whoever he found that night wouldn’t be worth putting on the expensive stuff for) and his shoes and headed out.
That night, Dickhole arrived at the bar early for a Saturday night, around 8:30 p.m. This gave him time to scope the place out.
The bar he decided on is a bigger gay bar, one with multiple bars within it. Dickhole liked coming to places like this because there were more options for what he was trying to do. He gave the bouncer his I.D. and went inside to do the tour.
The only people at the main bar were a large group of rowdy gays, not something that Dickhole was looking to deal with at that time. After all he was sober, and was going to this bar to get drunk. And although a group like that would probably buy him a shot or two, he needed something a little bit more reliable.
On to the next bar, this one off the right wing of the building. Sometimes there were guys mingling around the large table in this room, but that night, there was nobody yet. No people meant nobody to buy him drinks, or to flirt with, which meant that room wasn’t going to work either.
There were three more choices: the bar on the left wing, the bar in the back of the first floor, or the rooftop bar. Since it was the early stages of summer on this particular night, at least it felt like it was, the rooftop seemed like the safest choice. However, he could still walk through the other two on his way up just in case.
After walking the left wing and back bars and seeing nobody interesting, Dickhole went up to the rooftop bar where one man was sitting at the bar and a few groups of people, including some cute guys, mingled at the tables. This was perfect.
He took one look at the guy sitting at the bar. He was of average attractiveness (or way-below-average if you’re mean like Dickhole is), obviously lonely (if he was sitting at a bar alone on a Saturday night), and looking around like he was trying to find someone to share his time (and hopefully money) with.
Red lights flashed in Dickhole’s eyes and sirens went off in his ears: TARGET ACQUIRED. TARGET ACQUIRED. TARGET ACQUIRED...
Dickhole sat down at the bar, ready to initiate the first step of his plan. He grabbed one of the menus and looked at it even though he didn’t need to, he already knew what he wanted. However, he also knew another thing: he didn’t want to buy it himself. That’s what the other guy sitting at this bar was for.
“Can I get you something?” the bartender came over and asked.
“I just need another minute I think,” Dickhole answered. Another minute, another hour, however long it took for this guy to start talking to him.
“Sounds good, just let me know when you need help.” The bartender walked away to help someone who had just come up to the service-only section of the bar.
Dickhole picked up the menu again and looked at it for a moment before realizing he was too impatient to wait and needed a drink, stat. He put the menu back down, turned to the other man sitting at the bar, and asked, “Say, what is it that you’re drinking?”
The man looked around before looking at Dickhole and asking back, “Who, me?”
Dickhole chuckled lightly to show he was friendly (at least masquerading as such). “Of course you silly, who else would I be talking to?”
Now if you saw the man that Dickhole was talking to, you might understand his confusion in being approached. As you already know he was averagely attractive, and when he initially went out to seek companionship that night, he probably didn’t expect anyone such as Dickhole to notice him, much less talk to him. Yet there he was, a hot guy, talking to him, the average man.
“It’s just a Negroni,” the man answered.
“Oh,” Dickhole replied, “I’ve never tried one of those before.” Although he was indeed a compulsive liar, in this particular case, Dickhole was telling the truth. “Maybe I’ll get that.”
The bartender came back over and asked, “Figure out what you want yet?”
Dickhole thought for another few seconds before saying, “I’ll have what this fine gentleman is having.”
“Which is…”
“A Negroni!” the man piped up. “And if it makes things easier, you can just add it to my tab!”
Bullseye. Exactly what Dickhole was going for.
The bartender made the drink, brought it back over, and set it down. Dickhole picked it up, gave it a quick sniff, and was about to drink it when the man interrupted him.
“Cheers!” he exclaimed, holding out his glass.
“Cheers,” Dickhole said back, clinking his glass against the man’s. “Thanks for the drink!”
“Don’t mention it!”
Dickhole took a drink of the drink and did his best not to gag at the pungent taste.
“So, what do you think?”
Dickhole hated it, but he wasn’t about to tell this guy and risk losing his drink. So, he sucked it up, and sucked down some more. “It’s… certainly interesting.” Again, not a lie.
“It’s okay if you don’t like it!” the man exclaimed. “Why don’t you give that to me, and I’ll order you something you might actually enjoy?”
Dickhole thought for a moment. Sure, he could get a different free drink out of it, but having this guy get him what he actually wanted might make him feel obligated to talk to him longer than he otherwise would have normally. Or even worse, might make him seem like he was more interested in the man than he actually was. However, he did get to the bar early, so he decided to take him up on the offer. “Sure, why not?”
The bartender came back over and the man said, “Get this young man whatever other drink he wants and put it on my tab, I’m going to take the Negroni.”
Dickhole thought again. “How about a… tequila soda water with a lime.”
After getting his drink and suffering through 15 minutes of conversation with the man, the drink was gone. The man offered him another one before leaving to go to the bathroom, promising to be right back.
Of course Dickhole took this as an opportunity to get another drink, walk away immediately, slam it on the way out of the bar, and go somewhere else.
***
Now that he was feeling tipsy, it was time for Dickhole to hit a bar with a little bit different vibe. Somewhere darker, louder, and hornier. Well, maybe he actually needed another drink or two...
After popping into a liquor store for two more single-serving shots and sucking them down, Dickhole was ready to find the perfect spot. And he already knew where to go, as he went there often.
Dickhole decided to spring for a drink at this bar so he didn’t look like a total weirdo prowling around alone and empty-handed. Not that he ever thought he looked like a weirdo, he was too hot to look like a weirdo. But it still felt weird to be standing in a bar alone without a drink.
He looked around, so far nobody in the bar was catching his eye. However, it was still early by Chicago standards, so he wasn’t too worried quite yet. Although, he didn’t want to be there all night, especially not just to get some dick (for some ass on the other hand…)
“What’s up?”
Dickhole turned to see who was talking to him. It was a twink, cute enough, but not really his type. Also way too young and too skinny.
“Not interested,” is all he replied.
The twink scoffed before walking away, muttering, “Dick,” under his breath.
“Tell your friends!” Dickhole called after him before returning to his surveying of the bar.
He was about to give up and perhaps check out a different bar when all of a sudden in walked a man who was at least eight inches taller than Dickhole.
TARGET ACQUIRED.
TARGET ACQUIRED.
TARGET ACQUIRED...
Let’s call this new man “5G-Tower.” And Dickhole knew he had to climb it (him) even if it gave him cancer, radiation poisoning, or syphilis. Because that man… was FOINE.
The man was either meeting someone at the bar, or went there alone to scope the place out just like Dickhole was. Either way, Dickhole didn’t care. He had to get to him before anyone else could.
He made a beeline for 5G-Tower, not caring how many twinks he had to bowl over to get there. (Let’s just say he got a strike.) He ran into 5G-Tower at the same velocity as he hit the pins, but instead of 5G-Tower tipping triumphantly, Dickhole bounced off of him, not hard enough to fall over, but hard enough to wiggle around a little bit like a pin does when it’s a tease before staying straight up and robbing you of a strike (or spare).
This made 5G-Tower look down, at which Dickhole looked up and said, “Oh sorry, didn’t see you there.”
This amused the 5G-Tower. “Oh yeah?” he replied in his deep voice. “You must have bad eyesight then.”
“Is my vision foggy,” Dickhole replied, “or are you just so tall that I’m seeing you through a cloud? What are you, six-three?”
An eyebrow raised and a snort. “Try six-seven-and-a-half.”
“Oh, I’ll try it all right.”
“Was that a proposition?”
“Obviously.”
Not even half an hour later, Dickhole was climbing 5G-Tower in order to get a better signal.
And “to get a better signal” obviously means “to get fucked in the ass.”
***
The next morning, Dickhole woke up in a bed that he wasn’t familiar with, but quickly realized where he was upon turning over and seeing that three-quarters of the bed was being taken up by a giant man who was as dead to the world as a felled sequoia tree.
Dickhole, however, was not dead to the world. He was very much alive and in pain. Not his ass, no, that was fine, as 5G-Tower’s dick was in fact not proportional to his size. Not that it was small, it just… wasn’t huge.
No, the pain was in his head, which meant he had to scour this strange place to find some sort of remedy. Not that Dickhole minded looking around a stranger’s apartment, honestly he sort of felt a thrill to it.
The first stop was the bathroom off the side of the bedroom. Dickhole closed the door to relieve his very full bladder first, and then began rummaging through the cabinets to find what he was looking for. He quickly found the bottle of headache medicine and took a few pills.
After that it was out to the kitchen where he went to the fridge to see what he could find. Gatorade, that would be helpful, but even better! He found a bottle of Pedialyte. Dickhole figured since he took 5G’s dick last night, the least he could do was give him this.
He thought about waking 5G-Tower up to get a ride home, but then realized he might as well check the distance to his apartment first before doing all that. He pulled out his phone and looked it up to see that it was just under two miles away. He decided he would rather just do the walk of shame over greeting his shame when it woke up.
As he found the exit, Dickhole also spotted a $20 bill in a bowl on a table next to the door. “For my troubles,” he said to himself before taking it, slipping it into his pocket, and slipping out of the apartment.