XXXII. The Guy Who Took Me To The Chateau Marmont

“We can go to the Chateau Marmont, and dance in the hotel room”

– Angus & Julia Stone –

For the longest time, I had always taught that sex would forever bring me pleasure, or would at least make me feel better about myself. One can argue that the more you know about a subject, the more you will learn about different approaches to view said subject. But as I indulge more in the art of going down one’s chimney, I found that the pleasure I receive from sex would eventually hit a plateau. At the same time, it encouraged me to continue diving deeper into the dark hole of reckless decision-making solely for the purpose of feeling a more euphoric sensation. In short, I was starting to feel bored with meaningless hookups yet I had no idea on how to free myself from my own weariness.

One night, I decided to show up at Rage (yup, that’s the same gay bar from chapter X) in a quest to be groped by the hands of strangers, preferably from human beings with XY chromosomes. I decided that the Asian night at Rage was the perfect place to quench my thirst as it’s the closest thing I had experienced being a Hollywood D-lister. In a super twisted way, I felt superior among these model wannabes, even if it was only for one night. I guess everyone loved my innocent charm and my twinkish figure because I looked corruptible.

I’m sweet like Tennessee honey and green like American money

The night became exponentially hazier and I became increasingly more desperate. Next thing I knew, I was sandwiched between a European couple, with my hands caressing guy #1’s face and my hip grinding on guy #2’s junk. I felt like the cold pastrami sandwiched between two buns, and I was one ass-grind away from being drenched in mayonnaise (I hate myself for writing this gross metaphor). When this couple left the bar without taking my buns home, I felt like a pre-owned vehicle with high mileage in a sketchy car dealership. Lo and behold, this bald, overly sweaty guy in his late 30s approached me as soon as the couple left me alone; he grabbed my waist and began dry humping my rear like it was a cheap blow-up doll. This guy was, by no means, atrociously unattractive but he’s certainly not my type. With that being said, I let my “other head” did the thinking and I managed to give him the illusion that I was head over heels for him.

Feel free to add delusional to that list

It was almost 2 AM and the crowd had slowly disappeared as the ones who found a match embarked on a literal interpretation, slightly more life-threatening version of fuck/marry/kill with their happily ever after. I was determined to avoid sitting alone drinking my milkshake with my fellow unwanted leftovers from the bar, and with not many people to choose from, I was getting desperate. I quickly did a quick scan around the room to identify the most bangable gay until I laid my eyes on this attractive, semi-bald guy on the dance floor, nonchalantly holding his drink while making insignificant body movements. I was hesitant to approach him at first because I considered myself as an awkward guy with rejection phobia, but I noticed that he wasn’t bothered by my sultry sloppy yet calculated dance moves as I positioned my drunken self closer to him.

And somehow drunk me always think I dance like Beyoncé

I didn’t remember my pick-up line but I finally found the courage to chat this guy, which I was surprised to receive a positive response from. Maybe this guy was equally desperate and he deemed my peach to be most bangable? He asked if I wanted to spend the night at his hotel and I didn’t even hesitate to say yes. It felt like Himeros himself answered my prayer and delivered me this respectable slice of prime meat to devour.

I personally hadn’t heard much about the Chateau Marmont because I was an uncultured FOB, but a friend of mine told me about the hotel’s significance in the showbiz industry and how it’s been featured in a couple of quintessential Hollywood movies. So when he told me he’s taking me to the aforementioned hotel to possibly dick me down to sunrise (let’s be honest here, most gays who barely know each other don’t usually go to a hotel at 3 AM to play Jenga), I was astonished. Who would have thought an opportunity like this would present itself to me on a silver platter, just when I was about to give up on my dick hunting quest?

I was greeted by the valet attendant right after I pulled up my car at the hotel lobby and I immediately felt like an up-and-coming pop star having an affair with his slightly older yet dashing manager, the kind of story TMZ would pay thousands of dollars for. The whole experience was such a Hollywood cliché you could call me Marilyn Mon-hoe. Once I stepped inside his room, I was honestly a bit underwhelmed. Don’t get me wrong… the room had a charming, old Hollywood movies vibes but to me, the place seemed a bit outdated. With that being said, I wasn’t gonna bail on my Hollywood affair fantasy, and I thought, “I’ll let this place inspires me just like how it inspired the likes of Dorothy Parker and F. Scott Fitzgerald!” I just hoped I wouldn’t end up like Lindsay Lohan that night.

There can be a hundred people in the room and 99 of them won’t believe in you. I’m certainly one of those 99 people.

As I was sitting on the couch while scanning the grandiose interior of the room, he was busy opening a bottle of red wine in the kitchen area. I thought, “damn, this guy really knows the way to my heart and my asshole!” I had imagined the night would turn into another meaningless hookup, but I couldn’t be more wrong; we ended up having flirty yet meaningful conversations while his left foot was rubbing against mine. As time went by, he leaned closer to my face and the next thing I knew, we were locking lips on the couch as he maneuvered his hands to feel the warmth of my body.

Normally, this is the point in a rom-com movie where they abruptly cut the lovemaking scene and go straight into showcasing the aftermath, where the woman is covered in a conveniently shaped bedsheet to conceal their private area. But I ain’t about that life as you’ll be getting the full story here on squirttale.com. You’re welcome.

He suggested to move things to the bedroom and I eagerly obliged, leaving all my belongings in the living room as I walked into the bedroom butt-naked. He didn’t immediately join me in bed as he was preparing “the essentials stuff for anal sex” (re: lube, condom(s), and towel; don’t ask me why the towel is necessary). He finally showed up at the bedroom door wrapped in a mini towel as I was about to pass out from the excessive amount of alcohol, prepared to launch his attack at any given moment. And attacked me he did.

If I can only use two words to describe his lovemaking style, they would be sensual and attentive. It felt like everything in the room belonged to me as he gave me all the luxury and pleasure that a gay boy with borderline daddy issue could have dreamed of. After we both reached the climax, he wiped the body fluid off my torso, making me feel like a delicate flower pampered with an abundance of tenderness. I felt invincible in his arms as he spooned me to sleep.

A little less conversation, a little more tongue action, please

The second time he invited me to “have a chat” with him at his hotel room, I told him that I was feeling under the weather. To my surprise, he doubled down on his offer, saying that he had fruits with him to strengthen my white blood cells. Swooned by his romantic gesture, I tried my hardest to look presentable and made my way to the SLS Hotel in Beverly Hills. I was pleasantly surprised that he kept his words; he had sliced dragonfruits on his bedside table and spoonfed me, making me feel like a little baby resting my head on his lap. I don’t know if he injected some aphrodisiac shit into the fruits or if I was just a thirsty ho, but the next thing I knew, his dick was already in my mouth. I know… so much for feeling under the weather #lol. We completely utilized the hotel room to its maximum potential as we performed various sexual acts everywhere, from the balcony to the bathroom. Let’s just say that night taught me the rationale behind having a mirror on the ceiling; having an additional POV when your radius of visibility is obstructed by the human body on top of you is a strangely arousing experience.

It’s such a shame that he was only in LA for two weeks since he was a renowned hotelier and he had a busy schedule. I truly appreciated being treated like a royal prince for once, which was a huge departure from the usual meaningless hookups. He even offered me a free room at his hotel should I visit his city. I mean… who does that to a stranger you’ve banged met twice? I remember he popped up on my Explore feed with a famous fashion influencer on Instagram once, and I was happy that he was doing well. Life sure has a fascinating way to introduce me to a situation when I least expect it. Who would’ve thought that my desperation would lead to two nights of satisfaction?

P.S. Why the fuck do these fancy hotels charge $38 valet parking fee per night?! Way to make me feel like a call girl working in the upper echelon of the sex industry!  

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