XLII. The Guy Whom I Met In A Bathhouse (Part II)

“In another life, I would make you stay, so I don’t have to say you were the one that got away”

– Katy Perry –

I often wonder if any of the previous men I had sex with was the one that got away. But then again, does such concept even exist, or is it something that only exist in Katy Perry’s universe?What if all of your previous lovers are merely stepping stones designed for you to find your fated soulmate? What if your previous lovers are creatures sent by the holy deities for you to learn about yourself and what you are looking for in a partner (or partners… whatever floats your boat, I guess)? The more important question is, how do you know if you have found the one? How many boxes does a potential beau need to tick on one’s lover checklist before one gets down on one knee? If I were a president, it would be my top priority to invent a Black Mirror-esque online dating app to find someone whom I can rebel the system 998 times with, before I inevitably turn into a cat lady.
Spoiler: Yes, I did have sex with the hot Latino guy in the bathhouse.

The ravishing Latino quickly made his way with me as he grabbed my hand and guided me to his cave of wonder, also known in the gay world as the steam room. Lust took over our bodies and the night felt like it belonged to us… and the other nine thirsty bath house patrons who clearly did not mind the free, all-inclusive, high-quality X-rated entertainment. He quickly pinned my body to the wall as his tongue started making its way all over its new prey, leaving his marks all over me to claim my flesh as his. He was holding my hands hostage, making sure that I could not escape the heavenly pleasure he was going to give me. I couldn’t help but groaned loudly and I could sense my audience was getting more and more aroused. Towels slowly dropped to the floor one by one, and the next thing I knew, I was surrounded by five naked men in all shapes and sizes, standing proudly while rubbing their manhood to signify their interest in joining the feast. I had an idea where the night was going and frankly, I was anxious. However, I attempted to calm my nerves so I could face the reality that my bath house virginity was going to be taken in the most epic way possible. This is the story about my first bath house gang bang experience.

Except that was not the real story and I was just messing with you all.
Gotcha!

Someone’s clearly been watching too much telenovelas!

Ok, now back to our regularly scheduled programming! Previously, I left you all with the heart-wrenching cliffhanger that was the awkward staring competition between me and my Latino hunk that lasted for five minutes, which resulted in nothing as both parties were hesitant in making the first move. I thought, “maybe he’s just being courteous while he’s waiting for someone cuter to enter the ring?” Feeling disheartened by his lack of motivation, I decided to serve the gays some hunter realness and prey on some good-quality penises. Just when I was about to enter the dark room, I felt a tap on my shoulder. I turned my head around so I could confront the bitch who had the audacity to invade my personal space, and just when I was ready to launch my signature awkward smile, there he was… the same hunky Latino guy who’d been eyeing me for the last ten minutes. He was standing right behind me with his right hand sitting comfortably on my right shoulder; I guess it was I who won our competitive staring contest?

Unlike a courteous telemarketer, my el amante didn’t waste no time showcasing his proficiency in the art of small talks as he sensed the mutual physical attraction between him and the awkward Asian twink wrapped in a mini towel, preciously trying to cover his excitement. He ran his fingers all over my torso like an antique collector thoroughly inspecting a majestic body-of-work. I interpreted his coy smile as a sign of approval from his other head, which was immediately followed by an invitation for me to enter his private room (literally. this is not a euphemism for… something). After managing to gain my composure and trying my very best not to get lost in his sultry eyes, I took his arm as a way to accept his invitation. And just like that… we sauntered our way to his room holding each other’s hand, ready to embark on a journey that many bath houses patrons would claim as a massive success story. I couldn’t help but notice my fellow bath house patrons’ attentive stare directed our way as we were on our way to his room; it’s the kind of stare The Spice Girls were used to getting from their fans. But just like The Spice Girls, the hunky Latino and I didn’t get this much attention individually. Together, however, we were invincible. We were the bitches running that bath house and I felt powerful.

Pro tip: Avoid being “the funny one” in a group setting

The private room in the gay bath house I went to was by no means glamorous; the thread count of the bed sheet was definitely less than 200 and the room felt unsurprisingly and disturbingly humid. The room smelt like desperation the locker room in a poorly-maintained gym, but that did not stop the two hombres who just recently “found love in a hopeless place” to get down and dirty.

I was focused. I was determined. I was ready to go.

If there’s one bad remark about this whole experience… it’s the uneasy feeling I felt when I let other people become aware of my private plumbing party. The walls in this private room were designed more with cost-efficiency in mind and could easily facilitate the creation of a beautiful chorus of gentlemen’s groans. I’m not saying I was screaming loudly like a little bitch during the entire piñata-smashing process, but it’s extremely likely that our next-door neighbors could hear me complaining about my limp arms (I mean, we didn’t get any noise complaint so I assumed our neighbors appreciated my pitiful moans?) The people-pleaser side of me, however, was thrilled that I could provide some audio entertainment to the random strangers wandering around the bath house from the comfort of our room. In a weird way, it felt surreal to be a part of this group of parched homosexuals as we were all engaging in this testosterone-charged festivity; it somehow made me feel like a part of herstory. What I’m trying to say is… human emotions are complex, you feel me?!

The sex itself was surprisingly great. It’s not that I had a doubt about his performance prior to our lovemaking session, but I had such a low expectation when it came to anonymous sex in a bath house. I was sure it’s gonna be another hit-and-run moment. Instead, my seductive Latino lover treated me like a prized possession; if passion could burn, the whole bath house would be engulfed in fire and we would go to jail for arson (follow me on Instagram: @poetpapi69). Although we had known each other for less than five minutes, it felt like he had known me for centuries as he unraveled my weak spots with ease. It’s one of those lovemaking sessions that did not need any gimmicks as we needed no leather sling to enjoy each other’s company. This guy clearly knew how to please a man and I was all heart-eyes emoji about it.

The way to my heart is basic human decency

And he wanted to cuddle after sex. You read that right, people. C-U-D-D-L-E.

Although we had close to zero physical space to move our bodies and prevent muscle cramps, we somehow made the criminally tiny space worked. He’s got the perfect body height to become my big spoon. While we were sharing body heat by making skin-to-skin contact, our souls started to make connections on their own as we bonded over the ridiculousness of the dating app culture and our fellow bath house visitors. We spent the next fifteen minutes laying on the twin-sized mattress while laughing at each other’s jokes with his arms wrapped around me. Not wanting to feel instantly attached to my bath house boyfriend, however, I decided to break off our cuddle session and per usual came up with the most random excuse to leave the testosterone-charged premise. To my surprise, he asked for my number before I left his room and decided to leave the bath house together with me. I thought, “hold up, is this guy really into me?”

It turned out that, for once, I was right. The next few days after our momentous encounter in the bath house, he texted me asking if I wanted to meet again. Our second date was pretty similar to our first one in terms of the activities we completed, minus the uncomfortable bed and the enthusiastic audience. However, I wasn’t expecting that things between us would progress very quickly. The third time we met, he wanted to take me out on a date to the Latino night at a gay bar in the OC. The fourth time we met, he wanted to hear my obnoxiously horrendous scream by taking me to the Halloween Horror Night at the Universal Studios (why would he want to waste his money when he had a twinkish monster in front of him haunting his life for free?) I know what you might be thinking: “he sounds like a great guy and I should’ve totally given him a chance, right?” Ladies and gentlemen, I wish I had thought the same way. Instead, I politely turned down all of his offers because

I am a dumb bitch who always manage to sabotage the perfectly good things in my life.

Best served with a side of repressed emotions and raging insecurities

I didn’t know what I was thinking. I had always fantasized about running into my soulmate in a cute hipster coffee shop. He would have been two or three years older than me and our encounter would have been something Taylor Swift would write a song about. We would have instantly felt a connection and our love story would turn into a classic romance novel. My story with my Latino lover, however, was nothing like what I had envisioned as the perfect romance; a quickie in a bath house and late night hookups definitely did not belong in my fantasy. And for whatever reason, I was completely fixated on turning my fantasy into reality that I disregarded the good thing standing in front of me, which in this case was my bath house partner. I was dealing with a problem that many people my age were (and still are) experiencing: I was constantly waiting for a better option to come along and I refused to settle until I managed to find “the one”. So I did what I thought I had to do at that moment: I slowly ghosted him until he stopped reaching out to me again.

Would I have ended up being a happier person if I had let my bath house lover into my life? I will never know. In retrospect, I was scared. Up until this point, I had always been the chaser and never been the one being chased. So when the roles were reversed, I didn’t know what to do and I freaked out. It was obvious that my Latino Romeo and I were from different walks of life, but it shouldn’t have stopped me from giving him a chance. In fact, I had given more chances to some undeserving people (just wait for the upcoming chapters as you would read more about my questionable life choices), and my bath house lover really deserved an opportunity to win my heart just as much as the next-door fuckboys. So yeah… back to the drawing board, I suppose?

And the award for the craziest bitch goes to… me

I really hope he’s doing well and if I were given the opportunity, I would love to catch up with him over coffee. But for now, I truly wish him the best in life.

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