FROM GRINDR TO THE MISSION... (PART 3/CONCLUSION)

My first night out after planting my stakes in San Francisco was anything but dull. If you haven’t, you can read in Part 1 (link here) and Part 2 (link here) of this evening’s saga. Less than three days into the Chicago of California and I had already been thrown out of my element. I was with nothing more than a suitcase, a few things, and a slowly disappearing wallet. Here I was in a stranger’s apartment, having had my dick swallowed in the back of a truck, snorted cocaine in the middle of an outdoor bar, and salaciously flirted (perhaps exchanged saliva and licked his nuts) with a boy in a relationship… Los Angeles hadn’t given me such heated nights in years, if ever.

Finding myself outside with David – my relationship stricken strange fun for the night – and a few other partygoers, chit-chatting and smoking cigarettes with our quivering jaws, it was going on four in the morning. I had an early morning planned, but it was already the dawn. While it was still dark out, this was only a momentary pass before the sun. All of a sudden, the birthday boy came outside to dismiss us for the evening (if you could call 4 am the “evening”). “It’s time for everyone to leave. I have a lot to do tomorrow. Thanks for coming. Bye.” It was that simple. He wanted everyone to leave just then and there. Not in a rude way, but rather a quickly dismissive tone. It was almost as if “Please get the fuck out and thanks for coming. Really. Now leave…”

Although I had resolved to leave without my driver – hours before, I became concerned with his location. “What about Magenta?” I asked. Would I not even say goodbye to him before leaving? The birthday boy explained that Magenta was passed out cold, fast asleep, in his guestroom. And with that, I turned to my new friend David, planning to take him up on the offer of his couch for the evening. He had offered me this an hour and a half or so ago, but I assumed it would still be on the table. Instead, I received the following response: “No, I’m sorry Raanan. I don’t think my roommate would like that. He’s weird about finding strangers on the couch in the morning.” Was this really happening? Not twenty minutes prior, he was shoving his dick into my mouth talking about what great friends we would be. What had changed?! I told him that I had no idea where I would sleep for the night. My hostel was closed for re-entry until the afternoon and Magenta was out cold in the apartment we were just evicted from. “What the fuck am I going to do?” I muttered under my breath, freaking out in my head.

All of the night’s happenings were now remorseful misdeeds in my mind now. “You’ve really gone and done it now, haven’t you, Raanan?” I kept muttering self-demeaning slanders at myself, unsure of what I would do. The entire group around us – all of whom, I really did not know – were shuffling towards the next party and I was wondering if I’d end up on the news in the morning after sleeping a night alone in the cold. Would I be pillaged on the streets of San Francisco? “Is this the moment in my life where I get tragically addicted to crack or heroin in order to keep warm from the cold of this foreign city?” Sure, I have a flare for the dramatic and some may call me a bit melodramatic, but I had no idea where I was. I knew almost nothing about San Francisco or its geographical layout. Earlier this same evening, I was convinced that Concord and Berkeley were part of the City. What did I know? All I knew then was that my driver who had been good for nothing, outside a blowjob, and the attached mess I had been kissing face with were my only options for rest that night and I was out of options.

I turned to my new “friend” David and asked him yet again what I was going to do for the night. Really, I was just projecting my frustrations and issues for the night, but David barely knew me from a common street whore. All I knew was that he found me pretty and that he spent the better part of an evening chasing my ass. Let’s be honest, guys have done plenty more for a little naked time. I can testify to that. This means it may have just been that. I felt a little sad and confused, high and unfocused. “What will I do?” I asked. “I don’t know, but good luck dude.” That was David’s final answer.

As an aside, the terms “dude” or “bro” to refer to someone that has just had your penis inside your mouth with intentions for further entry, need not be deployed (here or ever).

Looking around at this group of strangers in front of us, I could still see them shuffling for the next spot. They were stuck in chatter and it had been at least five minutes since we were asked to leave. “Should I just say goodnight and wander off on my own?” I kept thinking. Pity party for 1 was where my mind now went to. It was as if I was shooting a gun to my head; and I knew this. Decision making was not my forte this evening.

Then the group ahead of us, which now included Sheila, Cruz, Terry, and two straight guys from the party made a decision. I hadn’t really spoken to the two straight guys that evening, but the other three had at least been present (albeit incoherently) for my evening, so I felt a little more comfortable tagging along to their decision making moment on the street. Assuming I would leave the moment they figured out the rest of their night, I found an invitation instead. One of the straight guys – Jim – had a loft not too far from where we were forming congregation on the street. He offered that we all go back there and keep the party going. I really just wanted to rest my head on a bed or a sofa at this point, but any offer was better than the street corner. There was promise of additional drugs and liquor. None of this sounded great, but again, I was out of options.  

As this group of five departed the corner we were gathered at, I proceeded with them. Ironically enough, David was on board as well. For the last few minutes, I was asking him what I would do and where I would go and he was so easily resolved to my walking away; my disappearance for the evening. Now we were headed to the same spot and all of a sudden, he was curbing his attention to me. Flirtation began again on his end, while I sheepishly followed the crowd.

Two minutes into this walk and I get a call on my phone. It was Magenta. “You have got to be fucking kidding me” I spurted out loud. Clicking “ignore”, I continued to walk. Then came a second call, followed by a third. I finally accepted the third time out. You know what they say, “third time’s a charm”… He was half-awake, still intoxicated, and freaking out regarding my whereabouts. All of a sudden he needed me by his side. I had zero interest seeing Magenta ever again. He had saddled me with a messy party for the night and then bowed out hours before. I wanted to be responsible for the night and instead ended up on this crazy journey that I still seemed to be on. This was not to say that I was or am a naïve young boy, unaware of such a night’s intentions. It all became evident to me early on and I knowingly participated. That said, Magenta was not what I was looking for in a friend or bedtime buddy. Worrying about what I would do for the night, I now had a destination and Magenta wasn’t in that plan. “I’ll come get you and we’ll go back to Concord. Where are you?!” He kept asking for my whereabouts, expecting to be in bed before the sun came up. I wasn’t getting back into the car with someone in his state of intoxication, and I was over and done with him at this point. “Get some rest and we’ll chat later.” That was the easiest way to end the phone call; not to say he didn’t put up a fight. Finally, I got through to him and he agreed to hang up, with the promise of a future date. I was not following him on an adventure ever again. That was for sure.

Hanging up the phone on Magenta, I felt a certain relief and burden off my shoulders. Despite this not being the destination I hoped for, it was a place inside. Shelter for a bit. I walked the few block destination to this straight stranger Jim’s apartment. David was actively touching me and attempting to incite the flirtation of earlier. I was unamused.

Within a ten minute walk or so, we arrived at Jim’s apartment. A group of 7 altogether, I wasn’t sure whether we’d be crowded or not. The birthday boy’s apartment, while nice, did not have a lot of room for lounging. Walking into Jim’s apartment building, I didn’t know what to expect. It was an old warehouse that had been converted into industrial style lofts. The freight elevator could have been leading us into a dungeon of poverty or modern units. I didn’t know because I didn’t know Jim. Really, I didn’t know anyone on this journey. Being the Jewish neurotic princess that I often can be, I was prepared for the worst. As quickly as we arrived at Jim’s unit, I was put at ease.

This was one of the most breathtaking apartments I have ever seen in my life. It was a two story loft with exposed brick walls, hardwood floors of the highest quality, and a gorgeous assortment of furniture and home décor. Clearly this guy had money. The main floor that we had entered on had a beautiful kitchen and an open living room that would have been enough for an apartment for me. With a bathroom and dining area rounding out this floor, there were large industrial warehouse type windows filling an entire wall with views of the city. He had a spiral staircase that led downstairs to the bedroom area. I hadn’t gone down there yet, but judging by the floor I had set my eyes on, the bedroom had to be amazing. This felt as if I walked into my own personal version of the Disney castle, satisfying every need and want I’ve ever had.

I began imagining a life living here. The idea of being with Jim was none too appealing as he had the handsome good looks of a troll, but luckily he was straight. I just wanted his life. That was all. We all sat down in his living area, where a few couches and a couple nice chairs framed a square conversation space with a coffee table in the center. Conversation quickly went to cocaine and who could find more. There had been plenty all evening, but I understand the need for more. I wasn’t looking to do it in the first place that evening, so what much I had felt like enough. The rest of this group thought differently, calling and texting all of their contacts. Luckily no one was asking for my assistance, given I was so new to the city. I slouched down on my side of a couch, comfortable and tired. Feeling the cocaine start to fizzle in my system, I was overcome with exhaustion. At this point, I had been up almost twenty-four hours, having begun my day early the morning before. I could feel my body catching up with me as the group around were feverishly looking for drugs. “Who can get coke?! I want now.” This was the overwhelming question from around the coffee table. Money began being placed down on the table as the phones were being utilized aggressively.

That’s the funny thing about drugs. Fueling an entire night’s efforts, it is always amusing to see the power that drugs can have on people. Not to say I’ve never been succumbed to such times (I have more times than one could count), but I didn’t want any more for the evening. It’s not just the power of cocaine, but the feeling people believe themselves to have when they’re on it. Think Cinderella type of magic...

As the search wasn’t bringing obvious results any time too soon, Jim began hosting this impromptu party. He began passing around goblets as he procured a bottle of aged scotch from a beautifully manicured liquor closet. Pouring this expensive spirit in each of our glasses, he began singing the praise of what would soon touch our lips. He then grabbed a box from another cabinet and proceeded to offer us all Cuban cigars. Reaching for the Cuban fatty, I couldn’t help but take inventory on my evening. I was now sitting around a table with a group of strangers drinking aged scotch that cost more than I had in my wallet, as we puffed on Cubans. For the record, I have smoked many a Cuban cigar, but I’m talking about something totally different now. Tobacco cigars are another story. Perhaps this was the second or third time in my life that I was smoking a cigar and the circumstances couldn’t have been any stranger. Assuming smoking jackets had been dispersed, then the night would have come full circle. Still, it was quite the strange interaction. Quickly in, it became apparent that no more cocaine would find itself to our noses this morning. I was more than okay with this, but the rest of the group began grieving in their seats; they wanted to party.

I slumped down on my side of the couch, preparing for a nap. These people didn’t know me and were far too concerned with their lack of cocaine, so I figured I could slip into sleep without anyone noticing. I nodded off for a few minutes before David nudged me to wake. Having almost completely forgotten he was with the group, David had now moved onto the couch next to mine and wanted me to wake. “Was I snoring?!” I immediately whispered, slightly embarrassed. “No, I just thought you may want to move to Jim’s bed. You’re the only person falling asleep tonight…” Firstly, it was no longer the night as the sun was pulling up and shining in on us. Also, it was well past five thirty in the morning. We were in Saturday mode now. Friday was gone.

Unsure if it was polite for me to squeeze into a stranger’s unused bed, David assured me it would be okay. I didn’t think it was right, but I was so overwhelmed with tire that I agreed. Slinking down the spiral staircase, I found a queen sized mattress on the floor of his bedroom. This room was not anywhere as well decorated as the upstairs, but I did not care. A queen mattress on the floor was bed to me then and there. I walked over and nearly fell over, eager to sleep. Removing my pants and jacket before sliding beneath the covers, I hoped to get comfortable. I still had my underwear on and was not looking for a mess in the sheets. My jeans just couldn’t get wrinkled. I knew I would have to do some sort of “walk of shame” later that morning. The infamous “walk of shame” has referred to two different kinds of nights over my years. First, there’s the sleeping out walk of shame that comes as a result of an impromptu adult-sleepover. The second refers to a night of heavy drugs and a lack of sleep, heading home in clothes from the night before. Neither is a cute look.

And either way, people normally assume you've had sex. It's a given response to anyone's walk of shame...

Within a minute of arriving in Jim’s bedroom, David arrived. It made perfect sense now. He had asked me to go use the bed because he wanted some more action. David didn’t care how comfortable I was. He wanted naked time. Relentless as he was, I wondered what his boyfriend wasn’t doing for him that he needed it so badly from me. I was not in a sex mood, but rather excited to kiss the sheets for bed. Even if it would only be a few hours of sleep, I looked forward to it. David began stripping in front of me. Removing his clothes, he would not approach the bed until completely naked. Walking over with his large dick dangling between his legs, I couldn’t help but get annoyed. I was not in the mood to sit on a dick. Sure, I love embracing my sexuality and David was more than generously attractive, but I was not in the mood to put that much work into anything. I just wanted to snooze and snore away. David had other ideas and climbed in next to me, prompting me to remove what barriers I had on to our being naked. “I’m really tired and not looking for sex right now”, I insisted. David begged me to get nude, promising merely a “naked cuddle”.

Cuddling up to David, both of us stark naked underneath Jim’s covers, I began to pass out. I was awoken by his finger being shoved inside me. Like I said before, I was not in the mood for that. I told him no, claiming not to be in the mood. Assuming that would keep him off, perhaps he would realize he too was tired. Instead, this prompted David to grab my finger and move it towards his sphincter. He began massaging his hole with my finger in his grasp. David wanted me to “top” him. I am not completely opposed to playing “pitcher” on occasion, when it comes to sex (sports are a foreign zone of terrorism to me), but I really just wanted to sleep. David was relentless however, motivated by one thing – sex. He wanted to fuck or get fucked. There was no care as long as intercourse occurred.

I was not going to let anything go inside me at that moment, so I reluctantly agreed to play top after a few minutes of his persistence. Craving more sleep, this was not what I wanted, but David wouldn’t stop. Really, I just wanted him to stop talking, so I could get some shuteye. Anything to shut him up.

Grabbing lubricant and a condom from Jim’s night table, David proceeded to sit on my dick. He began riding me for a few minutes, but I was exhausted and he wanted to throw down, so to speak. Out of options with my new sexual deviant, I opted for sex on our sides, hoping I could get to sleep. We switched positions and I fell asleep with my lubricated Trojan condom covered dick deep inside him. A short time later, I awoke and I was still inside him. That’s how dick-starved David was acting. He didn’t even need me to be awake as long as my penis was soaring through. Half-asleep, I pulled out and threw the condom on the floor. I went back to sleep.

A short few minutes later, I was woken to David sucking my dick hard. The best way to wake up is with someone’s mouth on your member, but this was not the case. I wanted to be left alone and go to sleep. Sure he was hot and under different circumstances, I may have been gung-ho, but this was not the time. I just wanted to fucking sleep. David didn’t care, so I allowed him the pleasure of placing another condom on me and riding me into the morning glare. I snoozed off for a few more minutes and woke up to pull out and throw another used condom on the floor.

I needed to sleep. Once again, a few minutes into my slumber, I was woken to another blowjob from my new “friend” David. I didn’t understand how he hadn’t just gotten tired or wanted to leave me alone. Maybe he just had a lot more coke than I had.

I mean, if Bill Cosby endorses it, so should you. Unless he "allegedly" raped you. Then, maybe don't take his endorsements to heart. All said, David was very high and quite the horn-ball. Perhaps too-high...

I pushed him off and said: “We can do this another time, but I have to sleep.” David begged me for one more go, but I said no. He agreed to cuddle and leave the sex behind. We embraced and fell asleep, for maybe an hour or so. All of a sudden, we were both woken to a phone call on David’s phone. Waking up, we chatted for a few minutes as a girlfriend had called him and was now on her way to pick him up. At this point, the entire party had calmed itself down. There was a couch across from the mattress in this bed space where Sheila, Cruz, and Terry (my new friends from earlier in the evening) were all cascaded across one another like a stacked puzzle half-undressed and passed out. I couldn’t hear any movement above me and felt like I would be able to sleep alone, comfortably for a few hours once David left.

David and I began discussing future plans as “friends” as he packed his stuff up to leave. He left on good circumstances, so I assumed. As quickly as he left, I passed back out on the mattress on the floor. Despite everything that occurred, I really thought this sexual experience would just be something to laugh about later. I assumed he was just going to be a friend. And he was way more slut than I could understand (at least at that time)…

Perhaps an hour or two into that final slumber, Jim came down the spiral staircase. As I said before, Jim was a confirmed straight guy from the initial birthday party who owned this magnanimous loft space. At one point during the cigar and scotch party from earlier, I remembered Jim ranting on about his girlfriend that he was “in love” with. Here I lay, naked, under the sheets of this straight guy’s bed and here he was, coming down the stairs approaching me. I hid my body up until my neck under the covers, unsure of his reaction. “Mind if I slide in with you?” That was probably the only real interaction I had had with Jim all night. He barely said two words to me, but now he’s asking to share his bed with a stranger? I was confused, but indebted to him, lying in his bed. Also, I didn’t know if he would appreciate me exiting the bed fully naked, so I remained in the sheets.

Jim climbed in – still clothed – and found a resting spot. I felt like I had escaped undiscovered. “Maybe he doesn’t know I’m naked” I kept thinking. Then, Jim began shifting his body. He moved closer to me, outstretching his arm for my body. Cradling me in his arms, I began to feel like I was in a David Lynch movie. All I needed to see was one gunshot and Isabella Rosellini singing ‘Blue Velvet’ and my fears would be real.

I knew I needed to leave as quickly as I could. Within a minute or two of Jim’s embrace, I felt his erection through his pants, pressed against my naked body. This had gone into way-too-weird territory for me. I didn’t know what to do, but I chose to stay and wait until he fell asleep, Lucky for me, Jim passed out within ten to fifteen minutes from the time I felt his wood against my back. As soon as I was sure he had fallen asleep, I slid out from under him. I grabbed my clothes and proceeded to the bathroom in his room.

Walking into the bathroom, I nearly fell to the floor. This room was like the locker room of a fancy country club. Gorgeous walk-in shower, multiple vanities and sinks, a separate toilet area, and a laundry area with a beautiful unit for washing clothes. “Should I climb back into bed with Jim? Is it worth it?!” I was having a major dilemma, like the Duggar family wondering whether or not to use condoms. As an aside, please do so.

I decided to leave, but considered washing my clothes first. Getting dressed, I packed myself together and squeaked out of the house. Sheila, Cruz, and Terry had all three rolled to the floor at some point and now lay half-naked there. Jim was asleep in his bed and I left. The other “straight guy” was passed out upstairs and I passed him on my way to the front door. I left that house and never went back, signing off on my evening of craziness.

From a seemingly harmless conversation on ‘Grindr’ to a mess of events in the Mission, I found myself fondled, molested, played with, offered drinks, drugs, and a slew of men. Even the straight guy. And as messy as this all was, it was a perfect introduction to San Francisco – this amazing place that has been my home for the last year. It’s bitter sweet as I will be moving back to Los Angeles in the upcoming weeks, but San Francisco has given me more stories than I could imagine and this was one of the first of many.