I am in his room. A small TV is playing a game of basketball as we kiss awkwardly on the bed. I say awkwardly because his hulking girth is squishing the life out of me and I haven’t even learned what his favorite color is. I amin his place because I can’t sleep. It’s 5 AM.
His name, as I fleetingly remember alongside trying to get some air, is Donnie.
Donnie is a man of very weird words. I dont even remember the messages back and forth but I am sure they were, at least, spicy, like hot Cheetos otherwise I wouldn’t be here suffocating under his girth
I must have sunk so low that I accepted somewhere during the phone conversation but I can’t remember anything he said that made me interested. I can’t remember anything he has told me, mainly because he’s pushing my stomach into the center of the earth.
He messaged me very eagerly on the dating site and we really did have a good time, obviously. The phone conversations were very short. Thats possibly why I dont remember what they were about. He lived close to me. I am a lonely soul in a sea of emails and Netflix TV shows to watch when I get home so I figured it couldn’t hurt to go and see Donnie.
He’s really nice, but he’s very keen on me being his boyfriend when we have only met a few minutes ago. I can’t wait to see what the divorce will be like. His studio apartment is very dimly lit, and is the size of a hotel bathroom. The bed takes up the entire apartment. To my left there’s a small stove and kitchen area complete with tiny fridge. A small TV rests on a miniature entertainment center something I didnt even think existed, and his bed sheets are a very dull green color. It’s obvious the bed is the star of the show. It doesnt need a dashing entrance. Its presence is overwhelming, like a purse with grazers hidden in the handles.
As Donnie continues to slowly kill me, I realize that I am, literally, three steps from the door. Somehow, I have to get my breath back and bolt for the door while a cab is on the way.
“Whoa! Donnie. I seriously can’t breathe!” he stops rubbing his CROTCH with mine, and he sits facing me, somehow becoming even heavier in his still state. I regret not having life insurance.
“Oh. Really?” he asks, as if I’ve told him I’m, indeed, gay.
“Yeah. Can we switch positions?”
“Huh? You want to what?” I wonder if he’s going to start taking notes, like this is a lecture. He looks as if I’ve just asked him to stare at the wall and tell me when it moves.
“I want to switch positions. Let me be on top for a while. OK?” his face dies, then pouts, then dies again.
“But I’m always a top. Always.” I don’t know what else to say, so I utter,
“but your weight was killing me. Literally.”
“You want to top? But why? I’m a top. Thats who I am.”
Suddenly, I want to go away and return to my nice apartment via cab. He, however, is literally freaking out over the fact I want to change positions. He’s offended, hugely, and has stopped talking to me to tweet about it. I presume he will put his phone away but he continues tapping something he’s used to tapping without any back-lip, his phone.
“So… I like this place…”
“One moment,” he says, like I’ve interrupted his own funeral, clacking away. “I’m on Twitter.” I soon dig out my cell and text the cab driver that brought me here. I want him to come get me as soon as possible. He will be here in two minutes.
When Donnie sees me getting ready to leave, he literally clings onto me, and asks me to stay during the day so I can skip various things, including my usual writing routine at my favorite gay coffee shop. I haven’t been sleeping well at all so I am tempted, but he was just a distraction from my Netflix account and things. I ask him if he will let me top and he says I have to be his boyfriend to do that.
Three minutes later I am in the cab speeding away from whatever just happened. I know that I am definitely at the top of something, because his mentions about me on twitter just now, about how I’ve turned him down, and all of this, have gained me followers and has lost him some.
When I get home I play the movie Top Gun, just to have an ironic chuckle.