We took the train to London together, just the two of us going to this massive club night in the dark, all dressed up with rucksacks and the works, booked into a hotel and rested up a bit before we went out. After Angel station the whole night, right up until seven am when we finally get out, is a huge blur. Fantastic music, great dancing. So high on it all. We went up as two and we came back as four. Both of us thinking what the fuck, both of us with tricks in tow. And why hadn't we got rid of them, independently, already, just like always?
Head count; there's me, and then there's my best friend Michael. He's all blond and fantastic, big blue eyes to make your heart melt, my best friend since forever. His trick is this latino looking lanky kind of guy with long black hair and a wonderful tattoo down one arm and across his back. Name of Chris. My trick says his name is Satellite, cute guy with abs to die for, all tanned and smooth and blond, no excess body hair, eyes like a storm. Good looks has never made us keep tricks around before, so why now? Why now on this cold December day?
Don't get me wrong, the sex, at lest for me and Sat, was great, not fabulous or anything, but great, and we really kind of click, he's funny, brainy, and surprisingly sweet. We've talked, he's not in love with me or anything. Mike said that the sex was fantastic, that this other guy almost worships him, and that they get on OK. So why are they coming back with us, and where the hell are they going to stay. It's hard to imagine the four of us packed into Mike's tiny room in Varley Halls, which is where I'm spending the night, still exhausted from the dancing of last night.
It's early evening when we finally get into town, all aching from the long train journey. Mike is practically asleep standing up, Satellite yawns and leans his forehead on my shoulder, his arm gong round into the small of my back, a tiny gesture that just kills me. I hail a cab and we all squeeze into the back, getting a flat rate back to the university campus. I'm very nearly in Sat's lap. We crawl out, grab our bags from the boot and Chris ends up paying the driver as I search for my wallet. Mike really is almost asleep and just about manages to hand me his keys. He's hung over on noise and lack of sleep. Sleeping while you travel never actually gives you any rest.
Four of Mike's housemates are in the communal kitchen when we walk through the door. We get some smallish disapproving looks and people kind of rearrange themselves while I boil the kettle. Between the four of us we devour most of Mike's food from his cupboard and whole tab of paracetamol. Four mugs of tea later we are all upstairs. The room is minute, a desk covered in junk, a single bed, and a sink-wardrobe unit that takes up most of the floor. There is barely room for us all to stand. Mike and Chris fall onto the bed and we get Mike out of everything but his boxers. We're all tired. Satellite goes to the bathroom while I drag the futon mattress out from under the bed and clear enough floor to lay it out. Coats and clothes all make a massive pile under the desk as we all get mostly naked. I find blankets and an open sleeping bag from somewhere and create a makeshift bed for me and Sat. He is wearing a pair of the best and smallest boxers I've ever seen, but they look good on him, not ridiculous. We curl around each other, trying to save space, and fall instantly asleep.
.... There is more of this story ...