Uomini Tre (Part 2)

The real reason was that I had to get home and freshen up for my second visit to the famous Queever disco night.  Maurizio had reappeared the past week after being awol for a couple due to a root canal or something untranslatable– and I’m simply unable to resist his texts.   So, FINALLY, I was able to dance with the gays again! In my infinite wisdom, I had told two other online guys that I would be at Queever also… At the time, it seemed like a good idea, since if I didn’t like them, or vice versa, there would be a disco full of people to occupy us otherwise.

*sigh* Of course what ended up happening was not according to plan. One of the “men” (and only 22 years old…) was Enzo. As I’ve said before, I’m very upfront about the fact that I don’t know Italian very well at all, and I can only learn so fast from Rosetta Stone and from chatting with strangers. As you can see from the SMS’s that follow, not knowing prepositions makes it rather difficult to give directions in a loud and crowded disco…

Enzo: CIAO STASERA ANDIAMO ALL QUEEVER
[“Tonight we are going to Qeever”?]

Me: Si Si 🙂
E: A CHE ORA
[“At what time”]

M: Vado…alle 9
M: Runing late
E: 15 minut e arrivo ci vediamo dove
[“I arrive in 15 minutes, where will we meet?”]

M: Out
E: Perfett
M: Arrivato [“I arrived”]
E: STO ARRIVANDO
[I have no idea what this means…I’m not good with tenses]

M: Ummm…
E: SONO NEL TAXI
[“I’m in a taxi” — first of all this is a bad sign, because it probably means Enzo has no car]

M: I’m inside. SMS me.
E: [Enzo calls me, but I can’t hear him…nor do I understand Italian]
M: Bar in the back! Black shirt and beard!
[In hindsight, this wasn’t the best description since 90% of the clientele were wearing black, and it was Bear Weekend in Turin…]

E: SONO AL BAR SORPA
[“I’m at the bar on top” – which means nothing to me in this context…*sigh* Luckily, throughout most of this, Maurizio was helping me look and providing active and amusing commentary on the looks of various people]

M: Dove? [where?]
E: CONSOLE DIETRO [again, i have no idea]
M: Umm…the bar…upstairs behind the dj?]
M: Qui [here!]
E: WHERE ARE?

At this point I give up. First, because clearly having a conversation is not going to happen when we do in fact meet. Secondly, I’ve had three Long Islands and I just don’t care. Thirdly, I’m pretty sure I was standing right next to him at one point, and he wasn’t what I was looking for. Also, one of my bar friends by this point has brought a HOT Italian over to chat with me. This is nothing new (thank you AGAIN lovely baby jesus) because the second an Italian learns I’m from America, I get to hear in minute detail, and usually in broken english, ALL about their most recent trip to America. This guy was exceptionally hot, and once again in true European fashion had no sense of personal space (which now, I am PERFECTLY ok with…yes…please feel free to place your hand at the small of my back to pull me closer to ensure I can hear you ok…) *another le sigh*

At some point super crazy hot guy begins making out with my friend…and it’s time to find man #3. Once again, a comedy of errors, and this time with an Italian that can at least speak English, if not understand directions.

Davide: I’m here
Me: Si, I am behind the dj, you?
Me: Ok, now I’m dancing…later?

[this is because Maurizio is dragging me to the dance floor and away from my Blackberry… this is also the point where I am drunk dialing DB in Atlanta because I saw a guy that looks exactly like Tony D. back home…. ]

D: I’m dancing too [this isn’t very helpful, since I’ve basically only seen a picture of his very cute butt…]
M: I’m in the front
D: Maybe we’re close…maybe [um, not helpful]
M: hehe…
D: Don’t smile! Where are you? [I have no idea why I’m not allowed to smile]
M: Vicino the front….scemo… [still in the front, dumbass…]
D: Ma non ti vedo! If you see me, come and say hello
[apparently, he doesn’t remember not sending me a face pic…this is a problem]

M: Ummm..I don’t see you
D: Where can we meet?
M: Bar in back?
D: Ok…what time? Behind the deejay…
M: No, the other side
[clearly, I meant “back” as in opposite the front door…apparently it has other meanings?]

D: Ok, what time?
M: 1230?
D: Excuse me? No let’s meet now.
[um, ok…I’m sorry you have a job and all…but I was enjoying dancing]

M: Ok…
D: I’m at the bar in front of the stage. smoking area. near the yellow crown.
[i have no idea where this is…and I am caring less and less, because hot guy is talking to me again]

M: Come to the back,to the left..sinistra
D: I’m here, where are you?
M: Under the painting on the left
D: Look. I want to go. Stop kidding. Where are you.
[I should have know this was not going to end well. Um, I really was under the painting…the only painting in the bar]
M: NO serio. Left of the bar. 6 feet tall. Black shirt. Beard. Painting on wall. I’m standing under it.
D: Which bar? Near the deejay?
M: No! outside– the other side of the club!

Again, at this point I pretty much give up, and decide to go dance again. On my way to the dancefloor, a hand grabbed my arm, and lo and behold, Davide has at last recognized me. At last, things were looking “up,” since Davide was quite the yummy 24yo, blonde-haired, blue-eyed twink. After a brief discussion as to whether or not we were staying, and a discussion by which I obtained a concrete promise to drive me home in the morning (I’ve learned my lesson on this one), we jet.

Or at least I thought so. Ok, so Queever has this stupid system where you don’t pay the bartenders cash. You get a punch in a card you receive at the door. What I did not know, is that if you lose this card, you have to pay FIFTY EURO to leave! Somehow between the cashier (who I blame for not giving me a pass after I had paid) and the coat check, a distance of maybe 12 feet, I lost my pass to get out. Thank god Davide was very sweet and dealt with the problem, while I pretty much stood there and proclaimed my innocence by repeating over and over again “mi dispiace, sono americano stupido!!” The cashier was being a bitch, but the door guys took pity on me. So with this as a great start to my “after-party,” it could only get better, right?

Wrong. I should have learned my lesson from a few of my other adventures. Davide lives in West Turin, not near a metro station and not near a night bus stop, so I had no escape if things went awry. Call me crazy, but if you have the munchies, do you think it’s best to start chowing down on bacon flavored potato chips before “getting busy”? Hopefully not, but Davide did! So, I patiently waited for him to eat his fill, making a metal note that apparently kissing was out of the question. After some small talk, it was time for the action….the really awkward, unfulfilling, and odd action. Look, I feel at this point I’m well versed in what is supposed to happen, but, I can’t do EVERYTHING. After being berated for not “moving fast enough,” I felt the need to point out that I didn’t know where certain needed supplies were, and quite frankly, if you’re going to tout yourself on the internet as being a power bottom, one would expect you to be one. I mean, maybe one or two cues, even non-verbal ones would be great. Or at least grab what you need out of the bedside table….So, after we had a brief “in flagrante” discussion, I tried to exit the situation by asking him to take me home. No dice. I got the “let’s just sleep.” Aw fuck. As noted previously, I can’t sleep well at all in strange beds, and ESPECIALLY after not having things taken care of. What Davide apparently really meant was: “I’m going to let you finally doze off, and then decide that I was wrong, and yes, please fuck me now, in the dead of the night.” Um, ok. After a slightly less awkward attempt, we slept, with no cuddling, and then we woke up AT 6 AM. The Italian (with a very annoyed and sleepy American) drove to the nearest metro stop, opened the passenger side door, and said ciao…..

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~ by Daniel on October 27, 2009.

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