Frank Ocean - Nights

Sorry, I just don’t know how to relate to other human beings.

This is what I, a human being, said to another human being, as he got dressed. This is what I said as some means of apology, of explanation, after having hooked up with him and then asking him to leave.

It was 4 something in the morning. We had just had sex. He was this cute nice guy that I have known for a couple years, hooked up with once or twice before. It was friendly. He had mentioned he wanted to cuddle. I was drunk and stoned. I wasn’t in the mood to cuddle or to be around other human beings.

I am less and less good at this aspect of being human, of the intimate one-on-one moments. It’s almost like I have forgotten how to do them. And yet I look at men on the subway, on the beach, on the streets, and I tell myself that I want something with them, imagine them as future boyfriends, though what that would mean for someone that has trouble sharing a night in bed with someone these days, I have no clue.

He left a bracelet at my house in his hurry to get dressed at that late hour, at that early hour. I texted him about it. He’s going to come over again soon.

Once I finally woke up yesterday, I plopped down on the Christopher Street Pier under cloudy skies and listened to the amazing new Frank Ocean album, playing “Nights” in particular on repeat over and over again:

Did you call me from a seance?
You are from a past life.
Hope you’re doing well bruh.
I been out here head first.
Always like the head first.
Signal coming in and out.

A Day at the Beach

The water was warm. There was none of the tip-toeing baby steps into the ocean, slowly getting in inch by inch until your skin, your body, is comfortable enough to proceed further. Instead, yesterday it was embrace, a friend you hadn’t seen in months, a lover you were excited about hopping into bed with. I walked into the water with the same amount of hesitancy that I have walking into air - that is, none whatsoever. It just was. It was the elements that I exist in.

I swam around in the waves, the sunlight lighting up glowing patterns on the crests of the waves, falling, rising, shifting, these white sketched neon lines - an old-school computer screensaver playing out across the Atlantic Ocean in front of me. I started talking to this attractive Indian man. Soon we were making out, jerking each other off under the water, bobbing around together in these shifting lines, interrupting them with our embrace.

As I sucked his dick underneath the water, my mouth kept filling up with saltwater. Again, I was in the elements, in my element. It was a perfect moment in a beautiful day in a wonderful life.

On the shore, I drank rose, smoked cigarettes, and let my eyes take in the sight, the beautiful sight, of all of the sexy men around me, and my brain and other parts of my body did various things with that visual stimuli, imagined romantic and sexual scenarios playing out with all of these people around me.

If I were to use two words to describe my condition yesterday, they would be: boy crazy.

On the bus ride home, I ended up sitting next to this stranger, this really cute Australian. I flirted with him the whole way home and exchanged numbers before he got off the bus.

I ate burritos in my backyard with the friends I went to the beach with and then after having stared at the feet of one of these guys the whole time I was eating the burrito, imagining them on my face, in my mouth, we took a shower together before tumbling into my bed. And those feet I had fantasized about just moments earlier were all over my face. His cock was in my mouth, mine in his. We came. He left. And I fell asleep in my bed, curving my body around the still wet cum stains on my sheets.