POP MY CORK, DAMMIT! (Part 1)

Everyone around me is having sex – those currently coupled, others picking up strangers at the bar, and the majority using smartphone apps to locate daily conquests within a reasonable radius from their home.  I’m the last virgin male, unable to meet another man and disinterested in my usual routine of masturbating to porn 2-3 times a day. Oh, and I am thirty years old today. Ugh!
I’m pondering these thoughts as my family and friends sing happy birthday to me. My sister carries a massive chocolate cake – even though I’d prefer a delicate angel food cake – tortured by the stabbing of 30 lit candles swaying dangerously to an extinguished state before I can blow them out; all the while hoping and praying that my forgotten wish will come true. Yet I plaster on my trademark smile and pretend that everything is fine and dandy. Everyone claps. They are pleased with my expert blowing skills. They have smiles on their faces too, but they’re all having sex after the party, including my parents. I made the bloodcurdling discovery of condoms in my parents’ bathroom while I was looking for my mother’s chemical body hair remover – it works great to remove unwanted hair around a man’s anus! I don’t know why I bother removing the hair because in a couple of days it’ll start to itch and within weeks it will have grown back around an unpenetrated hole.
I continue to sit in front of the cake with my convincing fake smile still plastered on my face as I mentally sigh at the sad state of affairs of my sex life. I’m surprised I can cut the cake into pieces to offer my friends and family without stabbing myself and unintentionally donating drops of my blood to every piece. I guess after 30 years I have perfected playing the role of the perfect son, brother, uncle, and friend. I wish I knew how to play the role of a sex-craved lover.
The birthday cake is cut and doled out, gifts are open, and finally, the guests leave! I’m left alone to simmer in the messy state of my home trying to decide if I should leave the clean up until tomorrow and continue drinking on my own or try to mentally resolve how two of my friends met each other for the first time today and left together, barely keeping their tongues out of each other’s mouths. Another mental sigh as I picture the two men together – two friends of whom I’ve crushed on for years and successfully secured my place in the sex-free friend zone, yet in minutes they become each other’s newest sexual conquest. I can imagine their tight, trim bodies exposed during a frenzied ballet of shredding clothes, groping appendages, and a battle of who will be on top. And if they’re lucky, they get to repeat it minutes later while alternating positions. Damned be my hot, sexy, versatile gay friends!
I eventually realize during this imaginary sex scene in my head that I’ve been drinking warm champagne directly from the bottle. I set it aside and grab a chilled bottle from the fridge. As I pop the cork, I hear a startled scream from the dining area. I slowly turn around and peek into the room. Apparently, one of my guests passed out in the far corner of the room and no one bothered to take him home. I recall that he came as a guest with my best friend, but I can’t remember his name.
“Where am I?” slurs the man with squinted eyes trying to look towards the empty table that was once filled with party guests.
“You’re in my dining room. Want another?” I ask while lifting the bottle slightly into the air to give him a visual cue of the alcoholic beverage I’m offering.
“Sure dude! Bring it on!”
Dude. Great. Straight.
I walk over to his corner and pass him the bottle. I turn around to head back to the kitchen and grab a second bottle for me but he tugs at my pants.
“Hey! Sit down! Let’s drink this together. Where’s the birthday boy? We should toast him one.”
“Well, you’re looking at him,” I say as I plop my cushiony ass next to the nameless drunk who suddenly wears on a smile from ear to ear.
“Whoa, happy birthday, dude! Cheers mate!” he says as he wraps his arm around my shoulder, takes a long sip of champagne and then passes the bottle to me. “May we have hangovers that remind us of a great party!”
It would be better if I were having sex rather than sitting on a dirty floor drinking with a drunken heterosexual stranger in my dining room. Fuck my luck!
***
I think my brain is trying to tell my body to wake up. I can feel sweat dripping from various parts of my body as the sun shines directly over my body and my bed. I guess I forgot to close the blinds before I went to bed. I squint trying to open my eyes slowly and adjust them to the bright sunlight. I can feel the familiar pounding behind my forehead and eyes – hangover!
I’m overly unmotivated to get out of bed so I convince myself that it’s my birthday weekend and I should stay in bed for a while longer. I grab my pillow and place it over my head to cover the bright, harsh sunlight invading my room. As I lay there, relaxingly awake with my eyes closed, I let out an orchestra of flatulence that had harboured in my digestive tract during my slumber.
“Whoa dude, good morning to you too!”
I jump when I hear a man’s voice. I’m not alone? Who’s here? Did I just fart in front of another human being? And who the fuck uses the word dude? Although I’m very hung over I suddenly connect the voice.
Fuckity Fuck Fuck Fuck!

“I hope you don’t mind but I used the toothbrush that was in the bathroom. I have nasty morning breath when I’ve been drinking the night before,” says so-called straight drunken dude from last night as he exits my bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist. I suppose he took the liberty to have a shower, too. I’ll have to remember to burn that toothbrush.
 “So, what’s for breakfast?” he asks with that same smile stretching from ear to ear. I raise a bottle of champagne. “Awesome! Nothing cures a hangover like drinking it away! Pass the bottle dude,” he says. I check out his body as I pass him the bottle, all the while trying to train my mind to remember the events of last night.
“We got pretty plastered last night, eh?” says dude.
“Pretty wouldn’t be the adjective I would use.”
Dude gives a hearty laugh, followed by a loud burp, and then another swig from the bottle before he passes it back to me.
“So, what’s the plan for today?”
“Umm…drinking myself back to bed?”
“Great! Count me in! Do you have more bottles when we finish this one?”
“Yeah. My family’s pretty generous with alcohol on my birthday. There are at least three or four more bottles in the fridge.”
“That’s crazy shit cool! Let’s finish this bottle then grab another bottle each. Is there a balcony in this place? I would love to get some sun while we drink.”
“Yes. You can get access to it from the living area or the bedroom.”
“Perfect! I hope you don’t mind but I sunbathe in the nude,” he tells me as he grabs another bottle of champagne from the fridge, walks towards the balcony door, and throws his towel to the ground before heading outside. I can’t decide what horrified me more, the naked man walking out on my balcony exposed for my neighbours or throwing a used towel on the floor in my living room. “Don’t forget to grab another bottle,” he says, “and come enjoy the sunshine with me!” as he disappears on the balcony...
P.S. I love watching Russell Tovey pop his cork! :-)

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