I was face to face with him within a couple of seconds. We didn’t say a word, we just started dancing. I don’t want you to get the wrong idea or anything, this wasn’t like sexual, re-discovering love and passion dancing; this was the dancing of two drunken baboons with awful taste in music, probably both fucked up on a variety of substances, having a great time. 

After about 45 minutes, both of us drenched in sweat, he leaned in and whispered. “are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

I grinned. I sure as fuck was thinking exactly what he was thinking. The only problem was, the other was at home waiting for me, and I hate going to the guys’ house. There was only one solution to this problem: the handicap stall. I grabbed his hand and told him to come with me.

He followed, and we made our way to the bathroom to do some recon. There was line for both the men’s and ladies’ room – with attendants in each bathroom making sure only one person was in a stall at one time (to prevent sex and drugs). He turned to me, about to give up and suggest that I just come home with him, so I did the first thing that came to my mind:

“Excuse me, I’m going to throw up and this is my gay best friend and I need him in there with me.” I babbled. I grabbed him and pulled him into the bathroom, cutting about 15 girls who began to loudly complain as we pushed past.

Once we were in the stall, I knew we only had about a minute until people realized what was going on. It was a crowded bathroom, with a security attendant, and we hadn’t been very stealth. He knew it too. We both yanked down our pants, he managed to slip a condom on in record time, and (in a detail that makes me want to bathe in purell) he sat on the toilet seat while I climbed on top and rode the shit out of him.

45 seconds in and we were going strong – we were both almost there. Eyes locked, rhythm strong, the each covering the other’s mouth so as not to allow any noises that would give us away escape. There was just one problem: by one minute in, everyone had caught on by now. People were pounding on the bathroom door like vultures. Half of them were cheering, the other half were chanting “slut”. The security attendant was threatening to call the cops if we didn’t open the door. Needless to say: there was a lot going on.

He began to tense up, ready to blow. I knew we had about ten seconds, so I prepared myself for the release. During those ten seconds, I thought to myself “I really miss this guy, why don’t I see him more often?” Then it happened.

As he began to climax, a million reminders as to why he was a former flame rather than a current one came flooding back. The infamous O Face.

As he climaxes, he makes a specific face. My friends and I refer to it as the “O Face” since he makes it during an orgasm, and because his mouth is shaped like an “O” when he does it. It is one of the most unfortunate vinegar strokes on this planet. His eyes are semi-rolled back into his head, his head is tilted back, and his mouth is wide open as if he is silently screaming “OHHHHHHHHHHH”. It’s truly awful.

Just as I began to vividly remember the myriad of reasons he was no longer in the booty call repertoire, the stall door gave way to the crowd of girls pounding on it – opening the door just in time for the entire crowd to see me, on top of him, as he made the entire “O Face”.

The entire bathroom fell silent, mouths hanging open.

“You’re welcome.” I said, as I stood up, pulled my pants up, and walked out of the bathroom, grinning. 

Occured: sometime between 2006-2010.

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