That Night by Mateo Lynch

I definitely wasn’t expecting any of this and had no idea the night was going to take such a turn.

Usually when these kind of things happen, my intuition or whatever it’s called lets me know I gotta be prepared for some sort of eventuality. Not this time.

There he was, standing across from me. Daniel McGrath with what it seemed to be an almost empty glass of scotch. Our eyes met more than a couple times and with half a smile he raised his glass. I rolled my eyes trying to express how bored I was faking interest in the debate taking place in front of me about the positive and negative effects social media has in our culture, between the two desperate wannabes trying to engage me in. He nodded his head motioning the terrace and walked towards it, I didn’t even excuse myself and followed him.

I met Daniel about six year ago through a common friend when I was completely new and fresh to the city. I remember thinking he was the sexiest guy I had ever seen in my life but due to the fact that I was in a long distance relationship that would eventually end in tragedy I did not make any moves (besides the only few dance moves I remembered from the ‘YMCA’ music video as the DJ started playing a remix of the Village People). When I ran into him a couple months after that night he was already in a relationship with an extremely tall French guy named Pierre and they’ve been together since, or at least that’s what I thought.

He was wearing a pair of ripped skinny black jeans with leather boots and a denim shirt that seemed to be designed specifically for him, matching perfectly with his tan skin and long messy brown hair.

Even though my ego constantly wants to make an endless list of all the reasons why I’m better looking and a way better catch than Pierre, I know that he is the sweetest guy and they make the coolest couple but that night he seemed nowhere to be found and I didn't bother to ask neither I really cared to know where he was. I could tell Daniel had been drinking for a while, his eyes were glossy and after throwing away a cigarette he only took a couple puffs from he slurred the words wanna get out of here? I knew exactly what he meant.

It was just like in the movies. Pushing each other against the walls, aggressive humping on top the furniture and clothes flying all over the apartment. That’s how bad we had been wanting each other. He was a great kisser just like I expected, and as far as the rest, bigger and better. I kept my eyes opened the whole time just to make sure it was really happening. I remember looking down at his face as he grunted and moaned and thinking he was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen in my life.

It wasn't after doing the doing that I found myself surrounded by a dozen pictures of him and the french looking right back at me, so I had to ask. ‘Are you still with Pierre?’.

‘Yes’ he murmured as he took an aspirin.

‘Oh, are you guys in like an open relationship?’ I burped, realizing it wasn't any of my business after the whole question was out in the air.

‘Sort of.’ he said with a tone I couldn’t really define.

‘What about you? Are you seeing someone?’. Good way of changing the subject, I thought.

That question really caught me off guard and before I could start explaining my current situation he was already snoring. I didn't know whether I should venture around his perfectly neat West Village apartment in search of a pair of earplugs and spend the night or try to find my clothes in the middle of the dark and leave. He truly looked like an innocent baby as he slept. He gets that too? Was he really that perfect? Besides everything pointing to the fact he’s probably cheated on his boyfriend with….me. I mean cheating is not a crime, it’s actually very common these days. I saw my Uncle Tom doing it to my Aunt Nancy throughout my teens and now everyone around me seems to be doing it under the golden “don't ask, don't tell” policy.

I wondered how he must feel after being with the same person for six years. That is a long, long time. My longest relationship has been no longer than two years and that was almost a decade ago. I wondered if Daniel was happy. If he’d feel guilty the next morning. Would I?

Was I just another guy he had fun with while Pierre was out of the city? Or was I as special as he was for me?

Either way, I honestly didn’t really feel bad about it. In fact, I walked all the way back home with a new strange feeling. Sort of an “it is what it is” kind of feeling. This was something I had fantasized about more than a couple times, and then it happened. The truth was that if it hadn’t have happened this way it might have never happened at all. Could I blame New York for turning me into this monster with loose morals? Or should I own up to what I’ve become knowing that it has been all of my small decisions that lead me to now do all the things I used to despise about adults?