Tuesday, 12 March 2013
"Sex, Social Climbing and the City" by Louis Pisano
For me Milan has always been a sexually frustrated city. Blend the traditional conservative views towards homosexuality with the stereotypical virility and aggressiveness of Italian men and it always makes for interesting encounters. For me sex in this city is something I do when I'm bored to be quite honest and I need to spice up my life a little more.
Last Thursday I was sitting at my computer drinking horrible 3 euro white wine and watching Girls when that all too familiar chirp of Grindr drowned out Lena Dunham's whining about her vagina. Probably some asshole wanting to experience fun with a chocolate man and yes that how I've been propositioned to before. Like I said Italian men say it like it is. Anyways I opened Grindr and stared at it for a few seconds cocked my head from the side like a dog watching its owners have sex. Now I'm not a stupid boy but when somebody who could potentially be a career asset thinks I'm hot the gears in my head turn a little faster. Cue a certain Kanye West song. Enter a certain Director of a certain major Condé Nastmen publication. The lecherous older but powerful man and a sometimes ambitious freelancer, the new classic love story of modern times...but not really. He told me I was pretty so I sent him a picture of my ass. I decided in this case I would flatter him. He told me who he was and I pretended to be totally shocked. BTW any asshole that brags about Condé Nast connections on Grindr is a douche. He started sending me the type of pictures a passive bottom would send and asked me if I had to be up early the next day. I said no. He told me to come to his place far far away in a not so nice area of Milan which I assumed was because that was the only place in the city he could find a super amazing flat. He whatsapped me a picture of his cock so I sent him a picture of me in a Givenchy skirt... just because.
Around midnight I took an uber car to the shithole neighbourhood of Loreto and rang the buzzer drunk on sambuca shots and aroused by the endless and delusional possibilities running through my head. I walked into the courtyard of his building and thought what the fuck and wondered if I had wandered into like some crack house populated with junkies into terrible modern art that were good at gardening. I ran upstairs to the 2nd floor quickly where he was waiting for me. I stepped into his flat. It was small. It was not cute. I wondered where he kept all those furs and amazing Dior Homme capes he’s always wearing when a slap to my ass jolted me out of my mind. Oh yes...the sex. When I kiss shorter men I like to play a little game where I make them stretch to kiss me. It’s cute like a little terrier dancing for a treat. He took off my clothes noting the excellent construction of my Costume National coat and folded it carefully all the while with a finger inside me. Real talent you guys. We started kissing and I became obsessed with his beard that smelled like Disaronno which smells like heaven and ecstasy and Christmas time and happiness. He started in with the typical cliché Italian dirty talk while I rolled my eyes at the ceiling wondering what my friends were doing at Rocket at that moment. He told me to roll over and left the room. He was gone so long I got out my iPad and started watching an old episode of Gallery Girls.
READY he said as he came back in rolling a condom on. WAIT I assumed he was the bottom in this situation but to be honest I was too over the situation already to complicate it. The whole time he kept asking me if I was okay? Trust me if I wasn't okay I would have scratched your face with my toenails stolen your Dior cape and run away by now. He started making the most grotesque sounds on top of me like an ewok dying in Star Wars and I started giggling thinking of all the potential tweets I was going to craft about this. He came on my back and promptly rolled over. Now in this situation there are 2 options; leave or just let natural events progress. So I wrapped an arm around him and we took a nap or he did...I'm always afraid to sleep in strange men’s houses but I always do for some reason. Anyways he woke up abruptly an hour later and looked at me and made a series of unintelligible grunts. I pretended to be asleep because it was like 3 am. He got up walked around his house pacing back and forth. He walked over and slapped my ass and I pretended to be so tired and whimpered. In all honestly I wanted to leave but he had such nice fucking sheets and pillows. He lay next to me for about another 15 minutes before he cleared his throat and insinuated that he had to get up early in the morning. I rose straight up looked at him and said I if you wanted me to leave you could just say so. He pretended to be like no no no stay which actually meant get out of my house. He helped me get dressed and noted that he had the same Prada creepers I was wearing. I’ll call you he said as I draped my coat over my shoulders the same way I had seen him on STYLE.COM wearing his. I gave him a bitch please look and sashayed out of his loft and back into the cold Milan night to look for a taxi home to tweet, Facebook, and imessage to my friends that my GQ Italia "interview " went great.