A conversation

"Are you a teacher at ____ University?"

It was a text message he showed me at DJ Station. Standing there, music blaring. Everyone doing their best to look cool and disinterested. One thousand men trying so hard to mask discomfort and desire from fellow queers.

A show and gathering seems to do that --- raise your guard.

He was my height, shorter. Eyes set apart, full dark hair, compact but strong. A playful animal with little worry, just a drive.

He left his shirt partly unbuttoned, an attempt to accentuate his body. Pehaps a concsious memorial of his intention. He wasn't there to dance.

I wrote on my phone. Showed him the typed message.

"Yes."

He started talking to me in Thai, asking me about my students, my classes. He held my eyes confidently, using his boyish language to indicate intimacy and bravado. It was desire as well; he had that too.

He bought me drinks. Started touching me, trying to dance close. I told him no. I said that I was professional and didn't sleep with students.

"I'm not one of your students."

Very well I said as his lips found mine in the club. He was putting his hands in the waistband of my underwear. He slipped his hands in, everyone around us could see.

He was whispering in my ear, grabbing for my hands with his free one. He held them tightly, pulled me for the door.

Resistance.

"I'm a teacher," I pleaded, "please don't."

He put his tongue in my ear. "No one will know."

He pulled at my hands again. There was no more fight in me. I acquiesced. I went with him.

I can still smell that motorbike. Gasoline, exhaust, speed, alchohol. His hands on me -- moving -- caressing as he drove.

His apartment was dirty, a slum area not far from the clubs.

He was one me. Kissing me. My body shaking. Hands broke free. Clothes stripped away. Soft kisses. Harder ones. Pushing and shoving. Holding. Positioning.

I could see us from a mirror. It was a long distance shot, two moving bodies struggling for a form of synergy. Dominance and attraction dictating placements, muscled stomach on slim, conforming back.

Soft light again floods my memories of that moment. It might be slightly hazy now, a romanticized version of the actual scene.

The springs in the bed were squeaking. I closed off, starting to wonder about our movements. The dictates of biology.

Short-term moments -- enjoyment -- ultimately leading to a conclusion.

An ending.