It was St. Patrick’s Day here in New York City. Drunk New Yorkers are everywhere. Mayor De Blasio decided to boycott the St. Patty’s parade in Manhattan due to the fact that New York City’s Irish Community refused to allow gays in their parade. I’m not against gay marriage, in fact, I fully support it. But it’s a different story if you will promote sexual liberation in an event where they celebrate ethnic identity. These are my thoughts about it.

I decided to celebrate my own version of Saint Patrick’s Day in my East Village neighborhood. I’m supposed to meet Bettina at Whiskey Town bar on East 3rd Street but she texted me that can’t make it because she had an appointment doesn’t want to lose $1500 for that private session. It’s totally understandable. I decided to go on my own as always, it was never a problem whenever friends ditch me. I’m used to blaze my own trail without needing anyone. I walked in of the bar and a friendly bartender immediately gave me a warm welcome. Not every bartender here in Manhattan has that kind of courtesy, if they do, they’re just probably faking it, after all, what matters the most at the end of their shift are the tips that they earn. Josh was the name of the bartender, he’s in his 30’s, unpretentious, and content of what he does. The bar is close to NYU and I can’t imagine him staying sane while dealing with all those NYU kids during weeknights. I’m not saying that everyone from NYU are shit, it just happens that half of their students that I came across are such pricks and cunts who thinks that they’re the smartest life forms in the face of the earth. I ordered a glass of screw driver and he served me a strong one on a high ball glass. I could barely taste the orange juice but I didn’t mind. Just as long as it gives me the buzz. It was priced at nine dollars, hefty price but I think it’s reasonable. After I finished one glass, I immediately felt it. I asked Josh why the bar is pretty empty on a St. Patrick’s holiday, and he said that everyone had been celebrating since Friday and for a Monday night, it’s fair to say that most people are trying to recharge their batteries for the full-throttle work/study schedule the next day. I texted Tony, my bartender friend who works at the Reservoir Bar. He immediately texted me back and said he’s feeling like shit. It’s because he didn’t get the promotion that he hoped for. When I first met Tony, I had a weird attraction to him. He was football star from a New York State College, and still kept his physique even though he already graduated. I’m well aware of my attraction to men, I know when to act on it and I know when not to act upon it. This male attraction stems out from the fact that I was raised without a father. When a child grows up without the familiarity of a man or masculine image, he tend to sees men as an interesting hologram or exotic… So my attraction to men isn’t always sexual, it’s psychological and I’m not ashamed of it. When Tony arrived at the bar, we took shots of Jameson, Jaegermeister, and Ketel One. We tried to go to an underground strip club in midtown after that. But we got there, there’s a sign at the door that says it’s 30 and over night only. I’m 29 and Tony is 26. We’re both fucked. Tony insisted that we should go to the 13th Step, another college bar on 2nd Avenue. So we hailed a cab and went there. We arrived at the 13th Step, so drunk that the bouncer almost didn’t let us in. As the night wore on, I found myself more and more horny. With all the liquor that I drank, I could fuck almost anyone that night. I desperately tried to hit on some girl and even tried to French kiss her but Tony pulled me away. It was almost 2 AM, I told Tony that I wanted to go home but he offered his couch for me to crash on. So we went back to his place in Alphabet City. It was a studio apartment. Tony was also aware of my attraction to men. There was this sexual tension when we arrived in his apartment. He started asking me questions when did my attraction to men and I replied that I don’t feel comfortable discussing my sexcapades with him because he’s my friend and my bartender. He took out a bottle of Jack Daniel’s from his fridge and we started drinking it. Then a blackout happened. I woke up in bed with him, we’re both naked. Then I started having flashbacks in my mind, he and I started cavorted and had sex after the bottle was empty. Tony also woke up and went straight to the bathroom to take a shower. When he got out, I asked him if he wanted me to leave, he said it’s fine and I can stay. I started realizing that my excessive drinking led me to having sex with a friend which is even worse. I told him that what happened in his apartment should stay there. He then gave me a bromance hug, picked up his blanket and pillow and moved to the couch. I felt horrible. So I decided to leave. It’s not my cup of tea to fuck around with friends. It just didn’t feel right. That’s why I prefer to have sex with countless strangers, there’s no familiarity and it’s casual. I walked seven blocks away from his apartment and found a coffee shop. I stepped inside and ordered myself a cup of coffee. Still feeling guilty of what happened, I texted him, “I’M SORRY, I FUCKED UP”. He did not reply. I knew he wouldn’t. It’s a typical reaction from a straight guy who just hooked up with his bisexual friend. The following week, I was at the Reservoir Bar with a girl and as I tried to greet him, he politely responded but he was cold. I realized that I really fucked up.