That Night

On the other side of the closed door, there was this guy I fucked
and I could hear him talking, he wasn’t alone. On the other side
of the closed door
I could hear a party going on, people drinking, laughing and I
was supposed to be on the other side of the door
and not here, crouched in the shower, wondering how
to get from here to Point B.

There is a protocol to this, when fucking in the bathroom
where afterwards, one person slips out
casually, nonchalantly, leave the room outside the door and maybe
goes for a walk, smokes a cigarette. The second person
can then slip out of the bathroom a few minutes later as if
they had just been in there taking a shit or a piss
all alone, and anyone standing outside the door
would have thought they had just missed seeing that person come in.

But there is no way a person can slip out of a bathroom
and walk right past the person they just had sex with, minutes before
against one’s better judgment and especially in hindsight, can not
just walk by that person and his friends
without making some sort of comment, conversation, at least
a brief acknowledgement. I hate it when guys can’t
follow directions. I fucking hate stupid guys.