On Sunday morning, the passed-out boys were up and at ‘em too early for the bath house boys, so Chris and I stayed in our respective beds while David and Patrick went to Dupont Circle and had some of their own bonding time.

Sunday was a recovery day for Patrick as his sensitive stomach was still a little grumbly about the alcohol, but the four of us did get over to the new World War II memorial neither of us had seen. That night, we all went to dinner with my best friend, her girlfriend, and one of her Washington friends, a boy who is far too nice to be known as “DC Nick” - my best friend’s affectionate nickname for him.

Halfway through the meal, my drunk best friend announced to us and several other tables that she’d gotten a sore in her mouth from “some little tart at the HRC National Dinner.” Fortunately, it turned out to be a mild canker sore from a fruit tart, but it was worth a chuckle anyway.

After dinner, the four of us went to David and Chris’ room and drank a little, though Patrick stuck with water. We kind of randomly picked a nearby gay bar out of the Blade and headed for it.

Unfortunately, both navigators (Chris and I) were tipsy and we were having trouble finding the Green Lantern. After looking around for 15 or so minutes, David said rather loudly, “Where is the darn gay bar?!” Almost immediately from ten feet behind us we hear, in a soft-spoken slight southern accent, “You boys lost?”

Thanks to our middle-aged escort, we found the Green Lantern with no problem and filed through the door. The bear-ish, but cute, doorman smiled at us and said “Hi boys” with a mischievous smile. Right away, I heard David say, “Oh, Miss Thing … we’re in a bear bar!”

Sure enough, the Green Lantern (and Tool Shed upstairs) were about as bear daddy as it gets. And there we were in the middle of it all: three twinks and me.

Later that night, I learned that I was apparently a “cub,” though in the past I’ve always been called an “otter.” Last night I heard I was a cub just because of my youth. Usually bears say I’m too small to qualify as cub and can only be a young otter. Regardless, it all came down to the fact that I don’t shave my chest hair, and I’ve got a bit.

Some patrons of the bar were in their underwear (as was the bartender) and we quickly learned why. Upon ordering a round of beers for the three of us who were drinking, the bartender winked and said our beers were on the house if we took our shirts off. We politely declined, not yet that drunk, and the bartender, whose name was Evil, gave them to us anyway. We quickly decided there were perks to being the youngest boys in a bear bar, though we all agreed there would be no shirtlessness on our part that evening.

Fast forward ten minutes to one of the largest, oldest, hairiest bears taking turns massaging each of our chests. I honestly don’t remember why we allowed it, but I remember that he kept leaning into my face saying, “Tell me it doesn’t feel good. Tell me you don’t like it.”

I also remember telling him in slurred speech, “Oh no, you don’t go there!” when he started reaching down my pants. After a couple more warnings, I had to forcefully push him away and he left. By then, those rounds of free drinks sounded appealing so Chris, David, and I took our shirts off. So much for principles. We had a few more (free) shots, left a generous tip, and decided to leave.

After all that drinking, Chris and I wanted to go back to the Crew Club and see if it was full of hot younger guys again. We managed to convince David and Patrick as well, so we headed over there.

Because it was just after midnight at that point, it wasn’t as crowded and there weren’t really any hotties around yet. So, we stood around in our towels and talked, strangely reminiscent of our first meeting in San Francisco. Even though we were drunk (save Patrick), I was kind of glad we got to talk some more because I had a nagging feeling that I wanted to clarify what was going on between the two couples, particularly from David’s perspective since neither Patrick or I had talked to him about it.

I don’t remember all of the conversation, but I remember asking them if they had ever done anything with another couple before, and they said they hadn’t - we were it. Like me and Patrick, they’d never been outside their own relationship in any way, and Patrick and I both liked that. Much of the rest is fuzzy, but I know David said, “Well, how about we just tell you that Chris and I won’t be doing anything with anyone outside y’all,” and I was suddenly relieved. Apparently I was searching for monogamy within our couple situation, which now strikes me as very amusing … though I can’t deny I still want that.

David also said that no one besides Chris had ever seen him that intimately, or would likely be seeing him naked in the future, and Chris nodded his head. Though I definitely appreciated the physical aspect of the gesture (you had to know I would), it struck me that David was also speaking metaphorically when he said it, and that was what I liked the most.

Finally, I asked David if he was totally okay with all that (whatever else we said …), because it was what we wanted, and he emphatically said yes. I asked Chris if he was totally okay with it, too, and looked at me like, “You dumb shit - of course!” and said yes.

After some more light-hearted conversation, I led our little group down the halls of private rooms, just out of curiousity, and a skinny older guy passed us the other way, rolled his eyes, and said “Good God!” at our mother-duck-and-chicks-in-a-line formation.

A few minutes later he passed us again and said, “What is this, a field trip?” and I replied, “Yeah, from high school.” He laughed and kept going, but when we ran into him in the large sauna twenty minutes later (all of us in a row on one wall), he approached and said, “Listen boys, if you wanna get laid this isn’t the way to do it. You have to separate.”

I said, “What if getting laid isn’t the objective?”
“Oh, I get it,” he said as he walked off. “You’re coming out to see how the other fags live.”

With that, someone leaned over, I think David, and said, “If you want THIS,” indicating the steam room, “we could just go back to our room, put on hotel towels, and turn on the shower full-blast.”

So we did.

Though we never bothered with the towels. Or the shower steam.

And though unspoken, we kept to our rule of no cross-couple touching. I was curious what would happen with that since it hadn’t come up, but it was clear right away that we were all still honoring it. That’s just how we were most comfortable.

The next morning, it was hard to say goodbye to my best friend, as always. She was supposed to be visiting Utah next week to work on the Don’t Amend campaign on behalf of HRC, but her trip was cancelled right before we left Washington, so that really sucked. Fortunately, she will be home for Christmas, so it won’t be too long.

Saying goodbye to David and Chris was sad, too. Even at the airport I was already missing our new travel buddies! They’ve promised to visit us in Salt Lake next spring, and we’re really excited about that. I can’t wait to see them again and show them some of Utah. I’m pretty comfortable predicting that this is going to be a life-long friendship.

Funny how a supposed one-time encounter in a trashy sex club can influence the rest of your life.

Maybe all things do happen for a reason. I don’t know. But in this case it is a nice thought.