It was 25 years ago, but I remember it like it was yesterday. So does he.
He was maybe 6'7" or 6'8". You tend to remember someone that tall.
I'd see him around - but I didn't know him. I don't know how he ever got my number, but he did. He'd use that number late at night.
"Matt" found me, not that long ago, on-line and he's been playing back those late night visits with vivid detail - the kind only I thought I remembered.
After the bars would close and I'd get home, there'd be a call. Was I free? Was I alone? The door was left unlocked. Drunk I'd already be in or on the bed by the time he arrived, as he only lived a few blocks away - or so he said. I never saw his place.
These were always summertime fucks. I don't recall visits in the cold months. I remember the summer ones, because it was so fucking hot out and I lived in an old brick apartment building that held in the head and had no air conditioning.
I remember because when his body was on top of me, we were both so slick, you could move with just fluid motions at one point or be stuck together where one would have to forcibly pry the other apart due to being adhered together.
And while I'm a tallish guy, as we all know, what a difference 4-5" makes! : ) Matt had the leverage to do some damage - and while he didn't, he certainly knew what he was doing. The man knew how to fuck. And as you can see, he had the equipment.
Mind you, two decades ago we didn't really have the technology to capture these images, but he was kind enough to send to me the other day after he touched base - and reliving old times. They were good times.
Unless you were my downstairs neighbor. Keep in mind, bars close at 2:30a, Matt wouldn't show up until after 3:00a and well, the fucking went on for quite a while. Add to that, wooden floors and a VERY creaky bed frame - and we were very into it.
Years later, after I moved out, I'd find he'd run into my downstairs neighbor who would comment on our escapades and congratulated him on his well.....skill. How she assumed he was the skilled one and not the receiver is anyone's guess. Maybe she heard me yell, "fuck me!".
Yeah, I remember. I'll never forget that. Clearly, neither will he.