Mr. Unavailable #75: Summer of Love, Part 3

This is a Mr. Unavailable flashback circa summer 1999, Chicago.

Vital Stats: 22. 5'10"ish. Aesthetic: Sexy, tattooed skateboarder who was also not just in a band but the lead singer and guitarist in the band. (In 1999, that was pretty much my dream guy.) Demeanor: Total puppy dog.

First Impression: I'd seen #75 around the bars for months, mostly my local, the L&L Tavern at Clark and Belmont. All my gay boyfriends had crushes on him and I'm not one to be competitive, even though he was playing on my team. He was four years younger than me, which, at 26, seemed huge, so I didn't give him much of a thought, until one night...

One Night: It was the night after I'd returned from my business trip to New York, during which #74 had accompanied me back to my hotel room. Some of my boyfriends and I were down at the L&L and #75 was paying quite a bit of attention to me. I don't know if it was the light from the jukebox glinting off of his bleach blond hair as he leaned in to choose a song or if it was the whiskey-tinted gleam in his bedroom eyes as he sidled up to me at the bar, but he had me.

The group of us, including #75, decided to crawl over to Berlin, the gay nightclub down the street. By this time, it was clear we were together, in the casual sense, and at one point in the club he leaned in to me and said, "I really want to kiss you." Having been bolstered by an illicit drug that I'd tried for the first time that night, that was that. Minutes later, we were outside. He took me around the side of the club and kissed me against a wall. There was an old discarded upholstered armchair a little further down the alley and #75 happened to have a condom on him. He said, "Hey, wouldn't it be awesome..."

Signs of Hope: #75 and I had a bunch in common. His birthday was the day after mine, so we were both Virgos and...

Red Flags: Aside from the fact that I'd embarked upon some kind of slutty phase, which should have been a huge red flag, I brought #75 home a few more times that summer. Attempting to saucily stand by the bar, I'd beckon him over with a sloppy, wanton glance or just send someone over to get him or just blatantly ask him upstairs myself. One--if not the last--time he came home with me, he told me that he didn't really feel like his friends liked him. And then he cried.

Turning Point: At no time did I think of him as more than just a casual fling. But, after the time he cried, I think both of our emotionally stunted souls knew it was over.

Diagnosis: For him: I Googled him recently to discover he's now married with a child and still plays in his band, which achieved some notoriety. He also has a blog that's been noted for it's scatological humor. For that alone, it never would have worked out between us.
For me: Less than 24 hours before my night in the alley, I'd been with #74 in New York City. I suppose "summer of love" is the diplomatic way of putting it. It was a good summer.

It was also a summer of many firsts:
First one-night stand.
First usage of illicit drugs, excluding pot.
First usage of more illicit drugs, excluding pot and the illicit drugs mentioned above.
First time being with two guys within 24 hours of each other (and last, thank you).
Shortly after the summer was over, I found a postcard with a picture of a cat draped in white veils. The caption read, "No more nights in the alley." I bought 10 of them.

Check out Summer of Love, Part 1 and Part 2.