My last day of Coachella was...eventful.
We fucked, in the back of his car and again on the way to the airport.
The first time it just sort of happened. We were on our way to In and Out and he took the scenic route. The road passed the desert and I could smell sweaty concert goers and hear the music from my seat in his car—now I see why people love California. He started talking about how he wasn’t looking forward to returning to New York and he wished he could stay here, near Coachella, with me. That’s bullshit and I called him on it.
“You only want to stay here because you’re on vacation. You don’t want to deal with your problems back home and that has nothing to do with me.”
Then he rolled his eyes and said, “Like you’re any different? If I’m running away then what are you doing here? Scratch that, what are you doing with your life in general? You can’t make a living out of being hot forever.”
I wanted to say, why can’t I, but I decided to be serious instead.
“At least I know that I’m running. You delude yourself. Lie to me all you want but it’s a cardinal sin to lie to yourself.”
He laughed and said, “See that’s what I like about you. I like the way you phrase things.” And just like that I wasn’t angry anymore and neither was he.
“Maybe we both wish things were different, or that we were here with other people. But that doesn’t change the fact that in 27 hours we’ll be on a plane, riding right back to our problems.”
“What makes your guy so worth it?”
“He has a massive penis.”
He laughed and turned to look at me, “I bet mine is bigger.”
I decided to test his theory.