Is it Wrong That I Want Sex on Thanksgiving?

In the spirit of Thanksgiving, I spent three hours arguing with my ex before finally boarding the Megabus. My bitter-sweet November warranted a trip to our Nation’s Capitol where a feast awaited with my family far away from the drama in the melting pot.
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I reached my family’s house just in time for dinner. I was thankful for that since I hated picked over food. Dinner was delicious, although it was absolutely caloric. Decadent dishes, draped in butter and grease, made me want to run and call the food police.

So I ate, drank and married the night. I arrived at DIK bar in DC’s gayborhood, Dupont Circle, feeling bloated in my black kilt and leather top. I wished I had a portable douche on hand to rid what I ate. 
For gays, a homecoming happened at a bar, because you show up to let people know you’re in town without a single phone call. I glanced at a thin Thanksgiving display—someone actually called it a potluck. Let’s just say the turkey could have crawled off the table.  
Greetings consisted of hugs and kisses from people I used to know. Two years can be too many years in the gay community. People seem to age so fast, like dairy products, curdling quick. The room reeked of druggy debauchery, the antithesis of the holiday season. Suddenly, I had plenty to be thankful for. 
Two drinks and an iPod change later, I started to embrace the moment. I finally met with my friend Chris, who was two weeks into his out of work regiment. Then I heard the most disorienting news of all:  a drag queen (outside of drag) fucked his roommate. 
“No, there’s more, while I was getting a blowjob in the car, the bottom told me that someone’s else fucked him too,” Chris said. 
“Coming from a bottom giving fellatio in the front seat, I considered that high praise indeed,” I said. 
It was confusing on how the roommate was getting so much action for only being in DC for two months. I hoped he didn’t have sex on the sofa that I would be sleeping on. 
I was sleepless in Seattle—the loneliness was palpable. So, I decided to meet up with this buff thirty-something on Jack’d, the phone app that was anal for anonymous sex. ’Tis the season for some late-night pleasing. Unfortunately, he took too long to arrive and I fell asleep. We rescheduled twice on Black Friday and never met up. 

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Just because I came home for the holidays, did I expect to cum?

Walter Reed is a writer, blogger, sexpert, sex columnist and gay dating advice guru. His work has been published in Washington Post, Huffington Post and here at LoveWalter.com Please like, comment and share.

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