The Fisting Watch

"Maybe you should take your watch off before you start."

That was my sage advice, delivered from the other side of the sling, as I watched the slender handsome man lube up his hand.

He barely looked up at me, "Thanks, but it's OK."

The guy in the sling looked at me, then said, "Um...yeah, he's right, you should take off the watch."

Watch Guy stopped for a moment and looked around, "Well, it's not like I have a pocket I can put it in."

He was right, of course. We looked around the room for a moment, sizing up a good place to put his watch. The sex party was in full swing, a couple of dozen men moving around the dimly lit room. Our clothes were all downstairs, neatly stored by the front door in clear plastic bags, with our names Sharpie'd across the side.

"Here, give it to me, I'll wear it for you," I offered.

Watch Guy sized me up, trying to determine if this shadowy stranger was a trustworthy watch holder. After a moment, he nodded, then made a clumsy move with his other hand, stopping before touching the watchband.

"Can you take it off for me? I've got lube on both hands."

"Sure." I came around to his end of the sling and bent over, squinting to see the clasp. I pulled it off his wrist and put it on my own right wrist, thinking that the odd sensation of a watch on my right arm would remind me that it wasn't my own, and not to leave the party without returning it.

I moved back to my original position at the head of the sling, and they began. Now, as I've said before, fisting isn't my favorite thing in the world. After a few minutes of observing these guys, as hot as they both were, I became bored. Fisting is a two-player sport, max.

I walked back around to the now-watchless Watch Guy and leaned over to whisper in his ear, "Listen, I'm gonna go have some fun. Don't worry about your watch, I won't leave until you get it back."

Watch Guy nodded and I patted him on the shoulder. I nodded at Sling Guy, but since his eyes were rolled back in his head, he didn't respond, and I walked away. About an hour later I was having a break in the kitchen when Watch Guy walked in.

"Hey there, can you grab me a beer?" he asked. I noticed his deep, velvety voice for the first time.

"Sure," I smiled. "But have you washed your hands, young man?"

He laughed, with a low, restrained voice. Well seasoned in sex parties, this one, to realize that laughter from nearby rooms can sometimes erode a sexy vibe. I handed him the beer and we moved downstairs to not-for-playing area to have a chat. Sitting naked on a cool leather sofa, watching men dress and undress, we got to know each other.

He mentioned being a musician and that set us off on a long conversation about pop music, which segued into pop culture, which segued into Culture Club, which segued into club music, which....well, you get the picture. We Hit.It.Off.

I was just getting around to making some sort of obscene suggestion about us moving back upstairs when he noticed that it was getting light outside, thanks to the downstairs area not being as completely light-blocked as the play area was.

"Hey, Joe. Listen, I've got to go. I have to work."

"Stop that lying, you lying liar! It's Sunday morning," I said.

"Yes."

"And you have to go to work now. At 6am?"

"Yes."

I wasn't buying it. "Right. Where do you work? CHURCH?"

He gazed at me for a long instant. Then, "Yes."

"Fuck. You're not a priest, are you?"

He laughed, "No, but I've known a few...."

(So have I.)

"Oh, wait. You said you were a musician before. Do you have to sing in the choir somewhere?"

"No, but I do have to perform. I play the organ."

About a dozen jokes, all ending with a rimshot, ran through my mind.

"The organ, where?" I ran a mental checklist of all the major churches in San Francisco.

Watch Guy then named a very prominent and large church.

"Jesus Christ!"

Watch Guy laughed, "Yeah, I call him my hood ornament."

I was impressed, "So, you're gonna leave this sex party, at the crack of dawn on the Lord's day, after having your hand up some guy's ass, and go play Jesus' organ for all the good Christians?"

"Yup, wanna come?"

And man, OH man, did I want to go. Just to sit there and hear this guy play the entrance processional. Knowing where those doubly-talented hands had just been.

"So what you open with? Do you have a set list? Do you take requests?"

Watch Guy laughed as he reached for his bag of clothes, "I usually open with "Holy, Holy, Holy", but that depends on what the Bishop or Cardinal has chosen. So, you coming? We can get breakfast after mass."

"I'll come, but on one condition."

"What?"

"I want to you to play Funkytown."

"Funkytown?"

"Not the whole thing, that would be asking too much. Just enough to recognize the melody. Two bars maybe," I said.

"Two bars? That would be 'buh-bum, buh-bum bum, buh-bum-bum, buh-bum'."

"Right!"

"That's too much, people would recognize it."

"Then forget it, that's the whole point. I want "Funkytown", or I'm not coming."

The guy getting dressed next to Watch Guy overheard that, and raised his eyebrows, "You guys are some kinky fuckers!"

I slipped Watch Guy my card and he promised to call or email me later. He gave me a hug and disappeared up the stairs into the cold morning fog.

He never did contact me, of course.

And I still have his watch, of course.

And if by chance you read this, Watch Guy, and you want your watch back, email me at the address on that old card.

In the subject line, put "Funkytown."


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