Was it or was it not a Hook-up Party?

I hear that a Hook-up party is being organized in our city, and this intrigued me.

A party attended only by invitation, at the ex-Pavilion H, a beautiful place, on the shore of Herastrau Lake – it would have been nice if it were summer, I said to myself. I can’t say I’m dying to see Puya’s concert, but at the end of the day a crowd-bath won’t do me any harm and perhaps, by some miracle, I’ll really have a good time…

No sooner said than done. I put on a sexy dress, I wear my hair-extension and my green contact lenses – styling up and let’s hook up! The feeling that I will not know how to seem available, although I am, and that the whole experience could sum up to partaking (from the side) in the fun and hooking-up of today’s young people is hunting me. But, after all, this too could be a gain, I say again to myself – long live the anthropologist within me!

At around 11 p.m. on Saturday I arrive at Berăria H (H Beerhouse), together with my friend Diana. The space was so monumental that, though it was overcrowded, I had the impression we were like an anthill, fidgeting all over the place, either towards Puya, who was telling his little street jokes, or towards the serving trays loaded with traditional foods, all amidst the many meters of beer carefully maneuvered by committed waiters. A lively atmosphere, on the whole, but no sign of a hook up party.

Diana and me sip a little bit anxious from a white wine glass and try to think what to do in order to find a hold in that fuss. Is there a shortage of people willing to hook up or maybe we’re simply not looking in the right place?

And still, no one is hooking up with no one, it’s crystal-clear: people came rather in couples or mixed groups, many come here almost every weekend together with their work team, eat big portions at low prices and have fun with radio music.

Suddenly Diana strikes upon the saving idea of talking to the people, perhaps even improvising ourselves a hook-up technique, because after all, despite all appearances, we are here with a purpose: hooking-up. And it would be perfect to give ourselves a chance even though the cards seem stacked against us.

Anyway, without me knowing how did it happened exactly, in less than a quarter of hour after our decision to take the party in hand and after two cigarettes compulsively puffed at the smoking area, two guys approached us. They seemed young, much younger than us, but had a bright gaze and they were open to socialization. They too seemed out of the social movie we’ve just gotten ourselves in, so our conversation flowed easily and pleasurably.

Another 15 minutes later we were drinking wine with them at a tall and round table, chatting about existential trifles. After another half an hour we were grouped in couples and before long me and Dinu, one of the two protagonists, had started to explore our hot points on a chilly park bench.

The action unfolds smoothly, like a watercourse. It’s cold outside, it’s a November night, but our bodies grew hotter and hotter. The park is quiet and seems to be set up specially to offer us the intimacy we both wanted. The kisses became bites and, far from turning into a horror movie with vampires and wolf men in the depth of the night, our date’s tonality became surprisingly passionate and visceral. I enjoy to the fullest the delicate ephebic body of this boy who just turned 18.

I don’t know what he enjoys, but I have no doubt he does. We are licking, biting each other, searching the skin under the clothing layers that proclaim the arrival of the winter. He touches me exactly as I like it, firmly, but somewhat shy, the shyness of the man who’s there for the joy of shared pleasure, not to prove his virility to me (or to himself). I moan, extremely elated by the endorphins we produce together, and it dawns upon me that I would stay a long while here, even at 1 degree Celsius. I’m ever more aroused and his fingers are touching my depths. The rhythm is perfect, everything is perfect. I would like him to fuck me right there on the bench, to tear apart all the shreds that keep us apart, to do whatever he wants with me.

I reached that point where everything is allowed, I opened my soul, my cunt and my sexual being surrenders to pleasure.

It’s late, it’s cold, we’ve known each other for an hour, but the intimacy is nevertheless so authentic. While his fingers are sliding along my clit, my thoughts are wandering through ages and stories with ardent moments, orgasms and explosions. All these passed, all these are still here and we are taking part, here, at the Beraria H, in a November night, on a slightly rickety bench, in the big intimate and universal connection of bodily love and not only…

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