Story of a Greek

The Place: West Hollywood. The Time: Ride the Party. The Characters: Me and the Greek in a mass of unknown party goers.
The Greek is confident and his demeanor: stone. He's so young. He never loses track of me. His eyes are glued to my snaking in between other jungle animals. He told me: "you're gonna be the death of me". This made the top three hottest catch phrases a guy could try me with. What did he know about death anyway?
We danced. Trance music, sweaty gay boys showing off chiseled bodies, laughter and the pain of those eyes. The Greek had eyes that knew too much. He was carrying the burden of his thoughts. Every time he spoke he sounded like a prophet. A twenty and change years old prophet.
The first time we made love we never said a word to each other. Pure animal desire guided us. The Greek had confident hands to match his demeanor. His eyes told me stories that I never heard before in a brief REM sequence that I could only read as my own dream.
The West Hollywood party deafened us. We walked to the parking lot. He told me: "you contrast yourself with other people. are you trying to seduce me?"
"is it working?"
"well, Mrs Robinson, no need to try."
We had sex in the car, under a street lamp. I sat on top of him, in the passenger seat. The windows fogged up, the car was rocking and a security guard knocked on our window with a lit torch. We didn't stop until we came.