Gay Boat Party Body Count Chaos: A Mathematical Approach to Accidental Intimacy Efficiency
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(Or Why Being a Slut Ended Up Rebuilding My Social Network)
📁 Filed under: Neon Drama, Gay Math (Not Meth), Innocent Sluttery
🚢 Setting: Two boats stuck together on Taipei riverside, 4.5 hours of maritime gay chaos (9PM–12:30AM)
🧠 Participants: Me, My Shallow Gay Friend, Past Encounters (Sample Size: Fuzzy), plus some unannounced guest stars.
🚢 SCENE ONE: Boarding the SS Homosexual
August 2025.
80+ gays converging like a migration pattern.
I'm wearing dark blue shorts, a white fitted tank top, blue underwear, white socks, white AirMax. I look absolutely gorgeous (and toxic, but like... cute toxic).
We're drawing glow bracelets from a bucket.
Blue bracelet = boat one. White bracelet = boat two.
I pull white.
🌊
Birthday boy is my bestie for ten years.
The queen who organizes everything.
The reason I spend so much money but also the reason my life is actually fucking fun.
He's 33 today and has rented two party boats that get stuck together mid-river like this is fucking gay Transformers.
The boats can hold 40 people each.
That’s already chaos before we’ve even left shore.
✨
9 PM departure. Techno music.
Fluorescent lights turning everyone into neon gods.
No alcohol because we don't like drugs with calories.
The boats connect mid-river.
Suddenly it's one floating gay village.
People flowing between vessels like water finding its level.
Perfect density. Perfect wind.
Summer evening in Taipei but breathable because we're moving.
I fucking love it.
I'm scanning faces.
Ten years in Taipei means I know most of these people.
Party friends. Weekend warriors.
The kind who party hard but never text during the week.
SHALLOW GAY FRIEND:
Pierre! You drew white bracelet—you’re on boat two with me!
ME:
Haven’t we already moved to boat one right now?
He doesn’t answer—just grins, looking like he pre-loaded before the boat even left shore.
SHALLOW GAY FRIEND:
And another fucking dress code!
"White and blue" because birthday boy thought "maritime theme" was peak creative genius.
ME:
You’re so mean to him!
SHALLOW GAY FRIEND:
Aren’t you the one writing these lines right now?
He raises an eyebrow like he’s genuinely confused about the fourth wall.
ME:
👀… Anyway, what do you want? I don’t have treats for you. I’m sober tonight.
SHALLOW GAY FRIEND:
First of all, me too.
I don’t believe him.
SHALLOW GAY FRIEND:
Second, do you remember that game we played at KTV?
ME:
Which traumatic bonding experience are we referencing?
SHALLOW GAY FRIEND:
The counting game. But look around…
He gestures at the floating gay metropolis.
SHALLOW GAY FRIEND:
Way bigger pool this time.
ME:
Oh my god.
He’s about to turn this into slut statistics, and I refuse.
ME:
You want to count how many people on these boats we’ve collaborated with?
SHALLOW GAY FRIEND:
Yes babe! The one where we got half the karaoke booth. But this time, instead of ten people in one room, we have way more people across four floors.
ME:
Why would we even do that??
Meanwhile, I’m already counting faces. I hate him.
SHALLOW GAY FRIEND:
Stop pretending to be that innocent sensitive bitch.
Thirty minutes. Both boats, all floors.
You have to physically see them to count them.
And “warm-up” doesn’t count—only the real thing.
ME:
You’re so—
SHALLOW GAY FRIEND:
Let’s go!
Suddenly I see myself scanning the crowd like an intimate census taker with a PhD in gay networking and zero emotional regulation.
💭 INTERNAL MONOLOGUE: THE AUDIT
[Pierre.exe loading... scanning boats one and two... emotional chaos protocol activated…]
Okay, so we have:
- The Sisters Group: People I'm too close to now, but we definitely field-tested intimacy before becoming family.
- The Shallow Friendship Pool: Guys I don't know well but have definitely sampled.
- The Community Circuit: The efficiency experts who understand batch processing.
When you don't have dating apps and only fish in rivers you know, the interconnectedness becomes... mathematically devastating.
Boat one, first floor: counting while dissociating.
Three from that private party in Da'an. This couple from the post-club situation. One from—oh hi Ryan! waves like nothing happened
Boat two, second floor: full academic breakdown mode.
The beauty of small gay communities is the cursed overlap coefficient. If you attend enough social gatherings with benefits, the mathematics become quite elegant...
Twenty minutes in: This is either going very well or very badly for my reputation. Probably both.
Shallow Gay Friend finds me in a corner, second floor, boat two. I'm probably vibrating with unprocessed data.
🎲 SCENE TWO: The Reveal (Or: How I Accidentally Realized I Was Taipei's Most Efficient Gay)
SHALLOW GAY FRIEND:
Okay time’s up! I counted everyone. This was harder than I thought...
ME:
Right? I got twenty. How many did you get?
SHALLOW GAY FRIEND:
TWENTY????
This bitch screams like this is the USA, and I have to stop myself from throwing him into the river.
ME:
Shhh! What??? How many do YOU have?
SHALLOW GAY FRIEND:
...Seven.
ME:
Oh. That’s... a significant gap.
His soul is leaving his body in real-time.
I can see the exact moment he realizes he’s been living in amateur hour.
🤖 SCENE THREE: Academic Explanation Mode (Or: How to Make It Worse While Trying to Make It Better)
ME:
Okay wait, but it doesn’t really count because most of them were just… trial runs. You know, small gatherings.
He looks at me, already suspicious.
SHALLOW GAY FRIEND:
Define “small gatherings.”
ME:
Well, see, there are private small multi-user interface events in Taipei, so it’s easy to accumulate twenty collaborators—since in one night you could beta-test five connections at once.
But I still count it as a “trial run,” since it wasn’t a real one-on-one session.
SHALLOW GAY FRIEND:
I’M SCREAMING.
ME:
I mean… isn’t that what we’re all doing?
SHALLOW GAY FRIEND:
Babe, yes. Just… not usually in the same circle of friends.
ME:
But I don’t have dating apps! So I only go to these multi-user events with people I already know.
And let’s say there are ten people in the room—
if you collaborate with just half of them, you already have five on your count.
SHALLOW GAY FRIEND:
You just described our friend group like it was a fucking LinkedIn network for di—
ME:
Shut up!
💔 SCENE FOUR: The Vulnerability Glitch
ME:
Wait. Am I… am I gonna have trouble finding love because I’ve networked too extensively?...
SHALLOW GAY FRIEND:
So WHAT? Is there a fucking limit quota to be loved?
ME:
But what if someone wants to date me and finds out I’ve connected with half their friend group??
SHALLOW GAY FRIEND:
Then they better feel lucky among all of them you decided to fall in love with him only.
ME:
So I'm not… a slut?
SHALLOW GAY FRIEND:
No, you still are—but that doesn't make you someone bad!
The boats are still doing their gay Transformer thing but suddenly I'm having an anxiety crisis about being single forever.
💭 LIMINAL SPACE: Conversation with Future Lover
In the quiet space between boats, shame and acceptance...
FUTURE LOVER:
You look confused.
ME:
I just realized I might have... over-participated in community bonding.
FUTURE LOVER:
Or you might have done exactly what you needed to do to survive your breakup and build a circle of friends.
ME:
But the numbers...
FUTURE LOVER:
Babe. You were lonely.
You found community through connection—sometimes that connection was just showing up. Sometimes, it was more intimate.
ME:
You're not bothered that I've been with half of gay Taipei?
FUTURE LOVER:
Babe, no shades but I might have probably more than you.
There’s also a chance I attended similar parties.
Maybe we know each other already.
Maybe not yet.
But we’ll definitely compare notes.
ME:
So I shouldn't be... shameful?
FUTURE LOVER:
Would you find it shameful if it was me?
ME:
Of course not. As long as you just love me.
FUTURE LOVER:
Then you have your answer.
Intimacy is just socializing with the body.
You were rebuilding yourself after a four-year relationship ended.
You found people who invited you places.
You said yes to life.
What's shameful about that?
He fades. The way he always does.
Back to the party. Back to my shallow gay friend who's been waiting patiently while I had an imaginary conversation.
💅 SCENE FIVE: The Manifesto Moment
ME: to the universe, to the boats, to my nervous system that's finally processing this
You know what? I'm not apologizing.
SHALLOW GAY FRIEND:
For what?
ME:
For rebuilding my life efficiently.
For saying yes when people invited me places.
For finding community through connection.
For being a networking expert with extracurricular enthusiasm.
SHALLOW GAY FRIEND:
You shouldn't apologize.
ME:
I was an immigrant who spoke the language, understood the culture, and found my people.
Some of those people I collaborated with.
Some became family.
Some became both.
And that's not chaos—that's architecture.
SHALLOW GAY FRIEND:
And that's how community works.
ME: getting fired up like a gay TED talk but with more trauma
I accidentally built actual relationships with actual humans who know my name and—
I pause, trying to list more qualities...
SHALLOW GAY FRIEND: supporting diva
And babe, that's already a lot.
ME:
Right. They remember my name.
And honestly? For Taipei nightlife standards, that’s basically a soulmate application.
I don’t have a high body count.
I have a high community integration score.
I'm not a slut—I'm a networking expert who happened to socialize with his entire body.
And if that looks messy to anyone?
Sometimes survival looks like a spreadsheet of field-tested connections that accidentally becomes a friendship network.
[The music is still pounding, the lights still flashing neon across the river — but inside, I feel the room go quiet.]
💭 FINAL LIMINAL SPACE: Letter to Past Pierre
To the version of me who almost didn’t survive November 2023.
Fresh out of a four-year breakup.
Alone in a brand-new studio that felt more like exile than home.
You downloaded Grindr chasing closeness, not knowing what you’d find.
One stranger. One reckless choice.
You tried a drug people warned you about.
Your body panicked.
He kicked you out.
You stumbled back to your studio and collapsed on the bed, overdosing alone.
The one time you ever touched it.
The most fragile you’ve ever been.
Dear Pierre,
The parties you’re about to attend?
The people you’re about to meet?
The connections you’re about to make?
They’re not just pop-up collaborations.
They’re lifelines.
They’re your nervous system learning how to trust humans again.
I know right now you feel like an emotional refugee with good cheekbones.
I know you woke up terrified and alone, swearing off dating apps forever — because safety wasn’t just a headline anymore, it was your life.
I know dying feels like the first peaceful thing you'd done for yourself — because you think you ruined everything.
But you didn’t.
You survived.
And you’re about to rebuild yourself in the only ways that felt possible.
Yes, you’ll have a lot of physical collaboration.
Yes, that will surprise everyone — including you.
Some of them will appear once and then vanish, and that’s completely fine.
But you’ll also cry with others, laugh with them, and build something beautiful that doesn’t fit into any category people understand.
You’ll learn that intimacy can be social.
That pleasure can be communal.
That surviving doesn’t always look like therapy — sometimes it looks like being held by people who understand your accent and don’t mind that you process emotions in three different languages.
You’ll discover that being desired makes you feel lovable again.
That showing up to parties makes you feel human again.
That saying yes to invitations makes you feel like you belong again.
And when someone tries to shame you for it?
You’ll remember this boat party.
You’ll remember counting twenty people who chose to know you in all your chaotic glory.
You’ll remember that community is built one connection at a time — even if those connections sometimes involve taking your clothes off.
Stay curious.
Stay safe.
Stay slutty.
But most importantly: stay alive — because even if life still doesn’t make sense, one day you’ll find comfort in the fact that you stayed.
Love,
Present Pierre
(still messy, still brilliant, but alive — and that’s enough)
🌊 FINAL SCENE: Back to the Boats
As we prepare to dock—
SHALLOW GAY FRIEND:
You know what the beautiful part is?
ME:
What?
SHALLOW GAY FRIEND:
Maybe not all of them would be there for you on a weekday morning.
But if you run into them in a club bathroom six months from now,
they’ll scream your name, hug you like family—
and that’s still love.
ME: getting emotional in that gay way where you cry but make it pretty
And honestly? That’s enough.
Not everyone in Peace™ has to be ride-or-die.
Some friends are just bathroom-line philosophers
or once-a-month party warriors—
and they’re still part of the network that kept me alive.
SHALLOW GAY FRIEND:
Exactly.
Shallow friendship doesn’t mean meaningless friendship.
ME: looking out at my shallow gay friend and the Taipei skyline like I’m in a fucking music video
Then I guess I built myself the best chaotic family possible.
⚖️ THEOREM
Always practice safe networking, never practice safe love.
📊 END OF CALCULATION
💫 Result: Twenty data points, one architecture of belonging.
🏥 FOOTNOTE I DIDN’T AUTHORIZE
I’m about to close my laptop. A MacBook that absolutely isn’t mine because I use my employer’s device to write this shit on a Tuesday break.
And suddenly, there he is again.
The nurse. My ex. That look.
ME:
What?
I didn’t cheat!
It was after.
HIM:
I’m not talking about that!
ME:
So what?
HIM:
Did you really write “Gay Math (Not Meth)” and post it?
I choke.
ME:
But it’s funny!
HIM:
You can’t say that.
That’s a lack of empathy for people struggling with serious addiction.
You literally started your brand with a meth overdose that almost killed you, and now you’re joking about it?
ME:
Oh. Right. Yeah, you’re right. I feel terrible.
Silence.
ME:
Gay Math (Not Meth)!
I’m sorry, that’s still so fucking funny!
HIM:
You’re—
He’s trying not to laugh.
ME:
Bitch, you can’t even finish your sentence!
I just wanted to inject some humor—(no pun intended).
He puts on an imaginary medical mask to hide the smile.
HIM:
Whatever. It’s your book.
ME:
I’m keeping the joke in there.
HIM:
I know you are.
ME:
But I’ll add something.
So people know I’m not mocking their struggle.
HIM:
Just remind them the joke isn’t about the pain.
And if they’re dealing with that – let’s hope your work makes them smile.