Ryuranger
12-21-2005, 11:47 PM
Prologue
I had lost everything.
And my entire life had shattered.
I kneeled at the pew, bowed my head, and folded my hands so tightly that my knuckles turned white. Tears dampened my cheeks.
My body shook from the cold. The dark empty church had always been drafty, ever since I was a kid. The cold barely bothered me back then. I would just wear a warmer sweater or sit closer to the person besides me, who was typically my mother. But that had changed, and I no longer had comfort from the frigid draft that filled me with such a sense of loneliness and sorrow.
I wanted to curl into a ball and die, and I would have killed myself if not for fear of what awaited me after death.
On one hand, the part of me that was educated believed that death was the ultimate end. Once you die, you’re gone, and your body rots away into nothingness. On the other hand, the part of me that spent more than 18 years growing up in church still believed that after death, the good Lord either let you into heaven or tossed your sorry ass straight into Hell.
The problem with this belief is that I’m gay. Well technically, I’m bi, but it’s easier to say I’m gay since not even my closest friends understand how someone can truly be bisexual.
“Michael,” my gay friend Sam would often say to me. “I know you hate it when I say this, but people who say they’re bisexual are just kidding themselves. You’re either gay or straight. Dick or Vagina. Tits or no tits.”
Believe it or not, Sam is a genius, so it always escaped me how he could fail to understand such a simple concept as being attracted to people regardless of their gender.
I had accepted my homosexuality, bisexuality, or whatever you want to call it, and I understood it. No part of me believed it was wrong, because it can never be wrong to love another person.
But the conservative part of me still believed, without a doubt, that God thought being gay was wrong. And I whole-heartedly disagreed with Him on that one. So for me, death was either a gateway into nothingness or a gateway into Hell, and not because I was gay as much as I was in no way repentant for being gay and refused to recognize it as a sin. Love can not be a sin.
Two sides of me were at war, and neither could win. The fact that I had just lost my boyfriend a few weeks earlier brought that inner battle to the forefront of my mind. Most people took comfort in the fact that their loved ones went to heaven after death, but I had no such comfort. My two stubborn belief systems didn’t allow it.
My James, my beautiful, gentle James, who I had literally seen trip over his own clumsy feet to avoid stepping on a bug, was gone. God or Fate had taken him. And where he was…I didn’t know.
For the past five years, throughout college and afterward, I had avoided thinking about religion, and instead, embraced more open-minded and liberal thinking. Even though church doctrine was still engraved in me, I buried it deep.
But James’ death had changed that. How can one think about death without religion in some form or another?
I clenched my jaw and tilted my head up, looking to the crucifix hanging in the shadows. The symbol that had once filled me with hope now filled me with nothing but resentment.
“How could you take him…” My raspy voice echoed in the building. I narrowed my eyes and covered my grief with anger. My body tensed and my throat felt like my own emotions were choking me.
“What the hell am I supposed to do?!” I shouted and slammed my hands against the pew.
“Why the hell do you make people this way if you think it’s so damn wrong?! James never hurt a soul, not a single person, even when they deserved it. He had a hard life, was put through Hell. His dad beat him. He was always teased and tormented. Bullied. And in spite of all that, he was still one of the sweetest and kindest people alive.
“You expect me to worship you when you would throw someone like him into Hell! He did nothing wrong! Why did you take him?! Why the fuck did you take him?!”
Part of me expected an answer. I know it sounds stupid, but I had hit rock bottom. I was unemployed. James was gone. And I had pushed all my friends away. I was alone and forsaken, and not even God would listen to my screams.
Chapter One: Towel Boy
Five years earlier…
I was with my closest friends, some of whom were gay. Yet I still maintained the facade of a hetero-sexual male who liked hot girls, hockey, beer and all that other straight macho crap.
What made this so pathetic was that I was standing in the middle of a gay club. That’s right. I was in the middle of a gay bar, surrounded by hot boys in tight pants and shirts accentuating every curve of their bodies. Even in the presence of boys ravaging each other on the dance floor, I was still “in the closet.”
“Stay with me, Jay,” I said to my straight friend, who Sam had dragged along on the trip. “We straight guys have to stick together.”
Note: a gay man in hiding will go out of his way to remind everyone around him how “straight” he is. It’s a dead give away, but I was an idiot back then. If I was smart, I would have been hitting on the cute teenagers while I was still young, skinny and attractive.
Unfortunately, I had about as much self esteem as President Bush has common sense, so I didn’t appreciate the looks that I had. I was about average height and slender, with a nice tone build. My brown hair was cut short and gelled. I didn’t get the gay gene for a fashion sense, but from the way boys were looking at me, I wasn’t dressed half bad either for just having on white khakis and a black, un-tucked, button-down shirt.
Sam, the ringleader of our group, led us to a small seating area with counters that formed an L-shape next to the dance floor. so those who weren’t dancing could sit and watch everyone else bump and grind to the pounding techno beat. Sam went to get a few pitchers of beer from the upstairs bar for us since he was the only one 21. I was shy of that age by two years, but I didn’t drink at that time anyway.
Luckily the gay club, C-Street in Champaign Ill, allowed younger patrons to visit. They simply had their hands stamped with the word “bottom” to show they were too young to drink. People 21 and older were labeled “top.”
The bar was only an hour or so away from our college, West Indiana University, where I was a sophomore studying journalism. Jay was a classmate of mine in the journalism program too.
Jay was a little taller than me and skinny, having lost a lot of weight since freshman year, when he was affectionately nick-named Man-Boob. He had tan skin and dark curly hair, and his smile often made him look like he was in grade school.
He had a speech impediment, which made him sound like Homestar Runner would had he grown up in the Bronx. He could be slow sometimes too, but he was one of the most loyal friends a person could have, despite his flaws.
When psychology professors talk about people who enjoy punishing themselves, they are talking about my friend Jay. See, Jay liked to hit on lesbians and get upset when they rejected him.
Not only that, but Jay was obsessed with a lesbian friend of ours named Jo, who he constantly professed his love to, and constantly bickered with when she refused to return his affections. Of course, on occasion, Jo was known to get drunk and mess around with Jay, but we won’t go there yet.
Jay eyed each lesbian as they walked by. He looked at me with a foolish grin of hope. “I’m goin fo’ it, Awwow,” he said, referring to my nickname of Straight Arrow. “Wish me luck.”
“Yes,” I said sarcastically. “Because luck will help you.”
Jay put on that dumb grin of his and walked over to a short blonde wearing a skimpy blouse that exposed her belly. Her tight black pants may as well have been painted on with a spray brush. At least I couldn’t fault the poor bastard’s taste.
“Eh,” he said. “I’m Jay. You, ahm, wanna dance o’ something?”
She wrinkled her nose with disgust and quickly walked away. Jay was elated, he walked back towards me and threw up his arms in defeat. It was honestly one of his happier moments.
“Eh! Wejection! Evewy time!”
I laughed and shook my head with disbelief. Jay’s display was pathetic, but cute too. “Jay, they’re lesbians. Could you be more desperate?”
“At least this way I know I’m gunna get wejected,” he said. And he still had that smile on his face, which Sam always called a shit-eating grin. “Thewe’s no pwessu‘e, so it‘s like pwactice.”
I swung out my arms, since I had a nasty habit of waving them around a lot when I talked. My friends always told me it was Chandler-eque, which is how I started watching that sitcom.
“Yes, clearly that was practice,” I said sarcastically. “How does what you just did, making a fool out of yourself, possibly qualify as practice? Do you see Sam hitting on straight guys in bars?”
“Yes!” Jay said as if the answer was obvious, which I guess it was.
I shrugged. “Well…he doesn’t hit on straight guys, per say, as much as he gets wasted off his ass and…engages them in conversation.”
Jay leaned forward and raised his voice, which was how he liked to punctuate his points, I guess. “He sang ‘My Funny Valentine’ to a Mawine on Karaoke night!”
I put on my sarcastic/joking face. “Haven’t we all been singing ‘My Funny Valentine’ to a Marine at some point in our lives? What better way to say: ‘I support you, oh gallant protector of my freedom.’”
“Awwow,” he said. “You had to tackle Sam down to stop him before he gave the guy a lap dance!”
“Even so…” I said.
Jay looked away and took a deep breath. “Eh…”
Translation: he was too drunk for banter and needed another drink. So off he went.
Vulnerability struck me as soon as Jay walked away. I was standing alone. The rest of my group had wandered off. Anxiety welled up in my throat. I always assumed my reaction was a byproduct of being teased all the time while growing up. It was like my body had learned to warn me away from people out of intense fear of rejection and verbal torment. And there I was, surrounded by strangers, who all thought I was gay.
So I felt defensive. I was completely insecure about my sexuality, and I projected that onto every single person in that club. And I just kept telling myself, that although I liked guys, I wasn’t really gay because I liked girls too.
After all, I reminded myself, I had fallen in love with a girl in high school and dated her for two years. Her name was Marie, and she was great. The sex was great. And I could have spent the rest of my life with her. I actually enrolled at WIU to follow her there, after she broke up with me. The choice was a dumb one, but I was a dumb, impulsive kid.
I looked around for my friends and spotted Sam sitting alone at a table nearby. Sam was a few pounds too heavy, but carried it well. I would have dated him if he wasn’t such an ass all the time, but I would never tell him that. Such a confession would boost his already over-inflated ego.
The fact that Sam sat alone was odd for a couple reasons. One, he always tried to be the center of attention and steal whatever light he could from everyone possible. Two, he had invited one of our new freshman friends to the bar in an effort to seduce him. The freshman’s name was Nate.
Nate was monkey-like and had been sleeping around since puberty. He had the kind of attractiveness that made him look eternally 13, which a lot of gay men tended to like. He was tan, clean cut, skinny and quite sexy. After coming out of the closet, I would tell Sam: “Pal, if you don’t fuck him, I will.”
Sam was hunched over his table and had his beer mug held between both hands. He had the shameful look of total defeat in his eyes, which he solved the same way he did all his other problems: drink, drink, and just when you’ve made your friends believe you’re going to die of alcohol poisoning, drink some more.
I didn’t notice the source of his sour mood until I walked over and looked at the next table.
Little monkey-boy Nate was sitting on a chair dancing while a tall, lanky boy with a massive nose hopped on his lap. The flamboyant boy’s appearance was lacking, especially for someone as shallow and hormone-driven as Nate. Flaming Nose Boy dressed in an orange shirt and jeans, which made my outfit look like it had been designed by…well…a really high-profile fashion designer or something.
Nate bobbed his head back and forth and looked to Sam.
“Havin’ fun, Sam?” I should point out that his head always bobbed back and forth when he talked, not just when he was trying to dance.
Sam squinted and flashed the most insincere grin ever. He lifted his mug and downed the rest of his beer without even taking a gulp, just letting it pour down his throat.
“I need to get drunker, quicker.” He stumbled up and headed towards the bar, leaving me standing alone near Nate and Flaming Nose Boy.
Again, I felt vulnerable.
I took a deep breath to calm myself and walked back towards the rear of the bar towards the restroom. Several boys glanced at me along the way. They were checking me out, but because I was such a tool, it felt more like their stares were burning looks of judgment and mockery.
I stepped into the bathroom and breathed a sigh of relief to be away from the crowd. Only a stall was occupied, and the bathroom itself was empty. I answered nature’s call and went to the sink to wash my hands.
That was when he stepped in. I never did get his name, but he looked like he had stepped off the pages of an Abercrombie add. He was a couple inches taller than me, and had these bright blue eyes that stole away my breath. His short hair was sandy blonde and spiked in front. He was skinny, but built, and looked about my age.
My jaw literally dropped when I saw him.
“Hey,” he said when he spotted me staring like a star-infatuated teenie bopper.
I only nodded to answer while I reached for the paper towel dispenser. But it was empty. And my hands were still wet.
The boy moved closer towards me and offered a small, white towel. I never thought to ask where he got the small towel from or why he had it, but that is probably a good thing. I had gone through enough culture shock for one evening.
“Thanks.” I accepted his towel.
He looked down to my hands while I dried them, and noticed my stamp. “Bottom, huh?”
Keep in mind, I had no experience with this club and had no idea at the time how lame of a come on this was. The line was C-Street’s equivalent to a straight guy asking: Are your legs tired? Because you’ve been running through my mind all day.
I blushed and lowered my gaze. My eyes couldn’t meet his, for fear that his look would make me melt.
“Apparently.” I mentally kicked myself for not having anything better to say. I had actually been a smooth talker when I dated girls in high school. But with guys, not so much.
The experience was overwhelmingly awkward. I hurried up and finished drying my hands before walking out the door as fast as I could.
Towel Boy followed me. “Where you scampering off too, hun?”
I stopped in my tracks. Hun? I used to call Marie hun. I turned to face him, and again noticed how unbelievably attractive he was.
“Scampering?” I started to ramble, which often happened when I got nervous. “This isn’t scampering as much as it’s walking at a heightened pace to get where I’m going, ya know, faster. I always thought of scampering as more of a skipping type thing, or maybe even a rabbit-ish hop with-”
“You’re cute when you’re nervous,” he said with a smile.
That was the first time a guy had called me cute. I wanted to tell him he was cute too, but I couldn’t find the words. I couldn’t find any words. I just stood there like the proverbial deer in headlights just before getting run over and turned into road kill.
“Well…I…”
He walked closer to me and looked to the dance floor. “You want to come dance with me.”
It wasn’t a question.
“Actually…” I took a step back. “My friend, I’m here with…my friend is over by the, he’s sitting over. Ah…”
“Oh,” Towel Boy said. “You here with your boyfriend?”
Boyfriend? It was less embarrassing, so I went with it. “Sure.”
Towel Boy flashed the most deviant of grins and took hold of my hand. “Come on…” he said as he led me away towards a small, secluded hall around a corner. “He won’t see over here.”
I followed, as if I could refuse him in my testosterone-driven stupor.
We made it to the end of the hall, and he turned to face me. He tilted my head up by the chin before leaning in. His soft lips touched mine, sending chills across my body. My heart pounded in my chest. It felt great, but I resisted the feeling. Because it felt wrong. I pulled away.
He smiled at me. “Not the cheating type?”
No, I said silently. I’m not the making-out-with-guys type, but thanks for asking.
“Just relax…” He ran his fingers through the back of my hair, again sending chills across my body. “Your friend won’t see…besides, it’s just some fun…”
He pulled me close again and kissed me, but this time, instead of fighting it, I fell into the kiss. It was invigorating and intoxicating enough for me to lower my defenses. I reached around and pulled him closer while parting his lips with my tongue and kissing him full on the mouth. I didn’t think. I didn’t question. I acted on instinct and lust, and reveled in it.
I turned him around and held him against the wall while moving my hands around to his hard chest. He was surprised at my sudden change of behavior. I may have been shy, but I was hardly the submissive “bottom boi” he thought I was.
My memory fails me as to how long my first guy-on-guy make out session lasted. It felt like forever, but at the same time, was way to short. All I remember was that it ended when I looked up and saw Sam standing at the end of the corner, staring at me.
---to be continued in chapter 2
I had lost everything.
And my entire life had shattered.
I kneeled at the pew, bowed my head, and folded my hands so tightly that my knuckles turned white. Tears dampened my cheeks.
My body shook from the cold. The dark empty church had always been drafty, ever since I was a kid. The cold barely bothered me back then. I would just wear a warmer sweater or sit closer to the person besides me, who was typically my mother. But that had changed, and I no longer had comfort from the frigid draft that filled me with such a sense of loneliness and sorrow.
I wanted to curl into a ball and die, and I would have killed myself if not for fear of what awaited me after death.
On one hand, the part of me that was educated believed that death was the ultimate end. Once you die, you’re gone, and your body rots away into nothingness. On the other hand, the part of me that spent more than 18 years growing up in church still believed that after death, the good Lord either let you into heaven or tossed your sorry ass straight into Hell.
The problem with this belief is that I’m gay. Well technically, I’m bi, but it’s easier to say I’m gay since not even my closest friends understand how someone can truly be bisexual.
“Michael,” my gay friend Sam would often say to me. “I know you hate it when I say this, but people who say they’re bisexual are just kidding themselves. You’re either gay or straight. Dick or Vagina. Tits or no tits.”
Believe it or not, Sam is a genius, so it always escaped me how he could fail to understand such a simple concept as being attracted to people regardless of their gender.
I had accepted my homosexuality, bisexuality, or whatever you want to call it, and I understood it. No part of me believed it was wrong, because it can never be wrong to love another person.
But the conservative part of me still believed, without a doubt, that God thought being gay was wrong. And I whole-heartedly disagreed with Him on that one. So for me, death was either a gateway into nothingness or a gateway into Hell, and not because I was gay as much as I was in no way repentant for being gay and refused to recognize it as a sin. Love can not be a sin.
Two sides of me were at war, and neither could win. The fact that I had just lost my boyfriend a few weeks earlier brought that inner battle to the forefront of my mind. Most people took comfort in the fact that their loved ones went to heaven after death, but I had no such comfort. My two stubborn belief systems didn’t allow it.
My James, my beautiful, gentle James, who I had literally seen trip over his own clumsy feet to avoid stepping on a bug, was gone. God or Fate had taken him. And where he was…I didn’t know.
For the past five years, throughout college and afterward, I had avoided thinking about religion, and instead, embraced more open-minded and liberal thinking. Even though church doctrine was still engraved in me, I buried it deep.
But James’ death had changed that. How can one think about death without religion in some form or another?
I clenched my jaw and tilted my head up, looking to the crucifix hanging in the shadows. The symbol that had once filled me with hope now filled me with nothing but resentment.
“How could you take him…” My raspy voice echoed in the building. I narrowed my eyes and covered my grief with anger. My body tensed and my throat felt like my own emotions were choking me.
“What the hell am I supposed to do?!” I shouted and slammed my hands against the pew.
“Why the hell do you make people this way if you think it’s so damn wrong?! James never hurt a soul, not a single person, even when they deserved it. He had a hard life, was put through Hell. His dad beat him. He was always teased and tormented. Bullied. And in spite of all that, he was still one of the sweetest and kindest people alive.
“You expect me to worship you when you would throw someone like him into Hell! He did nothing wrong! Why did you take him?! Why the fuck did you take him?!”
Part of me expected an answer. I know it sounds stupid, but I had hit rock bottom. I was unemployed. James was gone. And I had pushed all my friends away. I was alone and forsaken, and not even God would listen to my screams.
Chapter One: Towel Boy
Five years earlier…
I was with my closest friends, some of whom were gay. Yet I still maintained the facade of a hetero-sexual male who liked hot girls, hockey, beer and all that other straight macho crap.
What made this so pathetic was that I was standing in the middle of a gay club. That’s right. I was in the middle of a gay bar, surrounded by hot boys in tight pants and shirts accentuating every curve of their bodies. Even in the presence of boys ravaging each other on the dance floor, I was still “in the closet.”
“Stay with me, Jay,” I said to my straight friend, who Sam had dragged along on the trip. “We straight guys have to stick together.”
Note: a gay man in hiding will go out of his way to remind everyone around him how “straight” he is. It’s a dead give away, but I was an idiot back then. If I was smart, I would have been hitting on the cute teenagers while I was still young, skinny and attractive.
Unfortunately, I had about as much self esteem as President Bush has common sense, so I didn’t appreciate the looks that I had. I was about average height and slender, with a nice tone build. My brown hair was cut short and gelled. I didn’t get the gay gene for a fashion sense, but from the way boys were looking at me, I wasn’t dressed half bad either for just having on white khakis and a black, un-tucked, button-down shirt.
Sam, the ringleader of our group, led us to a small seating area with counters that formed an L-shape next to the dance floor. so those who weren’t dancing could sit and watch everyone else bump and grind to the pounding techno beat. Sam went to get a few pitchers of beer from the upstairs bar for us since he was the only one 21. I was shy of that age by two years, but I didn’t drink at that time anyway.
Luckily the gay club, C-Street in Champaign Ill, allowed younger patrons to visit. They simply had their hands stamped with the word “bottom” to show they were too young to drink. People 21 and older were labeled “top.”
The bar was only an hour or so away from our college, West Indiana University, where I was a sophomore studying journalism. Jay was a classmate of mine in the journalism program too.
Jay was a little taller than me and skinny, having lost a lot of weight since freshman year, when he was affectionately nick-named Man-Boob. He had tan skin and dark curly hair, and his smile often made him look like he was in grade school.
He had a speech impediment, which made him sound like Homestar Runner would had he grown up in the Bronx. He could be slow sometimes too, but he was one of the most loyal friends a person could have, despite his flaws.
When psychology professors talk about people who enjoy punishing themselves, they are talking about my friend Jay. See, Jay liked to hit on lesbians and get upset when they rejected him.
Not only that, but Jay was obsessed with a lesbian friend of ours named Jo, who he constantly professed his love to, and constantly bickered with when she refused to return his affections. Of course, on occasion, Jo was known to get drunk and mess around with Jay, but we won’t go there yet.
Jay eyed each lesbian as they walked by. He looked at me with a foolish grin of hope. “I’m goin fo’ it, Awwow,” he said, referring to my nickname of Straight Arrow. “Wish me luck.”
“Yes,” I said sarcastically. “Because luck will help you.”
Jay put on that dumb grin of his and walked over to a short blonde wearing a skimpy blouse that exposed her belly. Her tight black pants may as well have been painted on with a spray brush. At least I couldn’t fault the poor bastard’s taste.
“Eh,” he said. “I’m Jay. You, ahm, wanna dance o’ something?”
She wrinkled her nose with disgust and quickly walked away. Jay was elated, he walked back towards me and threw up his arms in defeat. It was honestly one of his happier moments.
“Eh! Wejection! Evewy time!”
I laughed and shook my head with disbelief. Jay’s display was pathetic, but cute too. “Jay, they’re lesbians. Could you be more desperate?”
“At least this way I know I’m gunna get wejected,” he said. And he still had that smile on his face, which Sam always called a shit-eating grin. “Thewe’s no pwessu‘e, so it‘s like pwactice.”
I swung out my arms, since I had a nasty habit of waving them around a lot when I talked. My friends always told me it was Chandler-eque, which is how I started watching that sitcom.
“Yes, clearly that was practice,” I said sarcastically. “How does what you just did, making a fool out of yourself, possibly qualify as practice? Do you see Sam hitting on straight guys in bars?”
“Yes!” Jay said as if the answer was obvious, which I guess it was.
I shrugged. “Well…he doesn’t hit on straight guys, per say, as much as he gets wasted off his ass and…engages them in conversation.”
Jay leaned forward and raised his voice, which was how he liked to punctuate his points, I guess. “He sang ‘My Funny Valentine’ to a Mawine on Karaoke night!”
I put on my sarcastic/joking face. “Haven’t we all been singing ‘My Funny Valentine’ to a Marine at some point in our lives? What better way to say: ‘I support you, oh gallant protector of my freedom.’”
“Awwow,” he said. “You had to tackle Sam down to stop him before he gave the guy a lap dance!”
“Even so…” I said.
Jay looked away and took a deep breath. “Eh…”
Translation: he was too drunk for banter and needed another drink. So off he went.
Vulnerability struck me as soon as Jay walked away. I was standing alone. The rest of my group had wandered off. Anxiety welled up in my throat. I always assumed my reaction was a byproduct of being teased all the time while growing up. It was like my body had learned to warn me away from people out of intense fear of rejection and verbal torment. And there I was, surrounded by strangers, who all thought I was gay.
So I felt defensive. I was completely insecure about my sexuality, and I projected that onto every single person in that club. And I just kept telling myself, that although I liked guys, I wasn’t really gay because I liked girls too.
After all, I reminded myself, I had fallen in love with a girl in high school and dated her for two years. Her name was Marie, and she was great. The sex was great. And I could have spent the rest of my life with her. I actually enrolled at WIU to follow her there, after she broke up with me. The choice was a dumb one, but I was a dumb, impulsive kid.
I looked around for my friends and spotted Sam sitting alone at a table nearby. Sam was a few pounds too heavy, but carried it well. I would have dated him if he wasn’t such an ass all the time, but I would never tell him that. Such a confession would boost his already over-inflated ego.
The fact that Sam sat alone was odd for a couple reasons. One, he always tried to be the center of attention and steal whatever light he could from everyone possible. Two, he had invited one of our new freshman friends to the bar in an effort to seduce him. The freshman’s name was Nate.
Nate was monkey-like and had been sleeping around since puberty. He had the kind of attractiveness that made him look eternally 13, which a lot of gay men tended to like. He was tan, clean cut, skinny and quite sexy. After coming out of the closet, I would tell Sam: “Pal, if you don’t fuck him, I will.”
Sam was hunched over his table and had his beer mug held between both hands. He had the shameful look of total defeat in his eyes, which he solved the same way he did all his other problems: drink, drink, and just when you’ve made your friends believe you’re going to die of alcohol poisoning, drink some more.
I didn’t notice the source of his sour mood until I walked over and looked at the next table.
Little monkey-boy Nate was sitting on a chair dancing while a tall, lanky boy with a massive nose hopped on his lap. The flamboyant boy’s appearance was lacking, especially for someone as shallow and hormone-driven as Nate. Flaming Nose Boy dressed in an orange shirt and jeans, which made my outfit look like it had been designed by…well…a really high-profile fashion designer or something.
Nate bobbed his head back and forth and looked to Sam.
“Havin’ fun, Sam?” I should point out that his head always bobbed back and forth when he talked, not just when he was trying to dance.
Sam squinted and flashed the most insincere grin ever. He lifted his mug and downed the rest of his beer without even taking a gulp, just letting it pour down his throat.
“I need to get drunker, quicker.” He stumbled up and headed towards the bar, leaving me standing alone near Nate and Flaming Nose Boy.
Again, I felt vulnerable.
I took a deep breath to calm myself and walked back towards the rear of the bar towards the restroom. Several boys glanced at me along the way. They were checking me out, but because I was such a tool, it felt more like their stares were burning looks of judgment and mockery.
I stepped into the bathroom and breathed a sigh of relief to be away from the crowd. Only a stall was occupied, and the bathroom itself was empty. I answered nature’s call and went to the sink to wash my hands.
That was when he stepped in. I never did get his name, but he looked like he had stepped off the pages of an Abercrombie add. He was a couple inches taller than me, and had these bright blue eyes that stole away my breath. His short hair was sandy blonde and spiked in front. He was skinny, but built, and looked about my age.
My jaw literally dropped when I saw him.
“Hey,” he said when he spotted me staring like a star-infatuated teenie bopper.
I only nodded to answer while I reached for the paper towel dispenser. But it was empty. And my hands were still wet.
The boy moved closer towards me and offered a small, white towel. I never thought to ask where he got the small towel from or why he had it, but that is probably a good thing. I had gone through enough culture shock for one evening.
“Thanks.” I accepted his towel.
He looked down to my hands while I dried them, and noticed my stamp. “Bottom, huh?”
Keep in mind, I had no experience with this club and had no idea at the time how lame of a come on this was. The line was C-Street’s equivalent to a straight guy asking: Are your legs tired? Because you’ve been running through my mind all day.
I blushed and lowered my gaze. My eyes couldn’t meet his, for fear that his look would make me melt.
“Apparently.” I mentally kicked myself for not having anything better to say. I had actually been a smooth talker when I dated girls in high school. But with guys, not so much.
The experience was overwhelmingly awkward. I hurried up and finished drying my hands before walking out the door as fast as I could.
Towel Boy followed me. “Where you scampering off too, hun?”
I stopped in my tracks. Hun? I used to call Marie hun. I turned to face him, and again noticed how unbelievably attractive he was.
“Scampering?” I started to ramble, which often happened when I got nervous. “This isn’t scampering as much as it’s walking at a heightened pace to get where I’m going, ya know, faster. I always thought of scampering as more of a skipping type thing, or maybe even a rabbit-ish hop with-”
“You’re cute when you’re nervous,” he said with a smile.
That was the first time a guy had called me cute. I wanted to tell him he was cute too, but I couldn’t find the words. I couldn’t find any words. I just stood there like the proverbial deer in headlights just before getting run over and turned into road kill.
“Well…I…”
He walked closer to me and looked to the dance floor. “You want to come dance with me.”
It wasn’t a question.
“Actually…” I took a step back. “My friend, I’m here with…my friend is over by the, he’s sitting over. Ah…”
“Oh,” Towel Boy said. “You here with your boyfriend?”
Boyfriend? It was less embarrassing, so I went with it. “Sure.”
Towel Boy flashed the most deviant of grins and took hold of my hand. “Come on…” he said as he led me away towards a small, secluded hall around a corner. “He won’t see over here.”
I followed, as if I could refuse him in my testosterone-driven stupor.
We made it to the end of the hall, and he turned to face me. He tilted my head up by the chin before leaning in. His soft lips touched mine, sending chills across my body. My heart pounded in my chest. It felt great, but I resisted the feeling. Because it felt wrong. I pulled away.
He smiled at me. “Not the cheating type?”
No, I said silently. I’m not the making-out-with-guys type, but thanks for asking.
“Just relax…” He ran his fingers through the back of my hair, again sending chills across my body. “Your friend won’t see…besides, it’s just some fun…”
He pulled me close again and kissed me, but this time, instead of fighting it, I fell into the kiss. It was invigorating and intoxicating enough for me to lower my defenses. I reached around and pulled him closer while parting his lips with my tongue and kissing him full on the mouth. I didn’t think. I didn’t question. I acted on instinct and lust, and reveled in it.
I turned him around and held him against the wall while moving my hands around to his hard chest. He was surprised at my sudden change of behavior. I may have been shy, but I was hardly the submissive “bottom boi” he thought I was.
My memory fails me as to how long my first guy-on-guy make out session lasted. It felt like forever, but at the same time, was way to short. All I remember was that it ended when I looked up and saw Sam standing at the end of the corner, staring at me.
---to be continued in chapter 2