by TJ Klune
I took a step toward Helena, getting ready to put an end to this charade. I didn’t want strippers, even if I was in the mindset that I could absolutely outdance any of them right at this moment.
But she saw me coming.
And then her plan was revealed.
“Darren! Bring out the sacrifice!”
Darren Mayne burst through the curtains behind the stage where the drag queens normally came from. He was dragging Vince behind him, who wore a blindfold that was similar to the one I’d had, and a large set of what looked to be noise-canceling headphones. A bar back followed them, carrying a chair.
“Where are we going?” Vince asked Darren as he was pulled onto the stage, unaware of everyone in the room. “Are we getting tacos? Because it smells like tacos in here. Bro, that’s awesome.”
The bar back put the seat in the middle of the stage, next to where I stood. He winked at me, some twinkie little thing that looked like he should be at home playing with My Little Ponies rather than being shirtless in a gay bar.
“Well I never,” I said with a sniff, my hand at my throat.
Darren pushed Vince into the seat, kicking his legs open until he sat spread-eagle in the chair.
And suddenly I knew where this was going.
“Oh sweat balls,” I breathed.
Darren knocked off the headphones and ripped the blindfold off Vince. He blinked, frowning as he looked around until his eyes fell upon me. The smile he gave was blinding. “Hey, Paul,” he said easily. “Man, today’s been weird, right? I didn’t think I’d get to see you tonight, but I’m so happy I did. I love you, you know?”
“I’m sorry for what’s about to happen,” I told him solemnly as Darren leaned over and kissed Helena on the cheek before he stepped off the stage. “I hope you can still look at me tomorrow.”
He squinted up at me. “What’s about to happen?”
“DJ!” Helena barked into the mic. “Drop that beat!”
And through the speakers came the familiar thump of bass from a song that no one on this earth had ever been able to resist.
Many had tried.
All had failed.
And as it rolled through my body, Sexy Paul burst forward and took over.
IN 2004, the world changed forever.
The United States lifted a 1981 travel ban upon Libya.
Google released Gmail.
Massachusetts legalizes same-sex marriage in compliance with a ruling from the state’s Supreme Judicial Court.
Scientists in South Korea announced the cloning of thirty human embryos.
Preliminary hearings began in Iraq against former president Saddam Hussein.
The Greek national football team won the 2004 UEFA European Championship in Portugal.
Explorers reached the bottom of Krubera Cave, the world’s deepest cave.
George W. Bush was re-elected, narrowly beating John Kerry.
But all of this pales in comparison to January 13, 2004.
It was a Tuesday.
I was nineteen years old.
I remember where I was when I first heard it.
The library at the University of Arizona, studying for a test for a class that led to a degree that would ultimately become pointless as I would one day have my soul trapped in a cubicle at an insurance company whose commercials would forever ruin lizards and cavemen.
Sandy was next to me, wearing a suit jacket with a pair of jeans.
(Don’t ask. 2004 was a very strange time.)
He had a boom box set up on the table next to us.
(Don’t ask. 2004 was a very strange time.)
The radio was on a pop station, playing shitty music that Sandy liked.
“I don’t want to study for this fucking test,” I growled, glaring down at the open book in front of me.
Sandy was on his Motorola RAZR flip phone, the latest high-tech gadget that I wouldn’t ever understand. Apparently, somehow, you could even get on the Internet with it, which I thought was ridiculous. I was sure that would never catch on, because most people spent their days on a computer. Why on earth would you need a cell phone that did that too? “Then don’t,” Sandy said, sounding bored. He frowned as he typed out another message to some guy he was probably blowing, or thinking about blowing, or wanted to blow. I, on the other hand, did not have anyone to blow and decided that it was better that way, as I was going to wait for my one true love. “It’s 2004, Paul. We’re young and cool and we have all the time in the world. Twelve years from now, we’ll probably be old and boring with nothing going on in our lives, and you can study then.”
He had a point. In twelve years, I was probably going to have abs and ride a hoverboard everywhere I went, and so I thought it was probably a good idea for me to make the most of my youth. I closed my textbook with a grim finality, not caring about a librarian who glared at me as it echoed loudly in the quiet.
“What should we do, then?” I asked.
Sandy shrugged. “We could always—”
And then it happened.
From the radio, came a song I’d never heard before.
It hit my ears and burst down into my very bones.
I gasped as I felt myself twitch, like I was… like I was trying to dance.
“What sorcery is this?” I whispered as my shoulders began to sway.
Sandy was gaping at me. “What’s happening to you?”
“I don’t know!” I said, pushing myself up to my feet, the chair falling down behind me. It tipped over and crashed onto the floor. The librarian stood up, bringing her finger to her lips and shushing me loudly.
But it was like I had been taken over by some force I couldn’t fight. I knew I could be thrown out of the library, that the librarian had the power to have me banished. But for the life of me, I couldn’t find a single reason to care. All I wanted to do was dance.
And so I did.
Kind of.
“Are you having a seizure?” Sandy demanded as I gyrated my hips, bringing my hands up and rubbing them over my chest and stomach.
“No,” I panted, already sweating. “It’s… it’s this song.”
Sandy blinked at me. He looked at the boom box. Then back at me. Then back at the boom box.
And then he smiled evilly.
“No,” I begged. “Please. Don’t do it. Sandy, don’t do it.”
He turned up the volume until it was blasting.
And I danced.
I shook my ass like I’d never shaken it before.
The librarian came over, telling us we needed to leave.
I grabbed her hand and pulled her close, her back against my chest. I swayed my hips, and even she couldn’t fight against it. “Oh my,” she said as I dipped us both low. “This is highly inappropriate.”
“I know,” I said. “But it can’t be stopped.”
And as the song went on, I got friskier with Helga, the sixty-three-year-old librarian who had worked for the University of Arizona for thirty-one years.
By the time it had ended, a large crowd had gathered around us. They clapped once the spell had broken. I looked around, unsure of what the hell had just happened.
Helga was standing in front of me, face flushed. She eyed me up and down. “I know a motel that rents by the hour,” she said, licking her lips. “Just as long as you don’t tell my husband, Merle.”
“What the balls?” I screeched. “Sandy! What’s going on? What happened? What was that?”
Sandy was staring at me with something akin to awe. “Apparently, we’ve found your gay anthem.”
“My what?”
“Your gay anthem. Every guy has one, straight or gay, whether they admit it or not. That one song you hear, that when it starts playing, you have to move like a goddamn diva. I always thought we’d never find yours. I mean, you’re almost twenty now. I just….” He wiped his eyes. “I never thought I’d get to see the day when you flame out like the Human Torch. This will become your greatest weakness. Anytime it’s played, you w
ill be unable to do anything but dance to it. It’s… the way of things.”
“I don’t… I don’t remember much,” I admitted, still dazed. “What was it? What was the song?”
On January 13th, 2004, I finally found my gay anthem. It was the first day the song had been released. It came from a blonde girl born in Mississippi, one who I had paid only marginal attention to in the years since she’d come out. I knew of her, but I didn’t know that she was capable of casting a spell over me and making my body turn into a dancing sex machine. I had woken up that morning not giving a crap about her, but everything changed on that Tuesday when the song was released, the second single from her fourth album In The Zone. And when Sandy spoke again, he said only three words that would be burned forever into every single gay bone in my body.
“Britney Spears,” he said. “‘Toxic’.”
“OH NO,” I breathed as the familiar song started playing from the speakers of Jack It, but it was already far too late as Sexy Paul took control, growling as I began to prowl the stage in front of Vince.
“What’s happening?” Vince asked, swallowing thickly as he watched me move in front of him. “Helena, what’s he doing?”
Helena chuckled into the microphone as she moved off stage. “Oh, baby doll. Consider this my wedding present to you. I hope you’re ready to see a side of your husband-to-be you’ve never seen before. You’re welcome.” And then she melted into the crowd.
Not that I was paying any real attention to her.
No. I was stalking my prey, who sat so prettily before me.
“Paul?” Vince asked, sounding a little worried. “Is everything—holy fucking shit!”
I had dropped to my knees in front of him between his spread legs, hands rubbing against his thighs, my face in his stomach near his crotch as I pushed myself forward and up. I let him anchor me as I rose, my chest pressing against his, lips trailing along the skin of his neck up to his jaw and left ear.
“What are you doing?” he squeaked at me, pupils dilated in the flashing strobe light. “Are you giving me a lap dance?”
Sexy Paul didn’t have time for talking when he was fully involved in the art of seduction. Sexy Paul didn’t need words. All Sexy Paul needed was his dance moves. And there was a small, small part of me that knew the extent to which Sandy had planned all this, from the Jager to the Britney, that he’d known what the inevitable outcome would be. That small part of me made a mental note to plot an elaborate revenge against him involving fake identities and extravagant mustaches, but that part was shoved away when I felt Vince’s hands on my hips.
The music hit again and I twisted myself around until I was seated in his lap, lying against his chest, rotating my hips, trying to remember every single stripper move I’d ever learned from Paula Abdul’s Get Up and Dance exercise VHS tape that Sandy and I had tried when we were fifteen years old. I’d told myself when I was huffing and puffing my way through it that one day, I’d probably have to use what I’d learned one day. And my time had finally come. I knew Paula would be proud, wherever she was.
I heard Vince grunting underneath me and I knew him better than anyone, so I knew it wasn’t the get off, you’re squishing me grunt, but instead, was the you’re squishing my dick and I want to get off so bad grunt.
Sexy Paul had struck again.
The song was only halfway over.
I pushed off him, standing and ignoring the sounds of the crowd hyperventilating around us. I considered throwing in some Flashdance to mix with my Paula Abdul but didn’t think I was ready for that just yet. I thought I could be one day, but that day was not today. And since I didn’t have a bucket of water to drop on my chest as I threw my head back, I decided to stick with what I knew.
I turned back around to Vince as I swiveled my hips, reaching up and tearing the tiara off my head, throwing it to the side. It smashed against the wall and sounded like it broke. I heard Helena screech in outrage, but I didn’t give a shit. I had a mission.
I ripped the sash up and over my head and thrust it between my legs, reaching behind me with my other hand to grab the edge. And then I proceeded to do one of the most erotic dances of all time: Flossing. I pulled the sash back and forth between my legs like I was trying to get a particularly stubborn piece of food out from between my teeth. I sneered at Vince who looked like he was two point six seconds away from launching himself at me and ravishing me right there in front of anyone.
The next dance move was the Lassoing a Steer, another thing I’d learned from Paula Abdul. I took the sash and began to twirl it above my head like it was a lasso, hopping from one foot to another bow-legged, like I was riding a horse in a competitive rodeo, needing to rope the calf as quickly as possible.
Vince spread his legs a little wider and I threw the sash at him where it landed perfectly around his neck, capturing my side of beef in record time. If this had been a real rodeo, I would have won the biggest belt buckle known to mankind. I figured it was okay for me to settle with the prized bull that was flaring his nostrils in front of me, his hands fisted on his thighs, chest heaving.
I jerked my end of the sash tight, pulling him up from the back of the chair until his face was in my chest. Holding on to make sure he stayed in place, I used my other hand to pop open the top few buttons of my shirt, my fingers poking against his face. Probably not the sexiest of moves, but I didn’t hear him complaining when I felt his hot breath against my skin. I let him take a few deep breaths, his nose pressed against my sweaty chest, before I pushed him back against the chair, letting the sash fall against him.
I ignored the people in the audience who had started to make it rain, dollar bills being thrown onto the stage around me. Sandy had taught me that when money was thrown, the best thing to do was to wait until the performance was over before picking it up. Otherwise, you’d just look money hungry and trashy.
And I, obviously, was anything but money hungry.
Maybe a little trashy, but I could totally roll with that.
Sexy Paul didn’t care.
I brought my hands up and folded them up behind my head, thrusting my hips at Vince, whose eyes were directly eye level with my crotch. He licked his lips and didn’t look away. I leaned forward and gripped his chin, forcing his gaze up to mine. “My eyes are up here, sailor,” I growled, throwing his words back at him that he’d used on me so very long ago that first day at the bike rack outside the office.
His pupils were completely blown out now, and he leaned forward, trying to kiss me, but I was a working girl; I didn’t have time to kiss him right then. I shoved his face away. I didn’t care if he could take me away from this life and protect me and my young daughter from my abusive ex-husband who we were on the run from, because I couldn’t run the risk of giving my heart away again, only to have it shattered in a billion pieces—
Whoa.
I shook my head violently, trying to get rid of the elaborate fantasy where I was a mother named Denise Smith who danced under the name Gigi Fontaine. I had already constructed an elaborate backstory and literally only four seconds had passed. I just had to Paula Abdul the crap out of the finish to this lap dance before worrying about the bad Lifetime Movie of the Week fantasy I had going on in my head.
(I would be played by Delta Burke. It would be glorious. There would be pantsuits. And shoulder pads.)
The song was coming to a close and I had a decision to make. I could go out on top. I could end this good.
Or I could end it amazingly.
It wasn’t that hard of a decision.
I didn’t think my pants were too tight. I could pull this off without embarrassing myself.
While Britney shrieked her sexy siren call about how she loved what I did because I had to know I was toxic, I did the one thing a man of my size should not be able to do.
I dropped into the splits, sinking down until my crotch touched the floor, my face right between Vince’s legs.
The crowd exploded behind me as the song ended.
Vince looked down at me, jaw dropping, eyes as wide as I’d ever seen them.
I said, “You liked that, didn’t you,” in a husky voice.
He nodded slowly.
“You’re such a bad boy,” I said.
He nodded again.
“You want to do things to me right now, don’t you. Sexy things.”
He nodded a third time.
“Well, then,” I said, licking my lips.
He leaned forward.
I grabbed him by the sash and held on tight, pulling him down until my lips were near his ear. And then I said what had to be the most erotic thing in my life.
“If you ever want to suck on my balls again, you’ll help me up right now, Jesus fucking Christ, I think they’re about to break. Seriously. I think I’m stuck. Vince, I think I’m stuck.”
Have you ever done the splits trying to be a stripper named Gigi Fontaine while dancing to Britney with moves you learned from a Paula Abdul exercise VHS tape in the nineties after having four shots of Jager?
Me too.
Then you’ll know how hard it is to get back up, trying to make it look natural.
But somehow, I was able to do it.
With Vince’s help, of course.
And then he dragged me off the stage and for the last time as an unmarried man, I got a sloppy blowjob in the men’s room of Jack It from Vince as he jacked his cock while on his knees. He came on the floor. I came on his face.
It was the most romantic moment of my life.
Chapter Six: The Heart of the Homo Jock King
March 25, 2016
T-Minus 1 Day
I GLARED at Sandy, Darren, and Corey as they stood outside our house. I refused to let them in, even as Vince was chuckling behind me. I could deal with him later.
Wheels, probably knowing how annoyed his owner was, rolled up next to me and growled at the three of them.