by Sean Kennedy
“Believe me, I’ve been the bad brother. I can give you plenty of tips.”
“I need tips on how to help the bad brother, not be him.”
“Touché.”
Sam winced. “Oh, god, I just called him ‘the bad brother.’ He’s not.”
“Your secret’s safe with me.” It was on the tip of his tongue to ask about the dig Sam had given Dane about secrets, but it would only give away he had been eavesdropping. Micah did not want to be seen in that light.
“Cool. So let’s see if I can get through this attempt, first. Anyway, you ready to shake your booty later? You been preparing some hot moves?” Sam did some incredibly bad moves of his own, which had Micah in tears. “Okay, maybe I won’t be winning the dance comp.”
“No.” Micah rolled his eyes. “But me? Believe me, Perth isn’t ready for this jelly.”
THERE WAS still a home game to get through, however, and after a couple of weeks of losses they were finally granted a victory. It meant that the boys were in even more of a party mood than they were already, and Micah wondered if Perth should batten down its hatches. Maia was angling for an invite, desperately wanting to get her groove thang on in a venue where the clientele wouldn’t be trying to bed her (and she wouldn’t have a protective athletic boyfriend trying to defend her honour but would ultimately end up suspended from play if he fought) but had been sternly told by Sam that this was a boy’s night out. Institutional sexism aside, she had actually taken it pretty well although she begged Micah for photographic evidence should Sam find himself the object of another man’s attention.
“Not in a make fun of the gays way,” she said quickly at Micah’s look of consternation. “Just, can you imagine Sam in that situation? He would be trying so hard to let the poor guy down gently he’d probably end up married by the end of the night.” At Micah’s next look, she tried to recover quickly. “If that were legal. Oh, okay! I’m sounding terrible. I’m going to stop right now.”
It reminded him of Simon, and how he would innocently put his foot in his mouth at every turn. Maia wasn’t usually like that, so he quite enjoyed seeing her flustered.
Showered and primped for the evening, Micah surveyed himself in the mirror. The very model of a Respectable Young Gay stared back at him. He looked a bit like a wide-eyed naïf, so he decided to mess up his hair a little and undo the first two buttons of his shirt. His smooth chest gave a hint of developing hair—was it actually growing thicker?—and Micah undid another button to show he wasn’t just some other twink.
Then he buttoned it again. Two was enough.
On his way downstairs to meet Sam, he hesitated outside Dane’s door. It was quiet for once—usually there was some music blaring to act as a barrier to anybody trying to gain access.
He was about to walk off when he decided to hell with it, and knocked sharply on the door. He instantly regretted it, thinking of the secret Dane claimed to hold over him. There was no way of knowing if he’d decide to drop that little bomb or not, and maybe it was best not to antagonise him. This was a huge mistake.
“Who is it?” yelled Dane.
“Your favourite person in the world.” He couldn’t resist, despite everything.
There was the sound of shuffling feet, and the door cracked open slightly. Dane peered out at him, and although Micah couldn’t see the full of his mouth he knew it was set in some form of sneer. “What do you want?”
Charming. “Look, I just wanted to give it one last shot and see if you wanted to come with us tonight.”
“Did my brother put you up to this?”
“Sam’s not that dumb.”
A huff claimed that Dane thought he most likely was, and Micah bristled a little in Sam’s defence.
“I just thought I’d do the nice thing.”
“Well, save it.”
Fed up, Micah imagined kicking the door so it flew back into Dane’s face. It was only a momentary happiness; he knew it was most likely a terrible thing to think. Funny, though. Dane wouldn’t even see it coming. Instead, Micah would do the mature thing and try kindness. “You don’t have to hate me, you know. I’m not the enemy.”
There was a pause, and then four words Micah would never have expected to come out of Dane’s mouth. “I don’t hate you.”
“Excuse me?” He had to hear it again, just to be sure.
But the sudden appearance of Sam in the hallway ruined whatever moment they were about to have.
“You ready?” Sam called out.
Dane’s door slammed. There would be no further conversation with him tonight.
“What’s going on?” Sam asked him.
“Just thought I’d try him one last time.”
“Lost cause, mate.”
Micah really wished he hadn’t said that, as he was sure Dane was still standing on the other side of the door listening to every word he said.
“No such thing as a lost cause.”
Sam shrugged. “Hope you’re right. Now, let’s get you out tonight, otherwise you’ll be one.”
Micah was sure he was more of a lost cause than Dane, but he was willing to pretend otherwise for one night at least. And he couldn’t help but give one last look back at Dane’s room, wondering what the hell was going on in that guy’s mind.
The door remained closed.
NORTHBRIDGE ON a Saturday night was crowded, but Micah still felt it was small in comparison to Melbourne’s nightlife. He also didn’t feel at ease as he did back home—there was a frisson in the air, a static that made everyone seem edgy, as if a fight could break out at any moment.
“That’s just Northbridge,” Danny Hawkins told him. “It’s the ice. There are a lot of people on it.”
Micah wondered whether the isolation of the city made the people harder and drug use more prevalent, which thereby affected the general atmosphere. He was flanked by eight strong athletic men, but being who they were also made them more visible—they were known as AFL players, and that resulted either in frenetic fan worship or belligerent catcalls that threatened worse.
But they made it to Connections unscathed, and there was no problem getting in the door as the bouncer’s eyes bugged in appreciation at so much straight man flesh.
“How do you handle it?” he hissed at Micah as he swanned past.
“Quite easily,” Micah told him. Even though it was true, the bouncer didn’t seem to believe him.
Upstairs was like some scene from an Eighties dance movie. The crowd on the dance floor parted as the boys strode out onto it, having already dispatched someone for drink duty. Micah saw the whispers start, and he felt hidden amongst his teammates. Then a boy his age boldly approached him and began dancing alongside him. Micah remained frozen in a childhood game of Statues while other eyes were upon him.
A shove in his back and a cry of “Just fucking dance, already!”—he was pretty sure it was Craig although the volume of the doof doof music covered most of it—made him almost fall into the other boy’s arms. Awkwardly he began to move in some pattern that could be regarded as dancing, and his teammates whooped and started doing so amongst themselves. In no time at all they had their own goodwill suitors, men and women taking the chance to share the floor with football royalty and have a story to tell their friends the next day if they hadn’t already seen the pictures that would be plastered across Twitter, Instagram, and Facebook.
“What’s your name?” Micah yelled over the din of the music.
“Jace,” yelled his dancing companion.
“I’m Micah—” he began.
Jace got in close to him and wrapped his arm around Micah’s waist, drawing him in until they were chest to chest. Not breaking eye contact, Jace grinned. “Yeah, I know who you are, Micah Johnson. Can’t stand the Dockers, but you’re all right.”
“Oh, well, as long as I’m all right.”
Jace looked over appreciatively at the rest of the team, half of whom had followed suit as the other guys on the dance floor and discarded their shirt
s. “But on the other hand, they’re not seeming too bad either.”
Micah laughed. “Fucking show ponies.”
“They’re going to be supplying plenty of material for the wank bank.” Jace tugged at Micah’s shirt. “Maybe you should too.”
A blast of warm air hit Micah’s back as his flesh was exposed.
“Fuck me,” Jace said. His eyes widened, and he laughed. “I meant, you’re hot! That wasn’t an invitation.”
Micah stammered as he answered. “I wasn’t thinking that, honestly—”
Jace ran his finger down the centre of Micah’s chest, and hooked it under the waist of his pants, letting it remain there. “Let’s see where the night takes us.”
Micah was glad of the strobe lights that began, helping disguise the fact that he was… well, there was no polite way of putting it. Jace ground against him, and Micah groaned.
“Maybe you can score another goal,” Jace whispered into his ear, his breath hot.
This time Micah groaned at the cheesiness of the line. It didn’t help him lose his raging boner, though.
“LOOKS LIKE you’re having fun,” Daril said as he joined him at the bar.
Micah had finally rescued his shirt back from Jace, and was flushed from his exertions on the dance floor. He needed air, but first he needed water.
“It’s been okay,” Micah said, and burst out laughing at the expression on Daril’s face. He had been rumbled.
“If you have any more fun, it’s going to be murder on the dance floor,” Daril said, “because that boy will have killed you.”
“He’s… energetic,” Micah said.
Daril snorted. “You know, there’s a whole room out there full of guys. You don’t have to stick to the first one you danced with.”
“How many have you danced with?”
“Three.” Daril’s grin flashed blue in the disco lights. “I tell you, if I wasn’t straight, I would be set for the night.”
It sounded like the boys were more popular than the real true gay guy. But then, what gay man could resist the oh so cool and down with it straight dude?
“Jace seems okay, though,” Micah said. “I mean, he seems really nice.”
“He’s definitely not shy.”
Having finally been served their drinks, they moved to the small balcony outside. Micah took in huge, relieving gulps of fresh air and downed three quarters of his water bottle in only two gulps.
“Micah, pace yourself!” Sam appeared before them.
“It’s water. Calm down.” Micah showed him the bottle.
“Well, then, maybe have a drink? Come on, you can’t keep going all night on water alone.”
“I don’t know,” Daril said. “Looks like he was getting plenty of energy on the dance floor.”
Sam laughed. “Yeah, I think everybody could see that.”
“Maybe we should move on to another club,” Micah said.
His friends voiced their confusion, and Micah waved them off.
“No, seriously. I don’t want to be the centre of attention. Let’s go somewhere else and the rest of the boys can get their rocks off.”
“What about you and your rocks?”
“My rocks are just fine, believe me.”
“Okay,” Sam said, “I’ll go and get the rest of them ready. I think some of them will be disappointed. They’ve never been so popular.”
“I gotta go to the loo,” Micah said.
He was waylaid by a small group on his way there—he said his hellos and danced a little and then had to make his apologies as he was going to burst. In the loos he grabbed a cubicle for privacy, and was in the middle of relieving his bladder when the door opened.
“Someone’s in here!” he yelled, not turning around.
“I know.”
Perturbed, Micah looked over his shoulder. Jace was standing there, looking amused.
“Do you mind?” Micah asked.
“Hurry up. I’ve got other plans for that thing.”
Tucking himself away, Micah was preparing a speech to give Jace about being flattered but needing to go, etc., etc., but Jace’s hands were in his pants before he could say anything and he was hard enough for Jace to get to work.
Micah braced himself against the stall and bit his lip so he wouldn’t cry out and let everybody else in the vicinity know what exactly was going on in there.
From the blog of Jasper Brunswick
22 May 2016
DANCE FLOORS have always figured in pop songs as places where dreams come true and fantasies come to life.
The patrons of Connections in Perth certainly had that happen last night, when they were greeted by a number of Dockers players out to support one of their latest rookies, gay darling Micah Johnson.
Apparently it didn’t take too long for the shirts to come off on the dance floor, and everybody to be given a show that would put the Chippendales out of business.
Sources say it was a sign of support for Johnson, a bonding experience to show that he is truly part of the team. Johnson has attracted some controversy lately with some homophobic slurs thrown his way by spectators at his games, so his teammates wanted to give a clear indication they are A-OK with the gay. And with allies like that, nobody’s complaining!
Not all the attention was focused on them, however, as Johnson had his fair share of admirers.
Although most of the team later moved on to other clubs, Johnson ended up staying at Connections and ensuring his dance card was filled for the rest of the evening and into the early hours of the next morning.
Luckily they didn’t have a game scheduled today, or there could have been a number of players absent from the squad! Guessing from their recent haphazard victories and defeats, the coach wouldn’t have been too happy about that.
Anybody have any photographic evidence of the night in question? We’re sure some of you must! Email [email protected] and let us share them!
Chapter 9
WHEN MICAH opened his eyes the next morning he winced at the bright light coming through the open curtains. It wasn’t like him to leave them open. As soon as the sun set down, he usually shut them, having had from birth a paranoia that people would be looking in at him.
That’s when it clicked. He wasn’t at home.
And not even Melbourne home. Or North Beach home. There was no breaking of waves upon the nearby shore or the gentle drone of traffic as surfers, swimmers, and dog walkers made their way to the water. Just a heavy lull of traffic as people headed to the inner city for brunches, coffee, and gossip.
He sat up, and surveyed the unfamiliar room. A Pulp Fiction poster stared back at him. Obvious sign of a first year Arts uni student. An inconsistent snoring made him finally notice the guy in bed next to him.
Jace slept with the same smile he had worn for most of the night, not the wicked grin he had in the toilets when he was going down on Micah.
Or the even more wicked one he had when he got Micah to his room.
Micah almost blushed as memories from the early morning came back to him. Daril was right. Jason had been very energetic.
And very vocal.
Micah wanted to escape before the rest of the house woke up and he had to experience the awkward looks given to the recently shagged nobodies that often traipsed through uni share houses. Jace continued to sleep soundly as Micah rummaged around on the floor, sorting between his and Jace’s clothes. Fuck, their boxers were similar. He hoped he had picked up his own. Funny how you could exchange body fluids but the thought of sharing underwear made you cringe.
Thankfully it looked like Jace would stay comatose. Micah dressed until he looked decent, leaving his shoes until he got out the door. Where the fuck was he, anyway? Not that it mattered; his phone would be able to tell him. What did similarly shamed hook-ups used to do in the past? Just wander around until they found some kind of landmark to give them their bearings? He walked off, not knowing where he was headed but wanting to put some distance between him and Jace’
s house. Just in case Jace came looking for him.
As he checked his phone he realised he had missed quite a few calls from Emma, Dec, and even Simon. There were also a number of texts, the last one from Emma saying Please call me. Urgent. He stopped for a moment, dread filling him as he automatically thought of some tragedy befalling his family—some cataclysmic car accident that wiped them all out—but he put his paranoia behind him and called Emma.
She answered immediately. “Where the hell were you?”
“Shower,” he lied, automatically.
“That’s a pretty long fucking shower. And I called Sam. He said you weren’t home.”
Of course she called Sam. Emma would probably have the phone number of everyone who had ever crossed his path. Shit, she probably even had Jace’s by now.
“Well, I’m not. I went for a swim to the beach and had a shower there.” He was sick at how easy making up things came to him. “What’s wrong?”
“I take it you haven’t spoken to Dec?”
“Emma, spit it out!”
“It’s Will… he had a country game last night. The team bus crashed on their way back to Melbourne.”
A sweat broke out on Micah’s brow. “Is… is he okay?”
“He’s pretty badly injured, Micah. Most of the team is okay, a few injured, but Will… he’s the worst.”
“What?” He hated how obtuse she was being, but realised with horror she was actually crying and trying to control it.
“He broke his back.”
“Fuck.” It was all he could say, but it perfectly summed up what he was feeling. “Fuck. Is he—?”
He couldn’t even say the word.
It took a moment for Emma to answer, and even though he knew how hard it was for her, he wanted to reach through the phone and shake her into speaking. “They think he’ll probably walk again, after a long rehabilitation, but he’ll never play football. His career’s done.”
Micah now felt the bile rise in his throat. He could hear Emma yelling his name as he clutched his stomach, bent over, and puked onto the pavement.