by Seth King
To display how open I am to all this, I try to pay attention and show him my curiosity – but predictably, all I manage to do is put my foot in my mouth.
“Hey,” I say, pointing at a lesbian couple. “Both of them are pretty ‘butch.’ If one of them has to be on top, like how you say about gay couples, which one would it be? Just wondering.”
He bristles.
“What is it?” I ask.
“It’s just…what you just asked is something only an uneducated person would ever ask,” he says. “Which is fine, by the way – I get that you’re green. But the idea that one person in the relationship would have to take on the role of ‘the man’ just has to do with outdated gender stereotypes that were never true to begin with. People can be any combination of traits they want to be. You can’t take heterosexual norms and put them onto gays – it just doesn’t work that way. It also sends the message that gays have to be like straights to matter or be valid, and that’s problematic. So…if you believe two people should be allowed to be together, then you have to believe they should be allowed to be together in any way they want, you know? You and I are pretty even with each other, right?”
“I mean, yeah.”
“Then females can be, too. One of them doesn’t have to be dominated.”
“I never thought about it like that…”
“That’s what I’m here for, babe.”
As everyone arrives, Ty gives me a crash-course in the stories of his friends, and I am blown away. “See Maxwell over there, dressed like Marilyn?” he asks, pointing to a tall, thin boy with brown hair and a white dress. It’s amazing that lately I am seeing things like this and not even batting an eyelash. “He sleeps on my couch every holiday – his family is Catholic, and they disowned him the second he got ‘outed’ by a kid from school. They even sent him his Christmas stocking in the mail, and said as long as he chose to lead a sinful life, it wouldn’t hang in their house.”
“Holy shit.”
“I know. And Maureen, the girl with the curls? Her uncle is gay, too, and he was shot. Just shot in the abdomen while he was leaving a gay bar one night – it was all over the news, but of course the police said it was impossible to find the guy. I’m sure they would’ve found him if he was shooting up a straight bar though. Anyway, now he lifts up his shirt whenever I see him and brags about his wound.”
I swallow hard. “Wow. And wait, are we…
“Are we safe, going to a gay bar? Yeah, we’re good. They’ve made some protective laws now. Things are much better.”
I sigh, then shake my head. “Jesus. I never…I never thought about how hard it must be. People act like we’re moving forward…”
“And we’re not,” he interrupts. “People in Manhattan and Oregon and the Capitol Building are moving forward. But walk into any 7/11 in any hometown, and I guarantee you will hear absolutely disgusting things being said left and right, like it’s nothing.”
He’s correct. Lately I’d been noticing things I’d never noticed before – kids using “that’s so gay” as an insult, teenaged boys calling each other “faggot” during arguments, even an old man nodding and muttering “serves them right” when passing a newspaper stand displaying stories about gays being arrested at a rally.
“I think I want to help,” I say soon. “These people have it so bad. It almost reminds me of the segregation in the 60s I used to read about. And the election of Tr-”
“Stop,” he says, raising a hand. “We don’t talk about that here, or say that person’s name. He made it okay to hate us openly again, and we’re still processing it.”
“How do I help?”
“Being around us is helping in a way,” he nods. “Allies help. But one thing I think is a huge detriment is-”
He glances over at me, suddenly uneasy.
“What? Tell me.”
“Well, everyone thinks that only a certain type of man is gay. Do you know how many eyes could be opened if one hundred percent of the men who have sex with men, actually became brave enough to claim it? Do you know how much more education could be spread if the guy on the football team who sucks dick actually stopped hiding it? They want to come into our community in secret and hook up with us, but out in public, they profess to be straight as can be. So we lose on both counts.”
I ignore the guilt that pricks at my neck. “Wow. I never…considered all that.”
“It’s okay,” he says, sipping a PBR. “At the end of the day it’s fine. I wouldn’t expect you to know about this. Nobody ever thinks about any of this stuff until they have to. Why be worried about earthquakes if you don’t live in California, you know? That’s why educating outsiders is so important. We need all the help we can get.”
I squeeze his leg. Several of his friends give me curious looks, but they’re not rude or anything – more than anything they just look politely confused. I drink my beer and try not to think about it. I guess Ty knows me better than I think he does, though, because he swats me a little and laughs.
“Hey, don’t be nervous. A lot of us have straight friends we bring around. Nobody’s that concerned about you being here. If anything they’re probably just checking you out and wondering who you are.”
“Where do I fit into this crowd?” I ask, looking around.
“I guess you’d be called trade – a guy who could pass as straight.”
I don’t know what to think about this. “What about my sexuality, though?”
He frowns. “Hmm. You know how the correct term for the community is LGBTQ? I think you would be the Q, for questioning.”
“But there’s no ‘questioning’ how I feel about you,” I murmur into his ear, and his whole body shivers, telling me it’s going to be a very good night.
Soon we all pile into two Lyfts, and I let him sit in my lap, only pawing at his cock a few times. When we get to the gay club, though, I freeze. Suddenly I just can’t go in. It’s too soon.
He walks over to me. “Henry. Calm down, babe. Nobody you know will be here, anyway. Just take a shot once we get inside, chill out, and everything will be fine.”
“Okay,” I say, something in his eyes making me believe in him. I wasn’t that scared of being seen, it was just that hitting up a gay bar this early into things seemed like it was a lot. But what if I started acted too hesitant, and he lost interest in me?
He starts to head into the club, but I grab his arm. He turns.
“Ty?” I ask.
“Yeah?”
“I really like you. I just wanted to say that.”
I watch for his reaction, and everything in him seems to lift a few inches. He’s practically at my eye level when he gives a giddy little smile and pulls me along. “Fuck, just come on. We are going to have so much fun tonight!”
And we do. One thing that surprises me about his friends is that they just exude this pure, golden joy. All they do is laugh and scream and dance and twerk. Considering how hard most of them have it down here in the South, I halfway expected them to be sort of depressed – but the opposite is true. It seems like the gay club is their church, the place where they can come to be safe and rejoice. I have visions in my head of hearing my friends and family bitching about gay pride parades and how loud and obnoxious everyone was, but suddenly I perfectly understand it. When half of the world is against you, why not throw up your hands when you’re alone?
But the fun doesn’t last long. His friends are awesome, but he’s all over them, dancing on them and talking up close to their faces and even slapping their asses sometimes. I hate every second of it, even though I take two more shots of something purple to try and chill out. But I can’t relax – I’m crazily jealous of all this. I thought he liked me, but it seems like he likes everyone in the fucking room. Is this how being gay works? Are you allowed to just go fuck anybody? When a Katy Perry remix comes on, I pull him over to the booth where we’re sitting. “Hey. What do you think you’re doing?”
He looks back at his friends. “What?”
“Dancing, flirting, talking with all these guys? You’re with me. Do not forget that.” I place a hand on his dick, which sends a charge through my whole body. “When you are with me, this is mine. Do you understand?”
His eyes roll back into his head. “Fuck, that was so hot. Do it again.”
“Seriously. Stop. I don’t like this.”
His eyes slide open, and soon he’s laughing. “Henry. Henry. There is so much you need to learn. These are my girlfriends.”
“What? But they’re guys.”
He puts a hand on my leg, and I wonder if he knows how excited it makes me. He can light fireworks inside me with just a touch. “Okay, look at it this way. You went out with your girlfriend and her friends when you guys were dating, right?”
“Yeah.”
“And sometimes she probably got shit-faced drunk and hung all over her girlfriends and probably got a little flirty with them, right?”
“I mean…yeah. One time she actually made out with this girl Kim, but I didn’t really think much of it.”
“And you shouldn’t. Girls always make out when they’re wasted. Alcohol is like lesbian juice for them. But anyway, these are like my girlfriends. When we hug and dance, it means nothing. There just no boundaries between us – we’re like sisters. Please don’t be mad about this.”
I force out a breath. “Okay. I guess that makes sense. I’ll try to learn. But Ty? Let anyone feel you up, and I will fucking punch them out.”
He reaches over and adjusts my collar. His movements are so swift and confident, it makes me jealous of him all over again. “Yes, sir.”
He pulls away and returns to the dance floor, and I lean back and sip my beer and watch, wondering how his body would feel under me right now. Then I feel something on my skin, something pulling me. So I look over to the main bar. And that’s when I see Caroline Randolph Friar standing there, the unstable millionaire who thinks we are going to get married one day.
10
I decide to head right over and deal with this before it can get really bad. She’s a zombie bride in a full gown, which is refreshingly bold considering that every other female here is wearing a bandage as an outfit. “Hey. What are you doing here?”
She giggles and hiccups. “Huh?” She looks me up and down, then smiles in that haughty way only she knows how to do. I know I’m single, and I’m doing nothing wrong, but still an uncomfortably guilty feeling slides down my back. “I’m at a bachelorette, yet another of my girlfriends is attempting to humiliate me by finding happiness before me. But what are you doing here?” she asks, bug-eyed. “And why have you been ignoring me?”
“I, um…my cousin is here.”
“Bailee? Really? Where?” she asks, glancing around.
“She just left. She puked.”
“Okay, then...”
She looks over my shoulder, her long honey-colored hair swaying in the dark. “Who are your friends back there?”
“I don’t know. Nobody.”
She laughs. Thankfully she doesn’t seem like she cares too much. And I don’t really care, either, but I just don’t know how to explain this to her yet. Not when I can’t even explain it to myself yet…
What would I even say? Hey, ex-girlfriend, I’m here with my quasi-boyfriend. Wanna meet him?
“Okay. Anyway,” she says. “Are you coming to brunch this weekend? That’s why I’ve been texting, you know. You agreed months ago, and I miss you, loser.”
My shoulders fall as I remember the stupid brunch. For months Caro has been trying to lure me back into the fold with invites to her family’s fancy events, like I give a shit about any of that. She’s always used her money to buy friends and destroy enemies, and trips in the limo to wineries and estates are one of her favorite ploys. But the thing is, I actually did agree to come to this one, way back when. It’s her brother’s wedding anniversary brunch, and I know she’d rather die than go there alone while her sister-in-law revels in her wedded bliss. I still know Caro better than I know anyone, and I know she would hate that. Sometimes I even miss that bond, that closeness…
“Henry,” she says, laughing. I can’t see her eyes but I can remember what they look like: blue-hazel, so dark they look slate. “You look like you just saw a dead person. Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ, I’m not trying to propose or anything. Daddy just thinks it would be nice if you came. For the sake of my last shreds of dignity, please don’t let me sit at that table alone.”
“I’ll be there,” I say, hating every word. She leans forward and kisses my neck, her Tom Ford cologne – not perfume, but cologne – wafting up to meet me. I always liked that she was full of libertine little details like that, wearing cologne and men’s watches and wearing vivid red lipstick or spiky heels. In a sea of sorority blondes, she was her own person, even if she was still as “old money” as could be. I admired her bravado.
“Great. I’ll text you tomorrow.”
When I turn around, Ty is already staring at me. Uh, oh….
“What was that?” he asks as I walk up to him. “Was that her? The girl you dated?”
I look away.
“It was! You acted so…familiar with her!”
I take a quick breath to buy some time, then try to steady my voice. “Hey. Come on. I was just talking.”
“I’ll say. Why didn’t you introduce me?”
“Oh, be real – you know that would’ve been weird. You have to give me time. I don’t know what this is any more than you do.”
His face goes slack. “You fucked me. You like guys now. That’s what this is.”
“Ty! I thought I was straight a few weeks ago. Look at it from my eyes.”
“Well, I have news for you: the other night you were moaning my name.”
I look away. “Ty. Stop. Please don’t talk like that.”
He turns, grabs his temples, breathes. “Okay. Sorry. This is hard for me, too. I’m falling for someone who could leave me for some chick any day.”
“You’re falling for me?”
“Isn’t it obvious?”
“Well, no. Nothing with you is ever obvious.”
“You are like the sun. You are all I see,” he says plainly. I don’t know what to say to that, because it makes me feel like I’m drowning in blue eyes. “Look. I won’t make you choose,” he says soon. “I’m not like that. This is your own journey. But just don’t disrespect me. That’s all I ask.”
He turns for our area again. But the defeat in his eyes terrifies me, and I realize I need to make it up to him. So after we return to our booth, I slide up next to him and rest a hand on his cock under the table, making sure Caro is nowhere in sight.
“Hey,” he says, looking down. “What is it?”
“I want you down my throat,” I murmur. His eyes expand.
“What?”
“I want to taste your cum, baby. I want it all over my face. We’re dating and I want my man’s dick in my mouth, no matter what happens tomorrow. I want to taste you right now.”
He glances at his friends as I feel his dick grow. “We’ll be right back,” he tells them as we both get up and rush to the bathroom.
~
I throw open the door and kiss him right next to the sink, the thumping Drake song spilling in through the doorway adding an erotic sort of urgency to our kiss that I haven’t felt before. Ever. I’ve never wanted anyone this much, and the crazy thing is, I want him more and more all the time. This is proving that. His body is a party I don’t want to leave. In fact, all the sex we’ve been having doesn’t feel vulgar or like overkill at all – in fact, it doesn’t even feel like sex. It just feels like an extension of our joy. This thing we’re creating between ourselves, that thing that lives in the silence – it’s breathing. We have to nourish it.
“You sure?” he asks breathlessly as we fall against the wall. “Ugh, thank God nobody was in here just now.”
“Of course I’m sure,” I breathe, as the smell of his skin overcomes my senses. I need to taste
the salty twang of his cock, and I need it now. “And even if somebody was in here – I’d make them watch. Now get in the stall. And keep the lights on – I want to look at what I’m sucking.”
We disappear into a stall, which thankfully isn’t that messy. He hunches on top of the commode. I smile up at him as he starts pulling at my hair, and I can’t help myself – I’ve been having so many fantasies of this moment, where I whip him out. So I unstrap his belt, pull down the front of his pants, and just smell him for a second. It’s so musky and masculine, so unlike anything I’ve ever experienced before. And I love it. When I tuck a finger under the edge of his underwear and pull down, his cock springs out, and I feel something deep inside me that tells me I could literally do this every day of my life. I’m addicted to this.
“Fuck, you’re so handsome,” he whispers. “How did I get this lucky?”
“I’m the lucky one. It blows my mind that you see me like you do. Now I’m gonna blow you.”
I start flicking my tongue against his large, thick head. He’s already leaking, and he tastes better than ever before. It crosses my mind that a month ago I’d never kissed a man, and here I am, sucking dick in a gay bar – it’s like I’ve been Freaky Friday’d into another life entirely. I laugh and start licking him more intensely.
“Ugh,” he says his eyes roll back. “I’m gonna come, slow down. You turn me on like crazy. I started pre-coming the second I saw you in that suit, I swear…”
Instead I wrap my hands around his base and shove his length down my throat. I got my tonsils out when I was eleven, so I don’t gag as I take him deeper and deeper, struggling for air, but for some reason I love the discomfort. How could he be mad at anyone that could deep-throat him like this? All I want is to serve him.