by Rodd Clark
He wasn’t sure that his parents had not already suspected something unusual about his orientation, since he’d never been engaged and had rarely introduced them to women in his life. But he knew they would never broach the subject directly with him; that would be a taboo subject and a minefield his mother would never willingly cross . . . even with a few glasses of Chardonnay under her belted cocktail dress.
Trying to describe the essence of his childhood to Gabriel, he suspected it was something strange for him to hear. They were polar opposites by their upbringing, and he hesitated on even reciting stories about his rigid parents since Gabriel’s stories held such darker edges. How could he explain the frosty way his father had been with him after hearing Gabriel offer dismal stories of his father’s abuse and the mental anguish he’d constructed?
But Gabriel didn’t take offense at the stories; instead, he lapped them up with a smile and an eager excitement with follow-up questions like: “Do you think your dad would understand your newfound lust for the male form?”
He chuckled as he asked, begging the bigger question of whether Bennett Church would understand his own son becoming a fag?
They walked the city streets with unplanned expectation, peering into shops and bakeries along the way. It was a casual afternoon of killing time, and with every block they strolled, they pushed the earlier emotions further back. Gabriel had a way of physical contact when he spoke; he would poke a joke into Christian’s ribs with a hearty laugh, or he would place his hand on a shoulder or in the center of his back if he spotted something he wanted to share. Every time he made the gesture of kinship with Christian, the writer’s heart would race, ever so slightly. Having such a stunning man be so enwrapped with you could be intoxicating. He’d never been on the receiving end of such admiration himself, nor had he ever given as much as he’d been granted before now. It made for a pleasant walk, and both men laughed more than they had in years.
They passed a patio bar, and Gabriel turned to his friend with a glimmer in his eyes. “Hey, do you know any gay bars in the vicinity? I’ve only been in one so far, but I think I’d like to have a drink, that is if you can find one.”
The prospect seemed intriguing. Although Christian had been in gay bars with friends from college, he’d never visited one with someone who looked like Gabe. He wondered what affect walking into a club with a studly creature would do to his ego, deciding the experiment might be worth examination. But he wasn’t familiar with the area, particularly with trying to find a gay bar.
“Not sure we will find one, but we can try. Let’s keep our eyes peeled for a place. Just look for a window with too many hanging ferns. Remember you can’t tell by just looking on a man’s ring finger now, cuz now you don’t know which state he mighta been married in—it could be Washington or it could be Idaho.” They both chuckled at the absurdity. It was a new world, and they weren’t the only ones feeling their growing pains.
It was true. To the naked, undiscerning eye they were two Joes simply walking down the streets side by side, neither appeared outwardly or flamboyantly gay, but their differences in size and carriage made them uniquely interesting to watch. It was in their informal camaraderie and the way they leaned in to talk that made them appear like casual lovers hitting the town. For Christian, this was a comforting feeling, and although he’d never felt the gay panic of walking down a crowded street before with a fear of reprisal, he knew if it happened, he was with someone who could hold his own. He couldn’t imagine anyone dumb enough to fuck with them, or call out derogatory implications of “cocksucking queers on their knees”; after all, he was walking with a cold-blooded killer, and anyone stupid enough to hazard an altercation, would find themselves in greater danger than they could’ve ever foreseen.
He observed women turning their heads with satisfied smiles as Church passed. He had to wonder what it was like to be so beautiful and so desirable. He saw men’s heads turn as well; the hungry anticipation and sexual longing displayed in their eyes. Christian understood he was a handsome man; his Roman features and the delicate symmetry of his face wasn’t undetectable when he shaved every morning, but it was different in Gabriel’s company. It was more than just being handsome or pretty—Gabriel was an awe-inspiring study of perfection.
They didn’t have to walk very far before they stumbled onto a club both easily recognized as gay. The Pony Bar and Patio was a throwback from the 70s. A renovated gas station sitting on East Madison, it was clearly a gay disco dive even from a quarter block away. The music blasted onto the street and the crowds heading in seemed a hodgepodge of unique characters. Church turned to his companion and beamed an enticing grin: he was fearless, thought Christian. Nothing seemed to intimidate him. They both broke out in an excited snigger, and they quickened their pace to reach the main entrance.
It was a tiny bar but filled to capacity, even at that early hour. Everyone was bouncing to music or engaged in loud conversations at the bar. Masculine men wearing faded jeans and torn T-shirts stood in every corner. But still the crowd was interlaced with twinks in skinny jeans and flashy tank tops, holding glow sticks in one hand and a drink in the other. There was a scattering of inebriated females hanging with some men, but Christian couldn’t tell if they were dykes or just fag hags. The place was filled with artificial fog and spinning reflections from a disco ball hanging above the dance floor. The DJ booth exploded with lights, and there was the raucous sound of songs from the height of disco. A typical retro bar, thought Christian. But to his eyes, everyone was too young to remember the epoch of disco, at least remembering it as it was.
Gabriel took the lead and grabbed Christian’s hand in his then weaved carelessly through the throngs of people. He headed in the direction of the bar, nodding and smiling at each individual he passed. A child discovering Christmas, he seemed transformed. Christian watched as he was pulled along excitedly; he smiled as he observed men from every niche in the bar begin to take notice of the strangers who’d just arrived.
The bartender was a studly man in his mid-twenties. He was wearing only tight white underwear and combat boots. Black calligraphy tattooed his ribcage with some sentimental devotion to someone who’d passed away, and he smiled a toothy grin as Gabriel reached the bar first.
“What’ll it be, hot stuff?”
It would have been impossible for Gabriel to appear nonchalant or indifferent to his surroundings, his infectious grin and shimmering eyes belied any attempt he could’ve made to appear blasé about where he was standing.
“What you drinking, lover?” he asked as he turned to Christian.
It was effervescent to hear someone call him lover, particularly one such as Gabriel. Although Christian had never been the type to wait by the phone, or to need that validation and connection by another soul, he realized now what he’d been missing. He leaned in to Gabriel, allowing their bodies to make physical contact.
“Beer for me, baby.”
“Two Buds for thirsty travelers my man,” Gabriel bellowed out over a smile.
“Weird, huh?” Christian asked, leaning into Gabriel’s ear over the blaring music.
“Weird being here, you mean?” Church asked. “I think it’s cool. I also think it’s what we needed all along.”
Scoping out the bar, the killer’s eyes seemed drawn from area to area. He was surveying all the clientele with an inquisitive eye. Christian could see he was wondering why it had taken him so long to try a gay club. Christian pulled a ten spot from his jeans and tossed it on the bar, he didn’t know what beers cost in such an establishment, but it didn’t matter, he was fully stimulated by the experience. The bartender whisked away the money after dropping off two cold beers on the counter as he turned and headed down to the other end to check on other patrons. Christian could see he wasn’t pleased to see the stranger had already gotten paired off with a date, dashing any hope of a quick fuck later.
Strolling through the tiny establishment, they walked hand in hand, turning to look at every
thing like out-of-town tourists. Christian, for one, had never been comfortable with public displays of affection before then, but in this instance it seemed promising. He liked knowing others saw them as a couple, regardless of the disheartened expressions on a few faces in the crowds. Knowing they didn’t stand a chance picking up his companion.
They stood by the dance floor watching younger patrons spinning reckless to the music; all appeared high but outwardly triumphant. They were young and filled with abandon, and Christian wasn’t so ancient that he couldn’t understand that. It hadn’t been so very long ago that he’d felt the same youthful jubilation with something as genuine and inherent as being young and alive and unrestrained.
“You dance?” he asked Gabriel, even though he suspected the answer.
“I have.” Gabriel smiled up at him as he leaned over the railing that divided the dance floor from a path of heavy foot traffic. That was surprising to the writer; Gabriel didn’t appear the type to move ungraciously around a dance floor. The image it created forced a chortle to bubble up from deep inside.
“Don’t laugh, you little shit, I can dance . . . I just haven’t done it in a long while, but don’t ask me when I’m sober—you wouldn’t wanna see that.”
Gabriel was one of the hottest dudes in the bar at that moment; all other eyes seemed to loiter for a split-second in his vicinity. But there was a tall fucker dancing that everyone seemed equally fixated upon. He wasn’t as attractive as Gabriel, but his obvious erection drew focus from the multitude of guys standing in awe by the floor. He had an enormous cock snaked down his pant leg for all to view; even his dickhead was easily distinguishable through his tight denim jeans. He had stripped off his shirt and waved it around like some gay flag. His eyes were glassy from too much booze, and his manner told you how fucked up he truly was. But his endowment drew much attention, and Christian wondered how anyone so drunk could get such an impressive erection. He surmised he had to be on something vaguely pharmaceutical.
There were two young males and one girl dancing around him—obviously they were from friends. They raised their hands in joyous uproar at the music, lost in their own chemical-induced euphoria. Others seemed fascinated by his dancing, or more likely the denim covered python reaching to his mid-thigh. Christian observed how others where whispering and smiling at the image of the horny man in his mid-thirties losing his mind on the dance floor. Everyone seemed drawn to the picture of him, except Gabriel.
“See anything you like?” Gabriel whispered over the music as he stroked Christian’s hand on the railing.
“I got what I want.”
“You know you do, baby. Most of these assholes are butt ugly . . . even duct tape couldn’t mask these unattractive drunks.”
“But it could muffle the sound when they try to talk,” Christian offered with a slight smile before instantly regretting what he’d said, wishing he could’ve pulled back his meaningless joke before his words hung in the air. He was conversing with a murderer, and he’d simply forgotten that. The reality hit him squarely in the face; he was in a place where even trivial quips could offer something darkly evocative and dangerous to someone like Gabriel. He relaxed only when his friend chuckled back absently, “You sick bastard,” then turned his gaze elsewhere.
“This bar is filled with cum-dumpster queers and fag hags, but for some reason . . . I think I like it,” Gabriel mused. His reflection came out unintentionally harsh, but at least he’d broken the stillness surrounding Christian’s unfortunate remark about duct tape. His head turned this way, then that; he seemed rapt with every sight and sound, making Christian wonder how different this place must be for Gabriel than any random pool bar filled with biker outlaws, meth-heads, or lowlifes.
Standing by the DJ booth, Christian noticed all the soft-core, erotic, black and white photos plastered to the wall behind him. Each scantily clad model appeared a ghost from the 70s. Every seductive smile slightly hidden under a bushy mustache, and every man proudly displaying an unshaven chest. All were wearing jockstraps or posing pouches under cowboy hats and biker caps. There was a great deal of history he’d missed out on, but the images on the wall represented men who wouldn’t stand a chance in today’s fast-paced world. The dichotomy of 70s soft-core porn against trending hipsters staring into their phones and playing on GRINDR, making arrangements for quick unattached sex with strangers, made the writer feel old and outdated, older than he was in years. There was a lot of good in our modern, technological age, but he had to wonder at what cost?
Gabriel downed the backwash of his Budweiser, and both men headed back to the front and to that attractive and nearly naked bartender. Faces turned to watch, as they were strangers in a strange land. The Pony was a tiny bar with friendly regulars, but whenever a new possibility walked through those double doors, heads would spin and their interest pique. Gabriel received smiles from everyone he passed, but Christian only noticed the hungry anticipation and longing in their features, and he quickly closed the gap between them like a jealous dog marking his territory.
Gabriel paid for their beers, surprising Christian. Maybe this was his way of getting face time with the young server, because the glint in his eyes became clear insinuation of flirting. His butch companion’s eyes darted from head to toe along the bartender’s frame, lingering for too long at the young man’s skimpy underwear and significant package. He accepted both bottles with one hand and returned the young man’s smile with his own contagious grin. The hairs on the nape of Christian’s neck breathed into life.
“Don’t poke the bear,” he whispered in Gabriel’s direction as he accepted his cold bottle over his own smirking grin.
“How do your pretty blue eyes turn to green so quickly?” Gabriel asked with a sneer. “So you up for a three-way? Then again maybe you can’t handle competition?”
Christian scowled in his direction, but he understood he was being played with and nodded as if he were considering the proposal.
“Sure . . . Bartender Boy, or do you have someone else in mind?”
Gabriel batted at his prey with delicate paws.
“No, not him, fish in a barrel that one. I was thinking about someone else. How would you feel if it was female?” Gabe’s head went down, appearing as if he were trying to avoid the barrage of buckshot-spray he anticipated. To Christian, he seemed fearless. “I’d even let you choose the pussy.”
Even dated disco, playing loudly from every corner speaker couldn’t displace the silence creeping between them. Christian knew how Gabriel liked to force a shocking revelation, it was one of his favorite pastimes, but it spoke to real concerns. And even a simple, teasing jest had overtones that Christian would one day have to address.
“Sounds like a plan, but remember I get to choose the woman and the place where we get it on.”
Christian was learning to be the same intrepid, plucky force of nature his companion was. Learning the same fearless approach to life. And now it was Gabriel’s turn to be shocked. He tried to cover it with another audacious smile; still, nothing had been lost on the writer, who grinned back. His own metaphysical line in sand—and it had been his toe that drew it.
Game, Set, Match!
Until recently, Gabriel had only known the intimacies of women, and Christian was no virgin, but it had been years since he’d been with anyone. For him, the last time had been after a work-related social event. He’d met a lovely young woman with a short bob of auburn hair. He was drawn to her pale, creamy skin and the way she mastered her environment. It was easy to admire others who didn’t share your personal faults, and catching sight of her balancing her obvious charms and sitting smack dab in the center of an appreciative crowd had captivated him.
They had been drinking throughout the party, and the girl started weaving closer to Christian with her tongue darting over fleshly lips. It hadn’t taken long before they found themselves sharing a cab back to Christian’s loft. They were barely inside before she wriggled out of her cocktail dress and Chri
stian fumbled with his belt-buckle under the influence of too many glasses of wine and bourbon and Cokes. There was a promise of wet warmth with passionate kisses as they stumbled and fell onto the bed while he was removing his slacks.
She bucked and whimpered with his every thrust. Maybe due to the alcohol, or his newness for hook-ups, he was able to prolong their communion until he finally sensed her climax and she fizzled with satisfaction. The awkward morning after was tedious, but she graciously slipped into the shower and out the door early in the a.m., and Christian decided the next time he was with a woman, he’d insist they go to her place. He might be newly minted and recently out of the box . . . but he was learning fast.
Gabriel’s proposal had to be considered, but fucking a woman, and one watching you get fucked, were two separate things. He feigned interest in the crowds as he and Gabriel weaved through the throng of drunken folks, his mind playing out a scenario in his head about sex with Gabriel and a “yet unnamed” partner. What he hadn’t considered, when Gabriel asked him about sharing a bed with someone else, was a tenacious statement that had never occurred to him, one where he could have simply said: “No . . . not today.”