Date: Fri, 9 Mar 2018 11:23:13 -0500
From: Bill <mgtbill@aol.com>
Subject: DYLAN'S JUNIOR YEAR SUMMER     Chapter 27

DYLAN'S SUMMER FOLLOWING HIS COLLEGE JUNIOR YEAR

Chapter  27

by  Donny  Mumford


It's Saturday night and I'm sitting in Hayden's bedroom with my face
feeling very different; and not in a good way either. It's almost
nine-thirty by the time Hayden gets done putting make-up on me and, while
I'd love to bitch about how stupid this is, I'm eliminating all negativity
tonight. Not a peep of negativity from me because Danny asked me nicely to
go along with Hayden's make-up idea. Also I'm flying solo without Rob so
this is their show, Danny's and Hayden's. So far it isn't ringing any bells
for me but then Rob and I never do this kind of shit. As dumb as it is I
actually force a smile when Hayden looks over, saying, "Your make-up turned
out fantastic, Dylan. Honestly!" Sounds like he's trying to talk himself
into believing that. I give him a 'thumbs-up' gesture. What the hell,
they're both good guys...

I'm bored to the core while these two are excited about wearing women's
make-up and going to the Green Room club and whatever its called. Okay, so
it's all strange to me but it probably would seem strange to them how I get
excited about guys getting haircuts!  I wouldn't be bored then, but wearing
make-up is a big YAWN!!  It's a different stokes for different folks
thingie. Whatever, I am glad Hayden's finished with my make-up. See, I'm
concentrating on the positives.

Occasionally I'll glance over at Hayden as he's making-up Danny's face and
then I think, 'making-up'... is that the only terminology applicable to
what Hayden's doing? It's probably not, but it's a topic I'm unfamiliar
with. Is it redundant, for example, to say, cosmetic make-up? I'd assume
there's some difference between being 'made-up' as an alien in a movie, for
example, and the normal make-up that some men, and almost all women in this
part of the world wear routinely. So there's probably a word for each kind
of 'making-up' although I don't know what it is. I could Google it of
course except I don't give a shit basically, so I won't bother. See what
I'm reduced to here? Thinking about shit like that! Oh man!

And I'm not trolling guys like Hayden who know how to do 'make-up', or the
men who choose to wear it. There's no disapproval or approval from me about
that. The truth is I don't care one way or the other. Well, with the one
major exception being I don't care to wear make-up myself. That's all. Some
say tomato and some say 'tamaaato'. The second group are obviously
pretentious asshole but far be it from me to be critical of them.

So I sit here bored wearing my make-up. Hayden and Danny are wearing it
too, and we're wearing it because we're going to a gay club tonight. A
person thinking negatively might ask, why does one thing necessarily mean
the other? Isn't it possible to go to a gay club sans make-up? Ya know, a
negative person might think that the gay club is just an excuse Hayden and
Danny have come up with for wearing make-up. I've never been to this, Green
Gay Club, or Green-something Club, so maybe I'm wrong and everyone going
there wears make-up. Me going there in the first place is most definitely
my second choice for doing something tonight. My first choice was not
going, but we've got our little four-gay-guy group and we do stuff
together, so...

If Rob was with us it'd be different, but he's not. He's in Westborough
straightening out some company mess and won't be home until sometime
Sunday. Its as simple as this: tonight is a big deal for Hayden, not me. He
can let loose and be flamboyantly gay for the night. If Danny has zero
problem with that, why should I have a problem with it?  In fact Danny's
apparently enjoying it, so I don't want to be the wet blanket and spoil
their good moods. Consequently I'm sitting here with my bangs dyed purple
and make-up on my face. I'd have zero problem with the concept of going to
this gay club wearing make-up if it didn't include me. Bottom line: being
the uncomplaining-team-player that I am, I'm going along for the ride and
keeping any and all negativity about this dumb-ass shit under wraps.

I must say though that make-up feels like shit on my face. No, literally,
it does. Oh sure, that comment could be misconstrued a negative
exaggeration, so I'll try again: make-up doesn't feel good on my face. It
feels unnatural and I've always wondered how woman put up with it. Glancing
over at the boys; both are chuckling about something I missed, probably due
to my musings of a positive nature. Those two are having fun, so that's
nice for them. Its not all about me..

Omigod, look at that disgusting bowl with the dried-up glop of salsa and
those horrid corn chips! I've never understood how anyone can like corn
chips. And that's not a negative thought either. It's a reasonable
opinion... one many others probably agree with.

So here I sit resisting the urge to look at myself in the mirror
again. This is a very different experience for me and, honest to God, I am
trying to make it a positive one if only because of the novelty of it. I've
tried a lot of things simply for the novelty of it. Unfortunately most of
those 'tries' I've never tried again. Once was either enough or, more
likely, once was once too often.

Hayden used black make-up on his face, a Gothic look I guess you could
say. Huh, I was under the impression Gothic's been out of style for a
generation or so, but what do I know?. More likely I'm out of style. For my
face he used make-up in shades of purple which Hayden called a name other
than purple. Whatever it's called it's the predominant color for the
make-up on my lips and fingernails and a touch of blush on my cheeks,
whatever 'blush' is. I'm just parroting what Hayden said. This shade of
purple supposedly plays off the blue of my eyes. He used dark brown eyebrow
pencil and eyeliner and something ever else around my eyes, also supposedly
to make my eyes look bluer and it actually does although they were plenty
blue enough for me to start with.

As I curiously glance over at the make-up area I see that fucking spotlight
right on poor Danny's face. He has little choice but to keep his eyes shut
as I hear Hayden name the color he's applying around Danny's eyes and it
sounded like he said... 'teal'. Yeah, I've heard that word before except
green is the color of the make-up Hayden's using. I probably misheard
him. Poor Hayden! He told me he wants to be a make-up artist for a
Hollywood Studio someday, as his life's work he means. That sounds like a
long-shot ambition to me. How many make-up artists do they need in
Hollywood? On the other hand, I assume there are many women's, um, beauty
shops, or whatever they're called that need make-up artist. In any case
I'll root him on to become whatever kind of make-up artist he
chooses. Maybe he'll be a Hollywood legend before his career there is
done. Yeah, and maybe my dick will grow over night too. Oops, was that
negative? I don't think it was.

I'll be rooting for Hayden's make-up success for real because mostly I
think he's very likable, and Danny too! Yeah, they're a likable duo if
slightly loony about women's make-up. Anyway, because I'm becoming fond of
those two I'm keeping legitimate negativity to myself tonight and doing an
excellent job of that thus far. It's challenging but worthwhile. And I'm
also agree with Danny in hoping this is an especially fun evening for
Hayden; I really am. So far it apparently has been as he's obviously having
mucho fun making-over Danny's and my faces. That's what Hayden calls it, a
make-over. It'd be a shame if I took the shine off the evening by acting
grumpily negative just because I was bored to tears and felt like a goofy
jackass wearing this hideous make-up tonight. Okay yeah, that sounded ever
so slightly negative. Watch it, Dylan!

Both Danny and I allowed Hayden to dye our hair odd colors but it's
supposedly temporary hair dye that washes-out with one or two shampoos. I
intend doing one shampoo right after the other tomorrow morning to test
that claim. Hayden only dyed my bangs in an off-shade of purple that, like
I mentioned, he calls something else besides purple. Doesn't matter what he
calls it, it's still purple.

Actually I got a little bit lucky with the hair dye situation with him only
dying my front hairs. I heard Hayden say he's dyeing Danny's entire head of
hair that green color. There's a potential problem later on with my hair,
besides the dye, I mean. Yeah, Hayden took barber scissors and cut my
bangs. He cut them shorter on the left side and then much shorter on the
right side leaving the middle their original length. Very brazen of him,
but did I complain? Nope, I kind of admired his brass-balls for doing
that. Actually it was his Mom, Tinker, who suggested it. Continuing my
positivity tonight, my bangs do look cooler than before now that Hayden's
brushed them up and over to the right side. Maybe the hair dye's is the
reason the bangs comb over better now. It remains to be seen what they'll
look like without the dye. If it still looks good I'll be neutral about it,
but if it looks fucked-up I'm telling Rob it wasn't me who authorized the
haircutting. And it wasn't! It's all Hayden's fault, or Tinker's.

Oh shit, can I believe my ears? I just heard Hayden tell Danny he's getting
red lipstick 'with an orange overtone' on his lips and the same color for
his fingernails. That's an in-your-face color... RED!  Basically it's the
traditional lipstick color I guess. You see the big bright red lipstick on
really old pictures of women like Marilyn Monroe and lots of others. Red
lipstick and fingernails for Danny. Whoa, better him than me! Danny has no
objection to anything of course. Nothing Hayden's doing upsets Danny, just
like Danny had no objections to the very short haircut Rob gave him a
couple of nights ago. Green hair and red lipstick... no fucking problem,
not as far as Danny's concerned! He really is a good guy though.

I wonder what it's like being as laid back as Danny?  Yeah, but there's a
limit to what I'll tolerate and the colors Hayden's chosen for Danny's
make-up is right up against that limit. Oh that's right, Hayden says the
color he's using for Danny is 'teal', not green, and the 'red with an
orange overtone' along with that 'teal' color play off Danny's brown
eyes. Get fucking real! If those colors play off anything it's that fucking
multicolored electrifying bright Tommy Bahamas shirt Danny's wearing. That
shirt has some of the same colors on it that are on his face. I need
another beer and maybe another shot of that blue-something Scotch. Another
shot of what Hayden and I had before he fucked-up my face; I meant to
say... made-up my face.

Hayden's wearing black cutoff jeans, cut-off so they're like
shorty-shorts. For a shirt, he has on a silky black dress-shirt with the
tails tied in from and opened to his belly button showing off his skinny
hairless chest. A necklace hangs between his pecs with two dog-tags that
have 'GAY' engraved on one and 'PRIDE' engraves on the other.  Danny's
wearing tan cargo shorts and high-top sneakers without socks to go with his
outlandish shirt that will have guys putting sunglasses on when they see
him coming. I'm wearing a very tight green sleeveless T-shirt and cargo
shorts. The T-shirt is not one of those wife-beater T-shirts with straps
over the shoulders. I hate those things. My shirt is a regular T-shirt but
without sleeves. So what I'm saying is, none of us are dressed what you'd
call 'outlandishly'. It's our faces that are outlandish. I'd feel a
thousand-percent better if we went to the club wearing what we're wearing
minus the make-up. Do I make this point to my two partners-in-crime though?
Nope, that negativity stays in my pocket with all the rest.

Hayden's finishing-up with Danny, and without doing any hair cutting on his
bangs! Well what the fuck is that all about? My bangs get cut, but not his
boyfriend's bangs? Hmmm, is Hayden showing some partiality there? That
thought stays in my pocket too. Fuck it, I look around for something to
nibble on and eye the Buffalo Wing platter that's now a celery-stick-
platter. Did you know you lose calories eating celery. Yep, I read that the
energy involved in chewing celery burns up more calories than there is in
the celery you just ate. Of course you'd need to eat an entire field of
celery to notice a weight loss, but I digress. I'm not eating the celery
from the hot wings platter and the only other thing to munch on are the
aforementioned left-over corn chips that Danny somehow overlooked on the
salsa platter, which I'm not eating either.

Here's a positive thought: Tinker, Hayden's Mom, was nice enough to provide
us with those snacks along with the three beers we've each had so far. I
had my share of Buffalo Wings and they we're exceptionally good, but the
corn chips and salsa I find to be a gross-tasting snack although Hayden and
Danny disagreed and ate the whole damn bowl. I don't know how anybody eats
that shit although many people do so I guess I'm in the minority again. Is
that Mexican food, by the way? Not that there's anything wrong with Mexican
food. Well, I've never had any but I see Mexican restaurants popping up all
over the place so somebody must like it..

Hayden steps back, and goes, "That's it, Danny, perfection!" Danny
stands-up, grinning and saying to Hayden, "Let me have that mirror, babe."
He gets the mirror and laughs when he sees himself, but it's not a negative
or scornful laugh; not at all. Quite the contrary, he goes, "You've outdone
yourself, Hayden. It's awesome make-up, dude!" Has he been sniffing glue?
Doesn't he see what I see? Hayden's transformed him from a good-looking
young guy to a, um, garish-looking young guy. Oh no, was that another
negative take! I'm rejecting it as inappropriate and out of
place. Positivity is tricky territory though, so I gotta watch myself!

Actually, here's another positive thought, or sort of one: my make-up is
almost conservative compared to Hayden's and Danny's. Hayden's beauty-mark
is so over-the-top and Danny's red lipstick and, oh never mind!! Of course
I do not mention any of that to the guys. Instead I'm working on getting a
smile on my face. It's not going real well so far but then Tinker's back
smelling of bourbon and dressed for her date tonight. She's carrying her
cellphone and wearing many layers of frills that partially cover what
appears to be a off-white with pink overtones ballet outfit. From Hayden I
learned the word 'overtone' tonight, as it applies to colors. Every little
bit of knowledge is worth storing in your brain because you never know when
it might come in handy.

Mrs. Parks dresses funny, but she's an energetic supporter of her son and
she seems the type person who's nice to everyone and is always 'up'. She's
very small too and has a grin and a smile identical to Hayden's very cute
rendition of both. Or I should say his grin and smile are duplicates of his
Mom's. She came first! Bottom line, Hayden's mother is very likable, her
booze breath notwithstanding, and I'm happy for both mother and son. They
also make me feel a little sad too, although I'm not sure why that is.

Tinker takes pictures with her smart phone. Two pictures of all three of us
guys, and then one each of Hayden and me, and then Hayden and Danny
together, and then one of me and Danny together, our arms across each
other's shoulders, and lastly a selfie of her and Hayden. She seems so
proud of Hayden, and he of her. Fuck, yeah I could get a tear in my fucking
eye for those two. I'm too emotional, but then I already knew that.

Leaving Hayden's bedroom us guys take our made-up faces downstairs with me
carrying four empty beer bottles, Danny carrying the other two beer bottles
and the disgusting salsa and corn chip bowl, and then Hayden has the celery
platter which used to be the Buffalo Wings platter before the three of us
ate every wing and most of the Ranch dressing. In the kitchen Tinker takes
over the clean-up, shooing us guys out, "Go on downstairs and have another
beer, boys. I'll call, Hayden, when Ralph's here to pick me up. I want him
to see you three and the artistry of my darling son." Uh huh, really?

With a beer each the three of us go down to the unfinished basemen, the
scene of our three-way sex-a-thon which is what we talk and laugh about
initially. I mean, the scene was so bizarre with that fucking old chaise
lounge and the full bathroom in this unfinished basement. Oh fuck, and
there's someone' cum stains on the floor and, ha ha ha... it goes like that
with us laughing at crazy stuff. I'm on my fourth beer and I had that shot
of Scotch with Hayden but it's odd I'm not feeling drunk at all. Probably
the adrenaline excitement of my 'make-over'. Oh no you don't, you negative
bastard! I put that thought in my pocket with the rest.

Still talking about the three-way sex topic, nodding his head at me, Hayden
says to Danny, "What a thrill it was getting to top, Dylan. That might have
been the best three-way since, and blah, blah, blah..." I don't have much
to say because, not for the first time tonight, I'm feeling a little like
the odd guy out here. Hayden and Danny are always next to each other with
Danny touching or hugging or leaving his arm across Hayden's shoulders and,
I know... Danny does it with everyone. It's different somehow the way he
does it with Hayden though, and it should be. I've no problem with
it. There's little things they do and say though that makes them chuckle,
references from their long history together that I'm clueless about. I
sense nothing overt, like they're purposely ignoring me, nothing like
that. It's just that they have a seven-or-eight-year history together and
my history with them is just a month-or-six-weeks... whatever. I'm feeling
the disconnect a little. Most of my connection with both of them has been
me and one of them; not the three of us together the way it is tonight.

Almost done our beers, Tinker calls down to Hayden, "Darling, brings your
boyfriends up so Ralph can see your make-up artistry." Hayden goes, "Show
time! Let's go boys, up the stairs you go! I want to show you off as my
models." Danny chuckles, and says, "Should I go first, Hayden, and do a
slow model-thing by turning completely around when I get up there?" Hayden
says, "No, I want both of you going upstairs together, heh heh... and, um,
7 hold hands and bow when you get up there and then, still holding hands
stand at attention so Ralph can examine you closely." I'm frowning big-time
and getting seriously pissed-off at these two nut-case clowns.

Danny goes, "We'll wait for the applause to die down after your Mom and her
boyfriend walk around us and probably Ralph will goose Dylan and when you
come upstairs we'll bow to you like the great artist you are..."  My eyes
are popping outta my fucking head as Danny grins, taking my hand, asking
me, "Ready, babe?"  Disgusted, I pull my hand away, saying, "Are you two
out of your fucking minds? If you think for one-second that I'm parading
around for some man, and do whatever the fuck this is supposed to be,
you've got..." I've had it, but I'm getting tongued-toed I'm so pissed-off.

Looking around the basement flapping my arms at the outrageousness of their
idiocy, I go, "I'll go right in that fucking bathroom and wash this shit
off my face so fast your lipstick will, um, smear on your fucking faces!
You both are way, way, way too far out in left field for me. I'm calling a
fucking cab!" I pull my cellphone out too fast and drop it, yelling, "This
is so fucking way-past cringeworthy it's, um... I can't even tell you what
it is! And if you two can't see it, well you can go fuck yourselves with
this carnival act. I'll fucking call the, um, 911 to report an abduction
or... um... huh?"

They're both looking at me with their mouths open, frowning and making
strange faces. They're speechless as if I appeared out of thin air or
something. I go, "What? I'm just saying, I'm not holding hands and parading
up there like I'm in the freak show at that fictitious carnival I told that
cheerleader at Friendly's... um. Why are you looking at me like that? I'm
just saying...?" Danny quietly asks, "Are you okay, Dylan... buddy? Did the
Buffalo Wings have a strange effect on you, the hot sauce too hot
or...um..." Hayden says, "Dylan, we were kidding around... it's called
joking. We wouldn't do any of that fucked-up stuff. None of it!"

I'm staring at them with reality slipping back into my brain, and thinking,
'Of shit.' Hayden shrugs, "The three of us were just going to walk upstairs
and I was going to be like, "Mom, for God sakes... you're embarrassing us!'
Shit like that." Danny nods his head, muttering, "Seriously, did you
think...?" He's looking at me with a confused expression on his face, as
Hayden adds, "We weren't serious. That was Danny and me joking around like
we do sometimes, saying outrageous nonsense for shits and giggles. We'd
never do anything like... you must think we're awful."

I look at one, and then the other, mumbling, "No, I knew you were fucking
around," I snort out a fake laugh, "Did you think I was serious? Ha ha, no,
you didn't, did you? It was just me doing a comedy shtick, a routine. You
two thought that I thought, um...  Fuck, I knew we weren't going upstairs
holding hands for Tinker's boyfriend to... whatever." Again his Mom yells,
"Hayden, honey! Ralph and I need to leave. C'mon up, please!" I go, "Fuck,
I'll go up first, ha ha! Oh man, you guys!"

They both still have weird expressions on their faces, nodding their heads
and exchanging glances like they need to be wary of crazy me. Hayden starts
up the steps then as Danny hesitates as if he's not sure if I want to go
next or last. We hear Hayden, already upstairs, saying, "Gawd Mom! We're
not freaks you parade around," and then he burst out laughing, saying,
"Well maybe we are a little freaky. Omigod, Dylan thought we were seriously
going to acts like freaks though." Danny and I are upstairs now too with
him tentatively saying, "Yo, Ralph, whassup?' The man, Ralph, smiles
mumbling, "Hi, Danny," and Danny holds his hand out toward me, saying,
"This is Hayden's latest carnival freak, Dylan." Hayden says, "Do a
curtsey, Dylan." I give him a 'look' and then I hold my hand out to this
large man, saying, "Hi, he's correct with my name... anyway." Ralph has a
friendly big smile, "Nice to meet you, Dylan." and then Danny and him do a
quick guy-hug. Ralph says, "Get over here, Hayden," and with a big smile
Hayden and Ralph hug with Hayden getting a kiss on top of his head from
this large man.

Mrs. Parks, says, "What was all that screaming in the cellar all about?
Ralph and I were about to run outta the house it was so scary." Ralph is at
least six-foot-nine-inches-tall and broad across, but with a flat
stomach. I'm guessing he's in his middle-fifties, although he still has all
his hair and it's still dark, not gray, so it's hard to tell his age for
sure. Next to him Mrs. Parks looks like a little girl, a little girl with
touch of progeria. Ralph is friendly with not an especially attractive
face, as he says, "If you boys get too drunk tonight, call me. I'll give
you a ride home from that gay club you insist on frequenting. And stay away
from the gays!" Hayden, his Mom, and Danny chuckle so I force out a chuckle
too.

I'm still discombobulated because in the basement I thought they were
serious, and I'm still not sure they weren't... at least initially. That
may be a huge rationalization on my part to justify me losing my shit down
there. I can only be expected to go along with so much. Oh sure, they'll
probably misinterpret my manic reaction as being negative, but come on!

Mrs. Parks says, "Well Ralph, what do you think of Hayden's artistry?" He
shrugs, and goes, "I've never been big on wearing women's make-up myself so
it's kinda hard for me to spin this the way you want, Tinker. Um, under the
make-up I see some handsome boys. How's that?" She hits his big arm with
her tiny hand, saying, "Oh you! Don't listen to him, boys, you all look
marvelous!" Hayden says, "We know, Mom. Um, where are you and my favorite
lumberjack going tonight?" Ralph says, "To a party at Lucy's Backdoor. One
of the barmaids got engaged. Don't wait up for us kids, and call me if you
need me." Hayden kisses his Mom goodbye and then Danny pecks her cheek as
I'm backing up until I hit the door jam to the kitchen.

They leave with a wave and then Danny's saying to Hayden and me, "Christ,
we're gonna be drunk before we even leave." I say, "Let's just stay here
hanging-out and getting drunk. Whaddaya say?" Hayden goes, "We say nay to
that, ya crazy pretty boy." And then he sounds real gay, putting on his
lisping 'overtones', saying. "Danny, whaddaya say to us finishing these
beers and we'll go to the club early." Early? It's after ten o'clock and
the club's a forty-minute drive from here. I go, "Do you think that guy
Ralph is a good option if we're too drunk to drive later on?" Hayden
guffaws, and then says, "No! Ralph's a huge boozer. He'll be doing shots
and beers all night and then they'll take a cab home." I go, "Ralph will
spend the night?" Hayden shrugs, "Probably, why?" It's my turn to shrug,
muttering, "Oh, nothing."

Hey, a cab! That'll be how we get back from this fucking club. That's a
load off my mind. It's probably gonna be a hundred-dollar cab ride but that
works-out to less than forty-dollars each with a tip. Not too much to pay
to stay alive. We finish our beers and then Danny and I need to sit-down
under that spot-light again so Hayden can do touch-ups on our make-up, and
then touch-up his own face.

Finally though we're out the door into a humid hot night with Danny holding
the keys out to me, saying, "You drive, babe. You hold your booze better
than we do." Hayden snatches the keys, saying, "Danny! I can hold my booze
as good as Dylan. Can't I Dylan?" I mutter, "I guess," and he gets in the
driver's seat of Danny's Mom's new used-car, a Volkswagen, with me getting
in the back, asking, "Do you need a pillow or a phone book or something to
sit on, Hayden?" He laughs out loud with Danny saying, "Dylan! Be nice!"
Hayden catches his breath, saying, "He's fucking kidding, Danny." It's nice
how Danny sticks-up for his boyfriend. I admire that.

Like Danny, Hayden's a bit of a reckless driver. Well make that, he's a
reckless driver, period! Forget the 'bit' part. His driving makes me yearn
for the days when I was in the shotgun seat of Ryan's Mini and he was
traveling five-mile-an-hour under the speed limit, and I mean even when the
posted speed was twenty-five-miles-an-hour on back roads. Drove me nuts but
my life was rarely in danger, except for being rear-ended of course. I
mutter, "We should be driving that ratty old Camaro, Danny, because so what
if Hayden totals that car." He looks back at me, "Mom traded the Camaro in
on this car, and it wasn't 'ratty'!" I shrug, "Sorry, just kidding." He
goes, "How old is your Mom's old Volvo wagon anyway?" I go, "I said I was
fucking sorry, alright?"

Silence for a minute-or-two as my eyes are glued to the road with me
putting the brakes on against the back of Danny's seat every
ten-seconds. Danny looks back, saying, "I'm sorry too, Dylan," and I
mumble, "No problem." A minute later Hayden and Danny are talking
cheerfully about past experiences with Hayden working on overdoing the
lisping 'Esssss' sound making Danny laugh and Hayden even has to laugh at
himself at times.  It's a white-knuckle forty-five-minute ride for me with
my leg aching from braking on the back seat. I have a seatbelt on of course
and for half the ride I was trying to figure out how to get another one
on. The one in the middle didn't quite reach though.

Hayden finally pulls into a huge half-full parking lot. This building I
assume is the Green Grass Club and it looks like either an airplane hanger
hangar or a ginormous warehouse. Hayden almost sideswipes a car pulling
into a tight parking spot. I bite my tongue not to ask why he squeezed in
between these two SUV's when half the fucking lot is empty. The place is
lit up like they're expecting a spaceship landing from another galaxy. Also
there's lots of partying going on outside in the parking lot. At first
glance it looks like a normal twenties-something group, but then I begin
noticing unusual outfits and it begins looking more and more like a gay
parade. One that's getting ready to start marching any minute now. Not that
there's anything wrong with that.

Danny's taking a couple of pictures with his smart-phone as Hayden lisps,
"See, Dylan, this is an early light crowd." I go, "Uh huh," as I get out of
the backseat. We can hear the music from inside which is what some of the
outside guys are dancing to. Walking toward the airplane hangar Hayden
continues his gay affectations, exaggerating a
campy-limp-wrist-mincing-swishy-walk and calling everyone 'sweetie'. He
gets some similar replies from guys who I don't think are putting it on,
certainly not to the extent Hayden is. I try not to, but snort out a laugh
every now and then. I mean, Hayden's act is so absurdly overdone.

As we're approaching the front entrance, I ask, "Why don't these people go
inside?" Danny and Hayden say at the same time, "They will," and then Danny
hugs Hayden against his side, saying, "We said that at exactly the same
time!" I roll my eyes wondering if they're drunk already in which case why
the fuck did we let Hayden drive? We work our way through the crowd that
includes maybe twenty-percent women of various ages. I put my head close to
Danny's, asking, "Fag-hags, and lesbos?" He goes, "And straight girls
too. At least ten-percent of the people in the club tonight are
straight. Maybe more. They know where the party's happening, baby!" And I
get a hug from him. Oh boy, my first hug since we got to Hayden's a few
hours ago now. That seems muuuuch longer ago than a few hours though!

We're standing in a line at the door as my two companions take their
membership cards out, along with their licenses. Hayden drops a lot of his
lisping, telling me, "Dylan, you'll need ID obviously and then they'll try
selling you on the idea of buying a membership. If you don't want to, Danny
and I will take you in as our guest. It's $25 admission for non-members and
$10 for members."

I don't plan on being here very often so I get out a five-dollar-bill and a
twenty. Fuck, it's crazy that we need to pay to go in and buy their
booze. Oh well, it is what it is... deal with it. I tell Hayden, "I'll be
your guest. I don't want a membership." Hesitating a second, knowing I'm
going to say something he may not like, but I say it anyway, "Um, Hayden,
I'm not being critical, but if your gay affectations get any more bizarre
you're going to insult some of these sincere people who act sort of like
that normally. You're making a parody out of it; do you know what I mean?
They'll think you're mocking them and that's not nice." He says, "Some of
my gay affectations, as you call them, are strictly to make Danny laugh,
but I appreciate what you're saying and I think you're right. And it's
really nice of you to think of these other gay guys' feelings." I go, "I'm
mostly thinking someone might knock your teeth down your throat and I'll
feel obliged to step-in and help you losing my teeth in the process." He
laughs out loud, like he often does, and then says, "You're so honest!"

We drop that discussion though because we're near the entrance. There are
two guys at the door; one is the gorilla-bouncer obviously. He looks angry
like he wishes he had a better job. The other is a cool-looking young guy
I'm guessing is this side of twenty-five. He deals with the patrons with a
smile and big pile of money in his left fist. Presently that fist and his
other hand are on the chest of the two skinny, almost certainly gay guys in
front of us. They're both bare-chested and wearing pinkish shorty-shorts
with a LSBT rainbow kerchiefs around their necks and sandals on their feet.

The youngish-looking guy has a hairy chest and the other one who is even
more younger-looking and can't be more than seventeen, has a totally
hairless torso with larger than normal pecs, but not in a good way. That's
a nice way of saying they could pass for tits. Those two are not a hot
couple but they look friendly and a little scared as the guy holding the
money is telling the lads, "I fucking know neither of you are twenty-one
and that your ID is fake, but somehow you have membership cards with yours
names and descriptions so I'm letting you in, but I'll be watching you
both!" The hairy one, with a lisp in his voice, says, "I sure as shit hope
you'll lets us in, Ricky, since you just sold us the membership cards," and
all three of them laugh. Ricky pats both their asses as the two underage
gay boys sashay through the double doors with the gorilla-bouncer eyeing
them carefully, obviously not in on the joke.

We're next and Ricky laughs out loud pointing at me and then pointing over
his shoulder at the two underage boys who he just let in, as he's asking
me, "Are you in the same high school class as your two friends there?"
Danny aggressively says, "We don't fucking know them, okay?" He points his
thumb at me, saying, "He's twenty-one. We're all twenty-one and soon to be
twenty-two." Gee, Danny jumped right into it.

Ricky looks amused as he takes our licenses and my college photo ID. He
smiles, saying, "You boys look pretty tonight. Who's the make-up artist?"
Danny points at Hayden, but Ricky's doesn't really care as he's looking at
our licenses. Someone in back says, "We'd like to get the fuck inside
sometime tonight if you can manage to cut your Vegas act short." Ricky
casually turns to the bouncer, asking in a pleasant voice, "Did you happen
to notice who said that, Mike?" Mike nods and Ricky says, "Would you mind
going down there and telling him he's not getting in tonight and if he
gives you any shit tell him he's banned for life and... well, heh heh, you
handle it any way you want."

Ricky nods and stalks off. Almost immediately we hear some shouting behind
us, lots of cursing but no fighting as Rickie hands all three licenses and
my college photo ID to the closest guy, Danny, and says, "Okay. My mistake
boys. You're legit, but you," and he points at me, "C'mere." Danny says,
"Hey, dude, we have memberships, him and me," pointing at Hayden, and adds,
"Dylan's our guest." Rickie ignores that, putting his arm across my
shoulders and calling a guy, "Maurice, c'mere." A guy that looks like a
preppy Harvard student with a bow tie and sleeveless sweater over a
short-sleeve white shirt, asks, "What the fuck is it now, Rickie? I'm was
just about to..." and he sees me, and goes, "Oh, fuck yeah, Rickie!
Pole-dancer!" Danny's persistent, saying to both guys, "Hey, what the fuck
is it with you two? I'll pay his twenty-five dollar admission." Ricky looks
back, saying, "Calm the fuck down, you," and then in a friendly
big-brother-type lecturing voice, he goes. "It's good to stick-up for your
amigo, but his admission is waved. Ten-bucks for each of you boys though."
Maurice walks me inside as I hear Danny ask, "Where the fuck did that guy
take him? This is his first time here and he doesn't..." Rickie mutters,
"Your friend's signing up for the pole-dance competition. He gets in free
and you two need to move it along. Next!"

I'm standing next to preppy, Maurice, inside the club when Danny and Hayden
come through the open doors that Maurice is holding for them, his other
hand is holding onto my arm. Maurice says to me, "You're perfect for the
pole-dance competition. What's your name?" I tell him and he writes it
down, mumbling, "Wear what you have on, but do it barefoot," and he hangs a
lanyard around my neck with a card showing a big number '8'. He says,
"You'll get free drinks wearing that lanyard, but if I don't see you in the
pole-dancing competition I'll send Mike looking for you and he'll break
something." I snicker and he looks serious, saying, "No, he'll actually
break something on you. Usually a thumb and then he'll walk away. A couple
of free drinks aren't worth a broken thumb so be there when the pole-dance
is announced. That'll be around one o'clock." He pats my ass, saying, "Be
barefoot, baby!" Hayden and Danny are standing there watching with big
eyes. The three of us walk away with Hayden saying, "You're a celebrity
already, Dylan, and you got in free!"

We walk towards double-doors, on the other side of which we hear the music
blaring louder than ever and inside are hundreds of people dancing or
standing at various bars. I put my hand on Danny's shoulder, saying,
"Thanks for having my back, Danny! I appreciate it." He smiles giving the
back of my waist a hug, saying, "Any time, babe. I always try having my
friend's back although you didn't need any help as it turned out." I'm
like, "Yeah, but thanks anyway. Hey, I know what a pole-dance is but I
don't think I've ever watched one for more than ten-seconds. What do I do?"
Danny squeezes the back of my neck now, finally showing me a little
attention, saying, "Just move around. You don't need to win, just be up
there," and he points up to the ceiling where a large, narrow platform
hangs, saying, "They lower that down to within three-feet of the dance
floor and you guys dance around those poles while we do cat-calls and
whistle and shit like that." I ask, "How long?" and Hayden says,
"Twenty-minutes or so. They'll be guys pole dancing who want to win 'cause
it's like two-hundred bucks plus a year's membership." Fuck that! I'm not
gonna be any competition for the others, although I'll do enough to avoid
getting my thumb broken.

We're walking towards the nearest bar of which there are three on the main
floor and two upstairs on a balcony that runs around three sides of the
building. And, by the way, this place looks like an airplane hangar inside
too. All the steel girders and wires are visible high above with a lot of
lights, strobe and otherwise attached to the steel beams. It's like a
thousand flashbulbs going off at once... continuously

It's so loud, the music is, we need to put our mouth near an ear and shout
to be heard. There's at least four-hundred guys and some female types of
all ages and, like Danny told me, there's every kind of outfit on these
people that you can think of and then some I'd never think of. So far
though I don't see anyone with their faces made-up like us three. Maybe
that's the idea... be different!

Danny says, "The pole-dancers who want to win will end-up stripping naked,
which is what the club hopes all pole dancers do. If the guys do it on
their own, well what's the club gonna do? Ya know." I go, "I'm not
stripping!? Hayden says, "I hope not. Not everyone does." I ask, "Why me
though?" He shrugs, "I'm not sure," and he looks back at the entrance,
saying, "The guy at the door, the preppy guy, seemed excited when he saw
you. They want variety for the pole-dancers I guess, which is basically the
only entertainment tonight. If it's like the other pole-dancing competition
Hayden and I have seen here, not all the participants are gonna be 'hot'
like you, Dylan." Hayden shouts, "Yeah, they seem to chose some contestants
for comedy relief, an overweight guy for example, and the guys are willing
to do it for the free drinks."

Speaking of drinks, I'm anxious to try out my lanyard number '8' and see if
it works. Glancing back at the front door I see a steady stream of guys
coming in at like thirty-second intervals. That's how long it takes to
check ID for most people. Well, except for the especially young-looking
individuals who take a little longer. Jesus, what's the capacity of this
place anyway?

At the closest bar there's a very handsome bartender who I'm guessing is in
his middle-twenties. He spots my lanyard and makes eye-contact giving me
that wiggling finger, the c'mere' finger, motioning where I should go at
the bar. Huh, I walk through a group of men to get to a three-foot
cordoned-off section of the bar, railing on either side with a sign
indicating, 'Waiters Only'. This bar is a long curving one with bar stools
only along half it's length. The open space is crammed with guys wanting
drinks. And yes, there are waiters getting drinks for people sitting at
chest-high little round tables against a decorative railing that separates
the main floor from a hallway. The waiters are wearing only what Tarzan
wore in a movie I saw on cable for a brief time before spraining my finger
in my anxiousness to change channels. Tarzan only had on Jockey type
underwear with a flap of material in front and another in back. That's
pretty much what the waiters are wearing except the waiters have sneakers
on their feet which I'm pretty sure Tarzan would want a pair of if he knew
about them.

Anyway, I'm in between the 'Waiters Only' railing for no more than
three-seconds when the handsome bartender is here grinning at me, saying,
"I'm putting my money on you, number eight! The rest won't have a
chance. What'll you have to drink?" Caught totally off guard by all that,
and not having given a thought to what I wanted to drink, I blurt out,
"Vodka and grapefruit juice." He nods and gets it in like
ten-seconds. Danny's made his way up behind me, saying over my shoulder,
"We'll have the same," but the bartended ignores him and goes back to the
paying customers along the bar. Hot shit, this lanyard rocks! I am a little
surprised the bartender didn't mention my make-up though. Huh, so far no
one has looked twice at us.

I've already seen tattooed and pierced guys wearing women's clothing and
others with hardly anything on at all, some with hairy bodies and some
hairless. I've seen tattooed and overly-pierced woman, some fat and some
not, and some who I suspect may be lesbians who look tougher and meaner
than a lot of the guys. There are some young, although they're definitely
not what I'd call pretty boys acting like wise-asses and then some men with
beards old enough to be fathers chasing the boys.

Waiting for the guys to get their cocktails I'm sipping my free drink
through the short skinny straw that came with it. I'm leaning against a
wall in a hall leading to rest rooms with a three-foot-high decorative
wrought iron fence six-feet in front of me that separates me from the
throbbing masses. Most of the patrons I see look like they're
ten-to-twenty-years older than me although there are younger guys coming in
so they're somewhere in the crowd too. The music is nonstop
club/dance/house music; whatever you want to call it. Techno at the moment
and maybe it will be all night, God forbid! Of course the DJ can switch it
to hip-hop, dance-pop, or his own remix with subgenera any time he feels
like it. DJ's rule!

I don't really know what to expect tonight because I don't get out to clubs
hardly at all. Maybe Rob and I need to, generally speaking, get our asses
out in the world more.  Anyway, whatever this music is called you can
definitely call it loud! The beat almost makes you dance whether you want
to or not, and the majority of guys here are dancing. I'm marveling at all
kinds of wild outfits men and women are wearing, not unlike the Christmas
party I went to with John Smith. I've seen everything from a formal maid's
outfit on a man with a pot-belly and a doily on his bald head to bad-ass
leather-clad guys looking like they're from two-or-three generations
ago. Maybe they used Peabody's way-back-machine in reverse. I'll have to
ask Dodger if that's possible the next time I see him.

Hayden and Danny have their drinks now so I walk back past the decorative
fence and onto the main floor near the bar where I hear a shouted, "Hey!
You wanna dance, twink!" Looking to my left with a serious frown on my
face, I see a shirtless man with a neck beard and a jungle of body hair who
I'm guessing is forty-some-years-old. In a very unchallenging manner, I ask
politely, "Are you talking to me?" The man has a very dark tanned face,
unnaturally so, and a shaved head. If I saw this guy in daylight I'd run my
ass off, never mind in this dark intimidating club. He goes, "Do you see
any other twinks in the vicinity?" Averting my eyes so I don't gag from his
appearance, I go, "No, I guess not, and no thanks to your dance offer," and
then pointing at Hayden and Danny who, thank God, are coming my way, I add,
"Just waiting for my friends."

When I take a chance and glance back at him, he snarls, "No? Did you say
no?" I'm getting a little more confident with my posse on its way, so I
shout, "Yes, it was a definite, 'NO!' you heard, but if you recall I added
a 'thank you' at the end to be polite about it." He steps over to me,
snarling, "Is that right?" and he puts a finger in the top of my T-shirt,
stretching it, "If you don't wanna dance what the fuck is your skinny ass
doing in my section? If you're not looking for a 'bear' to take you under
his care, a care bear, then you've got no business in this section of the
club."

What the fuck? Do I have a sign on my back saying, 'Kick my ass!' Why does
this shit always happen to me? I jerk away from his fat finger as Danny and
Hayden slip through the crowd and walk over smiling. Danny pats my
shoulder, saying, "You lucky bastard, Dylan. Hayden and I needed to fight
through the masses to get drinks while that hot bartenders was kissing your
ass." I roll my eyes at the neck-beard man and Danny looks at the older
man, asking nicely, "Hey, what's up?"

Oh fuck, this guy has got a case-of-the-ass about something. He's using his
forefinger to hit a bemused-looking Danny in the chest with each word,
shouting,
"We.. don't.. like.. twinks.. like.. you.. three... faggots.. in... our.. section!
So skedaddle!" Danny drops the bemused expression and gives the guy a nasty
looking grin, saying in a conversational, but loud voice,
"We.. three... faggots...don't.. give.. a
..flying-fuck.. what.. you.. like. Go fuck yourself, pops. We'll skedaddle
when we fuckin' feel like it." Hayden steps over next to my side away from
neck-beard man. The guy's eyes shoot out daggers and then he looks around
and, I'm guessing, not seeing who he thought he'd see backing him up.

Hayden, from the safety of having me between him and neck-beard man, says,
"Go away, we just fucking got here." Neck-Beard ignores Hayden and looks me
in the eyes, reaching over and then squeezing one of my nuts with two
fingers. I yell, "Oow! Fuck!!" and the guy backs away into the crowd, and I
do mean that's all it takes. Two steps back and you're outta sight. My
hands at my crotch, I look at Danny, "This is what you brought me to?" He's
pissed though and not in the mood to joke-around as he goes to follow
neck-beard but it's useless. I can only imagine if Rob were here. Oh fuck,
we'd be thrown outta here in five-minutes along with neck-beard man. We'd
be lucky if we weren't handcuffed in the backseat of a cop car sitting next
to a handcuffed neck-beard man after Rob threw his ram on that scary old
shit.

Danny's leaning to Hayden and me, shouting, "Yeah, there are always bullies
and assholes anywhere ya go. Not just here!  Dick-heads like that fucker
never outgrew their existence as high school bullies and they never outgrew
backing-down either." I say loud enough for them both to hear, "I've found
that's not always true, Danny. Some bullies have given-up on the
backing-down part of the equation and are quite happy to create havoc." He
shrugs, yelling, "Fuck though, that asshole really pissed me off!"

This is the second time tonight I've seen that aggressive side of
smiling-happy-go-lucky, Danny. The first being at the front entrance. Danny
shakes his head in disgust and then drinks his vodka and grapefruit
cocktail in the same manner he drinks beer, or milk, or anything, gulp,
gulp, gulp, finishing half the drink. He leans close to Hayden and me
again, saying just loud enough to defeat the pounding beat of the music,
"Actually this area is normally where the old fucks hang-out, closest to
the lavatory," as he nods his head to the sign on the wall, 'Rest Rooms'
with an arrow putting. The same wall I was up against five-minutes
ago. Danny adds, "C'mon, let's try that bar over on the other side of the
room. That's where we hung out last time we were here."

I'm all for that 'cause I'd just as soon not run into neck-beard again and
it'd be nice to look at younger guys for a change. As we begin negotiating
the crowd Danny shouts, "Age groups do tend to eventually drift to
different sections of the club." We follow Danny, our leader as Hayden asks
me, "You okay, Dylan?" I say, "No I'm not okay! My nut hurts. That cretin
squeezed the hell out of my high, smaller nut." Hayden tries to look
concerned but, covering his mouth, he snorts out a laugh and then I do too,
yelling, "Fuckin' neck-bearded cretin!"

We're making our way along the bar avoiding more of the little high-round
tables with 'RESERVED' signs on most of them. Danny and Hayden take turns
pointing out various 'types' of people they say you can always count on
being here. "There are some of the muscle-jocks. The crew with wife-beater
T-shirts, or no shirts at all. That group single-handedly can keep all the
tattoo artist in Massachusetts busy. Their dicks are tattooed." Danny gets
his arm around the back of both Hayden's and my necks to talk close to our
ears, or he just leans toward me yelling and pointing out different groups.
"Not that I'm complaining you understand, but look way over there," as he
points again, adding, "There you see the real twinks that neck-beard was
referring to. The boys wearing only gold shorty-shorts and
slippers. Omigod, 'look at the blond! He can't be more than
fifteen-or-sixteen. How the fuck 'd he get in here anyway?"

Danny gets a little excited because his roving eyes tends to go to the very
young. Hell, they are adorable but I get-off more on guys around my own
age. It reminds me of that old song, 'Your Love' by a rather obscure rock
band from London in the eighties, called: 'The Outfields' with lyrics: 'I
usually like my girls a little bit older, but I wanna use your love
tonight'. Substitute 'boys' for 'girls', and there ya go, Danny! How do I
know that song? Well, it's from a Sports Talk radio show I listen to on FM
98.5 where they play the beginning of the song before their Friday noon
segment. "Jodie's on a vacation far away...." and so on. It's actually a
pretty good rock song, especially considering the era it came out of... the
eighties, give me a break!

Danny points out some obvious 'bears' who are older dudes on the make for
'twinks', and some younger guys... vice versa. Then a group of five obvious
straight boys, their eyes big, taking it all in. Danny goes, "At least one
or two of those so-called straight boys are secretly gay, I'd bet my load
on that." I'm checking them out but don't see even one I'd be interested
in. They look like a senior class trip for a high school's football team
whose members are looking to hassle some queers. Better take that act outta
here, boys. It's not likely to work out well for you here.

We see other underage gay boys grab-assing with each other giggling and,
generally speaking, giving underage gay boys a bad name. Nothing real cute
in that group either which drives home the cold-hard-fact that cuteness in
guys doesn't grow on trees. It's kinda rare and then you might see three in
a row that are hot and sexy and really cute, although obviously it's
totally an 'Eye of the beholder' situations. Three cuties in a row is as
rare as hen's teeth.

Hayden's dropped a lot of his exaggerated gay-acting but continues with his
normal stuff, like calling guys 'girlfriend' when speaking to strangers,
who don't appear to mind. Basically Hayden's acting as swishy as he did the
night I met him, and after a while it barely registers. He bumps my arm
pointing out a gaggle of twenty-something females, some of whom he claims,
like Danny told me outside, are fag-hags and lesbos, and then some are
straight friends of the others. There are lots of what I'd call middle-age
gay men too; men in their early forties and some even older. They're mostly
dancing or making-out on the dance floor. Lots of crotch groping too.  It's
fascinating but kinda weird at the same time because I've never in my life
seen so many gay guys in one place.

Danny shakes his head and points at a very old gay man dancing alone to his
own music. He's definitely not paying attention to the beat the DJ is
putting out. Danny says in my ear, "There's always an old, possibly
drug-addled guy in his late sixties who isn't ready to forgo his
party-starter-status of thirty-five-or-forty-years ago. Most of his friends
from the good ol' days have hung-up their shark-tooth-necklaces while this
old guy is still dancing to his own beat." Danny chuckles at that, but to
me the old guy makes me feel sad. The old dude is skin and bone with a bit
of gray fluff on his head and chest, obviously not playing with a full
deck. To everyone's credit no one is hassling him.

Danny goes, "Okay, over there is a transgender, one that's fairly obvious,
although usually they're not." And on it goes as we approach the second of
three bars on this floor. The music never stops and after a while it's not
any more noticeable than Hayden's swishing behavior, but then I realize my
brain has slowed down significantly. 'Check your brains at the door,
gentlemen!'. Hayden says, "Let's get another drink," and I'm like, "I
thought you were the designated driver." He goes, "I am, but I can have one
or two drinks. Jeezusss!"

Danny's pointing to a young guy sitting at a high-table looking at his
cellphone with a half-empty bottle of beer next to him. "There's a young
guy here by himself, likely for the first time and not sure what to do
except pretend he's doing something with his cellphone. He's probably
hoping, and then not hoping, and then hoping again some perfect young gay
guy will hit on him. He's not sure what he'll do if that miracle happens so
he vacillates between hoping it does happen and hoping it doesn't." I feel
sad for the kid. If he were the least bit cute I'd hit on him myself just
so his evening wouldn't be a complete loss. He's obviously eighteen or
maybe older with his partial beard and all. Doesn't he have any friends?
Yeah, he probably does but they're all straight. Damn, it is sad seeing a
young guy alone like that!

Danny steers us to an open spot at the bar where the bartender, a youngish
looking fellow not anywhere near as good-looking as the other bartender,
asks me what I want to drink. I stay with vodka and grapefruit juice as do
Danny and Hayden although they don't get their drinks when I do. Again my
lanyard gets me special treatment. My drink is free while theirs, after
waiting in line to get them, cost nine-dollars each. Yikes! I'll buy their
next round for them; it's only fair.

Danny asks, "Do you guys wanna dance after we finish this drink?" Hayden
shrugs, saying loud enough for us to hear, "Robert says Dylan's like this
awesome dancer so I'm a little intimidated for him to see me dance." I go,
"Rob's right of course, but I'll keep my snickering about how you dance
under control as much as possible." Danny goes, "Dylan! Don't be..." and
Hayden says, "He's fuckin' kidding again, jeeesuss, Daniel!" A guy next to
me against the wall we're all now leaning on, asks me, "Excuse me, any of
you guys have some pot to sell?" Danny asks, "Are you in law enforcement?"

This guy is maybe twenty-five. He's wearing a T-shirt and low hanging plain
straight-leg shorts you can buy at any Penny's department store if you're
severely style-challenged. He's my height with the mandatory half-inch
beard that every other guy rocks nowadays, and for one reason only... it's
the latest fad and he doesn't want to be an outcast. He's average looking
but has an off-putting odor of maybe flop-sweat. He goes, "Fuck no, I'm not
a cop. I just had a life-changing experience with a cop though. I was at
the outside bar in the courtyard, near the wall in a secluded corner
getting ready to fire-up a joint when this undercover cop nabbed me and
escorts me out of the club taking my stash from me. I was gonna sell some
of that shit so I'm fucked, right?" I'm frowning, "This just happened?" He
goes, "Ten minutes ago, but listen. We're walking towards his cop car when
he says, 'Ya know what kid? I'm just gonna confiscate this shit and not
arrest your ass. Have a nice night.' Just like that! Now I'm so fucken
shaky I need a hit off a joint."

Hayden's frowning at the guy, finally asking, "Are you shitting me? He said
have a nice night? Did this undercover cop show you some ID? A badge or
something?" The guy goes, "Yeah, a'course! He flashed something. I'm not
giving up a bag of weed to just anybody." Danny's annoyed again, saying,
"We don't have any pot, okay? Take a fucking hike!" The guy mutters,
"Asshole," and gets lost in the crowd as Danny goes, "That dumb fuck just
gave away his shit to a cop impersonator." I'm thinking, oh fuck, is this
the entire gay club experience? I ask, "Are we having fun yet? This blows
so far!" Hayden goes, "We need to get drunker and start dancing! We've
always had a good time before, right Danny?"

Not a single person has mentioned we're wearing make-up, so obviously no
one cares. Also, where are all the cute guys gone I expected to see? That's
one of the reasons I agreed to come tonight. Instead of cute hot guys I've
seen all kinds of unusual people, including neck-beard. Yeah, all types of
people who I normally try to avoid in my life. Danny's had to snarl at a
couple of annoying people already to get them out of our faces and this
simply is not my idea of fun! And I miss Rob. If he were here it'd be a
totally different story.

We finish our drinks and I get a free beer this time and then buy beers for
Danny and Hayden. In between pouring some beer down our throats we hold the
beer cans to the side and begin moving with the beat and we're soon dancing
as a threesome. Hayden and Danny dance identically, like maybe they learned
to dance with each other, and they're okay dancers too. Rob should have
learned with them.

It's just the three of us dancing in a sea gay guys and a sprinkling of
females until other guys, seemingly casually, cut in and take turns dancing
with us, or with one of us. Most of them have serious expressions on their
faces content to be dancing, but occasionally there's a guy dancing who
raises his eyebrows in a questioning way, I suppose inviting more than a
dance with me. An especially aggressive older guy not only raised his
eyebrows but said, "How about I fuck you into tomorrow?" The man must be on
some seriously banned substances if he thinks I'd take a piss next to him
in a lavatory, never mind have sex with him.  I ignore all that and break
away to collect Danny's and Hayden's empty beer cans. Getting another free
beer for myself, I buy the guys another beer and pass the cans to them as
they dance.

The music gets in my head and in five-seconds I'm again in a grove dancing
this time with a youngish looking guy with a big stock of red hair on his
head, his bangs plastered with sweat to his forehead. He'd been dancing
with an older man who had a full beard down to his chest. The older man was
wearing a turban and a vest plus some kind of wrap around thing covering
his privates, like a skirt almost. He angrily snapped some nasty words at
me when I cut in, but me and the youngish guy danced away with the kid
mouthing, 'Thank you!' He has a missing front tooth that I'm trying to
overlook while examining him for something cute about his young
face. Giving up on that I somehow get separated from missing-tooth and end
up dancing with a pin-cushion androgynous individual who grins at me a lot
and who finds reasons to repeatedly touch me while we do a semi-fast
dance. I say 'pin-cushion' because this teenage boy or girl has many fine
wire piercings on his or her face. Something about the chin makes me think
'guy', but something about this person's hips makes me think 'girl', so it
is puzzling although ultimately not all that interesting. When I get the
chance, and in this throbbing crowd the chances are many, I step in front
of someone I'm positive is a guy.

He's a very tall, um, I think he's a black dude, or he could be Hispanic I
suppose. What's throwing me off a little is he has short African-type hair
even though his skin is a pale color. Tan I guess I'd call it.  Beautiful
skin actually and he moves his body so smoothly I feel lucky to be dancing
with him. This tall kid, who looks very young, is wearing cutoff jeans,
sandals, and a short sleeve flowered shirt. Big flowers in the design like
an Island shirt. It's unbuttoned except for the bottom two buttons exposing
his skinny hairless chest that has very little definition. There's a
necklace around his neck with a cross hanging from it that looks like my
David Yurman necklace, making me wish I'd worn mine.

I haven't seen Danny and Hayden for at least twenty-minutes now but we
expected to get separated. We have cellphones to reconnect whenever we
want. The tall guy, whose age I can only hope is eighteen or older,
although he definitely could be younger, is the first cute guy I've
personally seen tonight. I say that although there are now probably five
hundred people here, the vast majority male and I've seen maybe a third of
then and mostly only in passing, so there are undoubtedly other cute guys
here I simply haven't seen yet. I mean besides the guys I came with and
this tall incredible dancer, who is either mute or perhaps disdainful of my
dancing. I'm normally the best dancer between me and whoever I'm dancing
with but that's definitely not the case with this tall good-looking boy.

We dance silently exchanging expressionless 'looks' and after dancing for
what seems a very long time I'm holding an empty can of beer, not knowing
what to do with it. I'm beginning to think this tall boy is content to
dance with me forever. There are many opportunities to switch partners but
neither of us has taken any of the them. Finally the DJ has only a low
sounding rhythm playing in the background as he begins some chatter about
welcoming everyone to the Green Door Club. It's past midnight and he's
finally welcoming all of us. Tall boy puts a long thin bare arm around the
back of my neck, his forearm hanging down on my chest. He did that as
casually as you please, like we've been buddies for years. His thin
long-fingered-hand reaches almost to my waist as he leads us off the dance
floor and over to the bar I've been getting drinks from.

He stands in the exact 'WAITERS ONLY' railed-off area where I got my
lanyard-free-beer and beers for Hayden and Danny over an hour ago. The
bartender comes over saying to tall boy, "Looks like you got the pick of
the litter again tonight, Tomas, and a pole-dancer no less." Sweat has
soaked through the front and back of my sleeveless T-shirt, as well as down
under both arms. It's dripping off my face but this is the first I've
noticed it, and I think, 'The make-up Hayden put on my face must be running
like crazy. It must look like shit, but yet Tomas says nothing about
it. Nobody has!'

Sweat's dripping off Tomas' face too. In the light of the bar he's not as
perfect looking as I thought he was on the dance floor, but still plenty
cute enough to qualify as easily the cutest stranger I've seen in here
tonight. Tomas has no facial hair and almost delicate facial features to go
with his beautiful tannish complexion. His lips look very pink against his
skin although I'm positive he has no lipstick on.  He also has a Caribbean
accent, but only occasionally, answering the bartender's comment about
catching the pick of the litter, meaning me, he goes, "Don't say shit like
that, Georgie, please mon." Then to me, "What'll you have to drink,
pole-dancer?" I go, "A beer will be great." Tomas says, "Give us a couple
of Red Stripes and two shots of dark rum, and have a shot for yourself on
me, my friend."

Red Stripe turns out to be beer and dark rum turns out to be dark
rum. Tomas hands me a shot glass, his other arm still around the back of my
neck and over my shoulder keeping me captive, I hope. He picks up his shot
as I stare at his long fingers. Tapping his shot glass against Georgie's
shot glass, and then mine, he says loud enough for both of us to hear him,
"Cheers, Georgie! And to you too, pole-dancer," and the three of us flash
down the rum shots. It's my first ever of that particular liquor and it
makes me think of molasses and vanilla for a half-a-split-second before I'm
immediately thinking of burning heat, like other shots I've had. Tomas
hands me a beer, takes the other for himself, leaves a twenty-dollar bill
on the bar, and says, "See you later, Georgie," and he leads me through a
winding route that takes us outside into a large courtyard surrounded by a
ten-foot stone wall and a muggy-hot night. I realize now there was some
air-conditioning going on inside, but not a lot. The muggy air is fresh at
least, well except for the unmistakable aroma of marijuana floating by.

Tomas brazenly lights a joint, takes a tote off it and holds the smoke in
his lungs while passing me the joint. I shake my head and he shrugs, still
with his arm over me and his body, a body even thinner even than mine, is
tightly against my side. He has no scent that I can detect. Weirdly I'm
contented to stay put like this because Tomas is the first pleasantly
interesting thing that's happened to me all night. He's at least
six-feet-five-inches-tall which is a good seven-or-eight-inches-taller than
me. We just stand here not talking to each other and not talking to anyone
else either. We're like a small calm oasis in the middle of a throbbing
hundred or so humans, almost all male who are inebriated or slightly
inebriated and mostly dancing and all moving in some way to the muted sound
of the music that's started up again inside. As Tomas is getting high, or
higher than he was, I'm still trying to kill the taste of the rum with the
beer.

As he smokes his joint I feel my cellphone pinging. Pulling it out of my
pocket I see two text messages; one from Danny five minutes ago that the
loud music drowned out the ping and this one from Hayden just now. They
want to regroup at the last bar we were at. I text, 'OK' and send it to
both. Putting my cell away, Tomas asks, "Everything okay?" I nod, "Yep,"
and take out a cigarette. Tomas has his lighter out magically-quick to
light my cigarette. Looking up, I nod at him and he gives me a grin showing
smallish white teeth with a space between each top tooth, just like
Hayden's. Huh. Tomas's teeth are very white against his pink lips. Yeah,
and that was a fucking cute grin he showed me too! He's very nice looking
but not at all talkative and neither am I which is unusual because normally
silence with people I don't know makes me uncomfortable. Of course I am a
little drunk...

We're both smoking until Tomas drops and steps on his roach, takes my
cigarette for two deep drags and then passes it back to me. I take a drag,
exhale and then drink some bitter beer; a beer I've never had before or
even heard of. I'm curiously comfortable being with this total stranger
sensing that there's absolutely nothing dangerous about him. His dancing
technique was flawless and I just know he's more a pussy-cat than a
tiger. Curious about the age thing though I ask, just to be sure, "So,
Tomas, how old are you? Um, if you don't mind me asking." He says,
"Twenty. How old are you?" I go, "A year older than you," and he nods his
head, takes my cigarette butt from my fingers and drops it, saying, "C'mon,
mon, let's do what we both want," and he leads me back inside.

He's very cool and I try finishing my beer assuming we're getting another
one before having sex. I'm assuming that's what he's fed erring to. Jesus,
I hope he didn't mean more dancing! He doesn't go to the bar or the dance
floor though. Oh, I guess one drink's enough. Not being my first rodeo, I
assumed the sex part would happen but initially I thought it would be when
we didn't split-up after dancing. I would have been shocked to my toes if I
was wrong about us having sex! I'd be disappointed too because I need
something to make this night memorable. Tomas fits that bill awesomely!

It takes ten-minutes of walking around people to get to a different
lavatory. Different than the one I saw when I got my first free drink and
the cretin pinched my nut. A sigh for 'REST ROOMS' points to a corridor
which we go down passing a large number of same-sex couples heavily into
swapping spit and sucking face. It's mostly guys but there's a female
couple doing the same things along with a lot of groping plus some groaning
and moaning. Tomas hasn't moved his arm off me since he draped it over my
shoulder and it's slippery with both our sweat, but being grungy is okay
once in a great while.

We go right into the lavatory at the end of the corridor, and it's a big
one. One side is urinals and sinks and around the corner are
ten-toilet-stalls, all in use and almost certainly in a manner they weren't
intended for. There are also four-couples, all male, waiting for an open
stall. We stand behind them without talking. Two of the couples are rubbing
each other in sexy places while whispering stuff and making-out. The other
two are like Tomas and me; just standing here with the dominant-one's arm
around his soon to be 'bottom's' shoulders. I can only see the backs of
their heads but of the eight guys' heads, five have a version of my
haircut. Us human are like the brainless lemmings following whatever our
peers do, minus the cliff.

So, yeah, it's irritating we need to wait, especially because I'm hot to be
fucked by this Caribbean hottie, but things are moving right along. This is
sex for the sake of sex and doesn't usually take a long time to get
'off'. In no more than ten-minutes it's our turn next and then a door
swings open, conveniently the closet stall to us, and two husky middle-age
black guys exit giving us dirty looks for some reason as they walk on by.

I turn to watch them go, wondering what's their problem, but Tomas ignores
them completely. Finally removing his arm from my shoulder, Tomas gently
applies pressure on my back, murmuring, "Go on in, pole-dancer, but don't
look too closely at anything." I close my eyes to slits and go inside
smelling 'ass'. Tomas closes the door and pulls my pants down over my hips
without undoing the snap in front. Holding me in place with a hand on my
shoulder, he rubs my shaved groin nodding his head and then rips off about
three-yards of toilet paper. mumbling, "I'm sorry it smells like ass in
here," like it's his fault. Leaning me to the side he covers the toilet
seat with toilet paper. The seat's one of those black ones with an opening
in front. Now, with a hand on each of my shoulders, like I wouldn't know
what to do otherwise, he guides me down onto the toilet-paper-covered
toilet seat and unzips his shorts. Pulling out his penis I need to be cool
and not go, OMIGOD!'

I'm looking at the first eleven-inch-long penis I've ever seen live and in
person. Well, it's at least eleven-inches-long... maybe longer. Putting a
hand lightly on the back of my head, pulling it forward, he holds up his
cut penis and I take it in my fingers. It looks sort of skinny. Nah, I may
have been born at night but not last night so I know the length makes it
appear thinner than it actually is. It has a normal girth, like mine, only
it's almost twice as long. Oh no, I hope Tomas isn't only interested in a
blow job! I'm happy to start with that though.

He keeps his hand lightly against the back of my head. His fingers are so
long they wrap around my head to my ear; his hand feels nice though. We're
sweaty from dancing that hour or so and his dick is damp too but the head
gets licked anyway. Without noticing any taste to it I lick the head with
long licks like it's a lolly pop to get things started. He shuffles his
feet a little as I take in about three-inches of shaft and lick it while
sucking on it with my lips and stroking the other eight-inches with my
fist. It's a long one so it takes a while for the seminal fluids to reach
the head but his cock begins getting it's hard-on in short order just the
same. It's a pale tan color like the rest of him, and the head is pale pink
and kinda big.

I'm enjoying sucking on it and licking it, 'cause that's sort of my
thing. Tomas isn't saying anything although the hand on the back of my head
tightens some and his fingers move sporadically as sensations from his
sucked-on cock register in his brain as feeling pretty fucking good. I
can't help wondering if this snake is going down my throat, and I'm not
sure I want it to, or don't want it to.

Tomas finally grunts as his hips hump a little and a long string of pre-cum
slides out on my tongue. He smoothly moves his hips sliding his boner back
and forth on my tongue spreading his pre-cum and coating my tongue with it
while bumping the back of my throat with the head, but not going into my
throat. Maybe fifteen-seconds of moving his lonoooog boner on my tongue he
does a long exhale and then pulls his long-hard cock out of my mouth and it
hangs-down a little although it's so hard it doesn't hang-down much. He
rubs my head roughly, pushing it back so I look up to see him grin again as
he's getting something out of his pocket.

His boner is very hard and definitely at least eleven-inches-long. Long and
boned-up tightly. He hands me a condom packet that I glance at quickly
reading: Trojan Magnum Ribbed Condom... 8-inch spiral ribs," and other
stuff but Tomas says, "If you don't mind, how 'bout if you roll that on me
now, pole-dancer," so I stop reading the packet, excited at the thought of
the first eleven-inch boner 'topping' my ass. And yeah, I don't know why I
don't tell him my name. I think I like the sound of pole-dancer; it's
exotic.

Tearing the condom open at the end where it indicates, 'Tear here' and then
taking the lubricated condom out carefully, making sure it remains in the
tight circle, I look up at him and he does his cute youthful grin again and
then lifts his boner so it's straight out. I get my fingers gooey unrolling
the condom onto his boner. It's tight so I was right, Tomas' boner has a
nice girth to it too. He must know I've never seen a boner this big before
but he says nothing; no bragging or joking about the size. The condom rolls
out to the end a good three-inches short of the root that's buried in tight
and curly, dark pubic hairs.

As if I'm an invalid, Tomas gets a hand under each of my underarms to help
me up off the toilet seat and turns me around. I lean down to unroll more
toilet paper to put between my hands and the wall above the toilet, and
after moving my feet back a little straddling the toilet, I stick out my
ass. He squeezes my butt cheeks and then spreads them and fingers my
asshole while making a, "Hmmmm," sound, and then murmuring, "Very nice."
Immediately I feel the head of the lubricated condom at my anus, the lips
spreading as he applies gentle pressure until the head squeezes in past my
sphincter muscle. There's a little pain making me go, "Oooh!" His hands go
to my waist and he pushes his boner up, up, up, up my ass slowly but
steadily as I grit my teeth at the temporary pain.

Tomas doesn't stop his slow steady pushing until he's basically laying
against my butt cheeks and pulling me back with the grip on my hips,
keeping us very tightly together. He goes, "Aaaah, oooh, oooh! Yeah, mon,
this is nice." His island accent is sporadic and not usually very
obvious. I get the impression he's been in America a long time, relatively
speaking considering his age and assuming he didn't lie about that. He
looks very young although he doesn't act young.

He does small humps against my buttocks while he's continuing with that
too-tight grip on my hips that's holding my ass back against his
crotch. I'm mostly concentrating, thus far, on the pain that's gratefully
fading fast so I don't really mind the too-tight grip very much. The pain
of that long boner going up my ass was mostly all I noticed until now that
the pain has subsided considerably and my shoulders do their shudder as I
notice the new territory, the virgin territory in my rectum that's now been
conquered by Tomas' boner. My rectum quivers, probably not sure what's
happening but it's experienced everything, except apparently it hasn't.

Thinking about it for a few seconds I realize the eleven-inches isn't a
night-and-day-difference from say, an eight-inch boner. I definitely sense
something new but it's not like getting fucked for the first time or
anything approaching that. It feels really good; that my first
conclusion... really, really good. His cock isn't huge in diameter like
Rob's and Hayden's but now I'm beginning to get an unusual feeling inside
me as the extra three-plus-inches makes itself known. Just the thought of
it makes me squirm a little and quietly moan, "Mmmm, oooh." He asks, "You
okay, pole-dancer?" I take a deep breath and murmur, "Yes, Tomas, it feels
wonderfully awesome." Nature really has let most of us down by not having
eleven-inch cocks for all sexually active guys. On the other hand that's a
big bunch to carry around in your shorts. Ha ha, just kidding because I'm a
little giddy about this situation of Tomas and his long penis. I'm thinking
of adopting him.

And then he starts moving his hips back and all frivolous thoughts are
replaced by a strange,"Sssss-ing," sound coming out of my mouth as a
billion-nerve endings come to life and form a parade of pleasure to welcome
this new hard and long visitor to my rectum. It's a noticeably long series
of awesome sensations as he pulls his boner back back, back and then it's
going in, in, in again with my body shuddering as I moan, "Aaaaahh, ooooh,
yeaaaaah." No pain, just brilliant sexual pleasure-vibrations and thereis a
noticeable difference now because the pleasure dance of my rectum's
uncountable nerve endings goes on longer than ever, in some cases three
times longer than some boners. Constant nerve stimulation for much longer
than I've experienced in the past and it makes me shudder with sexual
pleasure. There's no pain now at all, and all systems are definitely 'GO!'

With his boner pulled all the way back again and lightly pulling outward
pressure on the lips of my anus Tomas's hands go casually to my shoulders
and he quietly says, "My cock bumped into a curve in your bowel. Would you
push your ass out a little further, please, and bend over a lot more. It
works better when it's a straight tunnel for my long boner to travel in." I
heard a heavy Island-accent from him as he said that. Maybe he's thinking
of a boy he once loved and fucked as a youngster and together they
discovered this secret of a 'straight tunnel', or maybe he discovered this
last night fucking a bus boy at a Friendly's restaurant. Whatever, that
long first trip up and back in my rectum has me very intrigued and excited
for the ride to begin in earnest, so I do what he says and he squeezes my
shoulders in thanks, I think.

My arms are out-stretched with my hands on the wall on top of a bunch of
toilet paper. Now that I've bent over further I'm parallel with the toilet
only a couple-of-feet above it so that's not ideal, but fuck it. This is
our situation and there's nothing in the toilet except clear water, and
thank God for that. Tomas pushes his boner back up my ass taking maybe
three seconds to get all eleven-inches inside me and then he does a
semi-hard hump against my butt cheeks making a wheezy exhale before
murmuring, 'Very nice ass, pole-dancer." I can't reply because a
zillion-nerve-endings are clapping for Tomas' boner and there's unique
sensations exploding inside me. The most I can do is make a noisy exhale
and try tightening my ass muscles. This feels fantastic.

Tomas pulls it back and shoves it in three-times and I suppose, since I
seem fine with it, he feels it's okay to begin steady thrusting and that's
what he does. Bright lights sparkle in my brain as my prostate is
constantly stimulated by the long drags and pressure against it both when
Tomas thrusts his eleven-hard-inches up my ass and when he immediately
withdraws it. It isn't a slow fucking but not fast or hard enough to create
the normal fast, hard sounds of males fucking. I think his cock is too long
to get a fast enough rhythm going for that, but there's something special
about the long trips of his hard boner going so far up my ass and the trips
back equally incredible. Non-stop vibrations of intense sexual pleasure for
me and from the sound of Tomas's heavy breathing and the tightening of his
hands on my shoulders I think he's is in a world of sexual pleasure
himself.

His hips steadily push and pull the full eleven-inches back and forth in my
ass and it gets very intense as the layers of pleasure accumulate and I'm
moaning as quietly as I can but it's impossible not to moan at the long
trips up and back. Tomas moans too but never stops driving that boner as he
drops his head all the way down to the back of my shoulder, sweat from his
forehead running down my back, He goes, "Oooh, mon, oooh," and humps his
boner up my ass faster and a little harder as I'm swimming in a sea of
pleasure and not even caring we're in a fucking toilet stall. My eyes have
been closed almost from the start to better absorb all the sensations
bombarding the pleasure center in my brain. It's sexual ecstasy for me and
my cock is so hard it's been sticking straight out for the last
two-minutes, or have I lost track of time?

Tomas makes a gasping deep inhale and grips my shoulders painfully as he
begins doing faster and harder, but shorter thrusts. It's now a fast, hard
ride to climax for Tomas but I get there first as my climax burst on the
scene and, my back arching and with bright lights flying towards me from
outer space I make an embarrassing squeal, "Eeeeiii!" as cum shoots out
straight from my rock-hard penis heading directly at the wall, splattering
against it with lots of spray even as another stream of cum follows to also
splatter again the wall. I'm humping my hips but only little spurts of cum
shoot out now. Tomas is humping against me not making a sound as I assume
he climaxed into the condom.

I'm gasping and stroking my cock with a million tiny buzzing sensations all
over me. So pleasurable! It lasts for an additional three seconds and then
weakness overtakes me as I moan quietly sagging and not holding my ass up
any more. Tomas has both arms around my belly pulling me upright against
his chest. I let go of my dick and lie back against him still limp, the way
I usually get after a violently hot orgasm, and this was that. I'm already
thinking back to his long cock making that almost-foot-long-trip up inside
me touching off so many nerve endings it boggles my mind.

He shakes me a little, saying, "Pole-dancer, stand-up, dude." I pull away
from his skinny chest, muttering, "I think you fucked all my strength outta
me, Tomas, heh heh. Holy shit though, that was awesome!" Someone rattles
the door to our stall and Tomas chuckles, asking, "Oh fuck, pole-dancer,
did we take too long, do ya think?" Gee, I have no idea how long that
lasted. It's weird but I was only concentrating on every perfect second of
it and couldn't guess if it was a four-minute act or
fourteen-minutes. Well, yeah, I know it wasn't fourteen-minutes! Whatever,
it was really good. And, damn, a nice girth too on that eleven-plus-inches
of boner! Wow! That was a ride I won't forget!

Tomas gets more toilet paper as he's considerately wiping lubricant from
around my asshole, saying, "Gather all that fucking toilet paper and flush
it. We don't want to leave a mess behind, do we?" The door rattles again
with someone saying, "You haven't moved in there lock, stock, and barrel
have you?" Tomas gets a look on his face, one I haven't seen before, and
says in a controlled angry voice, "If you rattle that fucking door again,
asshole, I'm going to cut you." I look startled and he smile at me,
whispering, "Be calm, I don't even own a knife." I pull up my pants as
Tomas flushes the condom and toilet paper. He slides the door's
locking-thing over and slams open the door, shouting, "Who the fuck was
rattling this fucking door?" Two average-size guys step back shrugging like
they don't know. Tomas nods at me to go first and we walk around to the
other side of this big lavatory to where the urinals and sinks are.

I'm still surprised at his outburst. I mean he's about as far from a muscle
man as it's possible to be. He turns on a spigot, feeling for the water to
turn warm. I look at my face in the mirror and think... what a mess! The
make-up has run with sweat down my face turning it into a multi-colored
mask, and still no one has mentioned it... even in passing. No one has
said, 'Dude, what's with your fucked-up face?'  ... nothing's been
mentioned by anyone. I guess everyone here is used to any crazy fucking
thing you can think of.

Pointing at the running spigot, now with warm water coming out, Tomas goes,
"Go ahead, use that one," and he gets another spigot going. I wash my hands
first using lots of soap, which this place has provided plenty of. It's a
surprisingly clean lavatory, on this side anyway. There's plenty of soft
paper towels plus those blowing hand-dryers. My face gets a vigorous
washing using soap, and then I rinse my face four times before opening my
eyes. Looking at my face I see there's now only faint colors mixed-together
giving me a strange complexion that's of course very pale purple to go with
my still-purple bangs. It doesn't look like I ever had all that make-up
on. I use both the paper towels and then the air-dryer on the wall drying
my face and hands. Damn, it feels so good getting most of that make-up-glop
off my face!

Jeez, I'm feeling the best I have all night after that hot side-sex and
then washing my face and, yeah I know, I'm also kinda drunk. At least this
night didn't turn-out to be a complete dud! As we're leaving the lavatory,
I ask Tomas, "What would you have done if some big scary dude with muscles
coming out of his ass said he was rattling our door?" Tomas grins, "I'd
apologize for us taking so long... ha ha! But hey, mon, that was really
special sex! Thank you, and good luck with the pole-dancing competition."
I'm like, "You sound like you're leaving," and he goes, "Yeah, I gotta. I'm
working tomorrow at seven o'clock. Hey, what's your name?" I tell him and
he goes, "I'll look for you next time I'm here, Dylan." No hug or even
bumped fists, just a wave and he disappears into the crowd heading in the
direction of the entrance, the one way over on the other side of this
airplane hangar. Damn, I hope Tomas feels as good as I do! Wow, that made
this night! Damn!!

Yeah, well okay that was awesome but now what do I do? Oh, obviously I need
to see if Hayden and Danny are still at that second bar we were supposed to
meet at twenty-minutes ago. Wow, this place is still extremely lively and
loud, and more crowded than ever! They must make a fortune on Saturday
nights!  Looking around to get my bearings, I'm surprised to see another
legitimately cute guy. He's standing alone near a support column wearing a
do-rag on his head. He's bare chested wearing only shorty-shorts, and he's
barefoot too! This cute kid is definitely eighteen or even older; hell
everybody in here should be although obviously they're not. Huh, this place
makes a fortune but they obviously are paying various authorities to look
the other way; so there's that. Anyway, I'm looking at the do-rag kid
wondering if I should ask him to dance when three other guys, none
attractive, circle him and talk for a minute and then they all head off
into the crowd. Huh, it's probably for the best. Now where the hell's that
bar?

Walking in the general direction of a sign reading 'OUTDOOR COURTYARD',
hoping it's 'the' outdoor courtyard where Tomas and I had a smoke because
that's not too far from the bar I'm looking for. Before I get there I see
Danny talking to J.J. Benintendi over at the outside wall and, damn, it
feels good to see someone I know. Oh fuck though, I forgot all about
J.J.. Danny's naturally got his arm across the little creep's shoulders. It
appears they're being cordial to one another so I should probably leave
them to sort out their differences. Neither of them wants to be 'outed' by
the other, so the negotiations should be simple enough: you don't
tell... and I won't tell. I'm not getting involved in that but seeing them
tells me I'm probably headed in the right direction.

I circle around them and a minute later, after saying, 'excuse me' fifty
times, I see, Georgie, the bartender at the bar. Good, that's the right bar
then. Getting closer now I can see that Hayden's not there. What the hell,
I'll get another free beer and then text him. Like earlier, as soon as a
bartender sees my lanyard he motions to the 'WAITERS ONLY' section where
two waiters are waiting for their orders to be filled. I wait for them and
then slip between the railings as another bartender, not Georgie, comes
right over. I and ask for Red Stripe beer and he nods. This long bar has
five bartenders but I assumed this would be Georgie's station, not that it
makes a fucking bit of difference I guess.

I watch my current bartender snapping off the cap of the Stripe beer
bottle. He's a small guy with a full beard and a severely receding
hairline; poor guy. He puts the beer in front of me showing a nice smile as
I mutter, "Thanks," and leave a two-dollar tip. I mean, the beer's free, so
ya know...  Then I hear the DJ announcing, along with a tacky drum-roll,
"Ladies and gentlemen, the pole-dance competition is coming up. Please
clear the main dance floor while the pole-dancing set is being lowered. All
pole-dancers get you asses over to the center court and get ready to RUM-
BULLLLLL!" Rolling my eyes I mutter to myself, "Jesus! Can I believe this
shit?" When do they say that 'get ready to rumble' bullshit anyway? Is it
at phony pro-wrestling matches? And all of a sudden the thought of
pole-dancing seems so cringeworthy to me! Jesus, I hate the thought of even
showing up for it. Oh balls though, I guess I need to show up after
accepting all the free drinks, and of course I'd like to be able to wiggle
my thumbs on the way home instead of going to the hospital. Don't wanna get
a thumb broken.

Drinking my beer I look back at the bar thinking I need a shot of
something, but there are three waiters in the 'Waiter Only' spot now so I
wander in the general direction of the middle of this huge place. I can see
the pole-dancing section being lower so I know where to go, that's if I can
get through all these men. Again I think how almost everyone is bigger than
me. Big, tall, wide-shouldered man, and woman too. And what's with lowering
the runway?  Fuck, I guess they do it for dramatic effect. People are
looking up at the runway coming down and clearing out the area yelling and
laughing or shouting. Bunch of goof balls! It's like a fashion show's
'runway', I think that's what it's called. Oh balls, this is gonna be so
fucking awkward! I should have had another shot of rum.

When I'm almost at the roped-off section; the ropes just put-up around the
'runway' that's made from thick plywood. Nothing fancy as it 'clunks' on
the cement floor of the airplane hanger with some kind of supports keeping
it a-few-feet off the floor. The preppy guy with the bow tie, the guy who
gave me the lanyard when we got here, touches my shoulder, saying, "Good,
you're here. I need a nickname for introductions." I'm like, Huh?
Introductions?" He has a few three-by-five cards in one hand, saying,
"Yeah, a name. Any name!" I go, "Tomas," and ask, "Do you need a last
name?" He writes 'Tomas' next to the number '8' on the three-by-five card,
mumbling, "Last name? God, no!" and he's off to find lanyards
one-through-seven I suppose. He says over his shoulder, "Go up the steps at
either end of the stage!" Stage?

Looking over I see two guys stepping up on the so-called 'stage' or
'runway' that's like eight-foot wide and maybe thirty-feet long. The other
'pole dancers' are going up steps at the other end so I walk over to my end
and go up the steps passing the bouncer who's guarding the steps I
guess. He says, "Good luck, number eight." I like being called
'pole-dancer' but 'number eight' is kinda cool too, and then I ask myself,
'Just how fucking drunk are you?' Yeah, I should have just paid for the
admission, and my drinks.

On the stage I look out at the unruly crowd, mostly drunks acting extra
stupid and crude with their comments. I suppose a lot of the men, and some
women, in the crowd have seen this sorry act many times as they're yelling,
some in unison, "Take it off, take it off!" as well as other explicitly
raunchy suggestions of what the eight of us contestants should do with each
other. It's very raucous, putting it mildly, and now spot lights turn-on in
front of me and behind me. Well that just makes it worse! I can't see
anything but a bright glare and it's as if me and the other seven guys on
this platform are alone in an empty airplane hangar with incredibly loud
shouting and whistling-noises being piped-in. The eight of us look at each
other frowning like, 'What the fuck have we got ourselves into?' and then I
try looking into the bright spotlights hoping to see Danny or Hayden, but
look away immediately 'cause they're killer bright lights!

The bowtie-man hops up on the 'stage' carrying a mic and the crowd roars
until he holds both arms up and things settle down to a loud annoying
buzz. Hundreds of drunk males murmuring sexual innuendoes to each other
with guffawing and rustling all coming from behind the glare. Surreal
doesn't begin to cover it as I guzzle the rest of my beer. Bowtie man runs
through the general rules, which I pay no attention to whatsoever. I'm
looking at the arms holding out bottles of beer to me... what the fuck?
After hesitating, I take a bottle realizing the roped-off areas has been
infiltrated and men are leaning against the platform all around it. Now I'm
glad the platform is off the floor. Somebody knows what they're doing.

Bowtie is introducing pole-dancer number one and asking him a couple of
questions. Number one's going by the name, 'Numb-dick' and to the question,
"What's your favorite anal-sex position? he replies a drunken, "What?" and
the crowd guffaws again. As he talks with each guy, they all appear to be
drunker than I am. Number one, who look's nineteen at the oldest, although
he is kinda cute but very hairy too. I mean for being so
young. Pole-dancers numbers two-through-four are very average in every
way. They have names like, 'Big nuts,' 'Deep Throat King' and 'Bobby's
Cock', yeah, that's his nickname. Four of the eight are over
thirty-years-old and one is fat. I guess that's the comedy relief that
Danny mentioned hours ago when we first got here. I get introduced as
'Tomas' and like all the others get a 'mock' cheer. My question is: "What's
the biggest cock you've ever sucked?" I go, "Dude, I only eat pussy..." and
I hear females screeching as the guy goes, "Right, okay then..." Stepping
away from me, he tells a couple of raunchy jokes I don't get as I go for
another arm and hand out of the lights handing be another beer.

Finally, without me being told anything useful, bowtie says, "First
five-minute pole-dancing starts... now!" and he scurries down the steps a
few feet from me as a loud, hot beat kicks off and I don't do anything
except guzzle the latest half-bottle of beer someone passed up to me. As I
guzzle the beer I pray the donor doesn't have hoof and mouth disease. The
crowds, or audience in front and behind me start yelling for me to take
something off and dance. I'm feeling giddy as I give the 'finger' to the
front and then turn around getting a big cheer from guys on that side, and
give them the finger too. Half mock-cheers again, and half boos as I yell,
"Fuck you all," not that I could even hear myself when I yelled it, that's
how loud the music and the drunks are.

Looking down the runway I can see the other so-called dancers, some with a
drink in one hand, doing various amateurish moves using the pole. The cute
kid, number one, is mooning the crowd with his pants down getting loud
roars of approval. The spot-lights are ridiculously hot and without
thinking I take my sleeveless T-shirt off to great roars down at this end
of the runway crowd. I stupidly almost throw my shirt into the crowd before
remembering at the last split-second that I like this shirt. Dropping the
shirt I thrust my hips as I'm finishing off the last of the semi-warm beer
and then toss the bottle gently into the crowd. I assume someone caught
it. For the hell of it, I pull my shorts down in back and moon both sides
of the stage as I hear a different sound. Was that a gong?

Oh, a gong sounded and the music stops and I haven't really done
anything. The eight of us look at each other with some guys shrugging like,
'What the fuck now?' Bowtie man skips up the steps and has a short 'bit' he
tells containing sexually explicit jokes that gets a great reaction from
the crowd. He probably says the same thing every night the club has this
insane competition... if you can even call it a competition. Bowtie finally
yells, "The Quest 057 sound meter, please!' and a big digital like clock
thing, lights up high on the wall nearest the other end of the
stage. Digital numbers are blinking on and off, I guess measuring the sound
in here like the meters used for noise pollution situations. Bowtie hold
his hands over number one's head while yelling out the kid's fake name to
loud cheering and whistling as the brightly flashing numbers climb on the
meter topping off at 167. This goes on with each contestant and then me
with the meter topping off at 143. Huh, I guess this crowd's sensitive,
reacting badly to me flipping them off for five minutes. Small-minded group
if you ask me.

Hopefully I'll be eliminated, but, no! Three other guys had lower
meter-readings unfortunately. Okay, good though... number-one, 'Numb-dick'
was the top scorer. I was sweating on the dance floor but multiply that by
five and that's how much I'm sweating now under these lights. Anyway I'm
holding the last beer bottle someone gave me upside-down to show it's empty
and about twenty bottles are held up to me. I can see only the arms and
hands holding the bottles and nothing behind them because of the spot
lights, and that's fucking eerie! Being age-prejudice myself, I take a
bottle from the youngest looking hand and arm and then when I take a swig I
realize immediately it's a mixture of beer and whiskey... good!

The second round begins and I do some hanging on the pole with one hand
while humping my hips as I'm swilling down the
shot-and-beer-in-a-bottle. Then I think, Jesus I'm chugging shots and
beers? Oh fuck, throwing up on stage would be awesome! Humping the pole
first with my crotch and then with my ass I finish off all the booze/beer
mixture and then, as I bend over to put the bottle down, I think I'll pull
my pants off my ass only then realizing my ass has been exposed ever since
I mooned the crowd earlier. Oh well.

Alternating giving the finger, using both hands and pumping them at the
crowd in front and then mooning the crowd in back, and then doing a few
sexually-suggestive dance steps... and the gong goes off again. It was
another fast five-minutes as more arms and hands are visible from the crowd
offering me beers. I take one and drink a fresh cold beer that was full
when I took it from a youthful looking hand. I exaggerate mouthing, 'Thank
you' in the direction of the arm," and guzzle four big mouthfuls of the
very cold beer. It's a light beer too, Millers! The noise meter is
registering numbers that I could care less about until, after the third
'gong' when I realize it's just number-one and number-eight on the stage
now. Oh balls! Us two cute guys are left, even if I do say so myself. What
a fucking shocker!

I don't want to win though because I simply don't want to be involved with
this any longer, so I pull my pants up and just go through the motions with
the crowd urging me on and me thinking drunkenly, 'I'm letting my fans
down!' Ha ha! I chuckle to myself, looking down at 'Numb-dick' who has his
dick in his fist pretending he's jerking off or, no, he is jerking off!
That makes me laugh out loud, hanging onto the pole and then leaning
against its with my hands in front of the pole so I can clap for
'Numb-dick' and he turns jerking off in my direct so I hold out my tongue
like, 'Shoot off in my mouth' and it's like we're a team with the drunks
eating it up. They probably think I'm as young as 'Numb-dick' obviously
is. Two twinks having oral sex. How cute is that!

Finally the gong sounds and after the meter registers numbers 'Numb-dick'
is declared the winner. I'm still clapping for him slowly as we walk to the
middle of the stage where we hug and he shouts in my ear, "Get the fuck off
the stage, asshole! I'm the winner!" And he's dead serious. I shout back in
his ear, "I'm telling your mother what you did tonight!" and he goes, "Fuck
you!" and with that we part patting each other's backs as the bouncer comes
over holding his arm out towards the end of the stage, showing me where to
go. In his deep voice, he says, "This way please, number eight."  Everyone
wants me off the stage, including me. The bouncer has my shirt and he hands
it to me as I go down the steps and now I can see everyone again.

Putting my totally wet-with-sweat T-shirt on I hear a youngish voice say,
"Number-eight, number-eight!" and there's this gangling kid with a black
ponytail struggling past some older men to get to me. I'm looking like,
'What the...?' and he says, "I passed you the cold beer last." Looking
around to see if anyone put him up to this, I go, "Um, thank you. I needed
it after..." and he's hugging me, saying, "You got robbed. You should have
won!" Fucking fans, huh!

After he kisses my face, from nowhere Danny's pulling the kid off me,
saying, "What the fuck's wrong with you?" to the kid, and then J.J. is here
too, yelling at me, "You didn't even try, Newman!" I make a 'face' at him
and ask Danny, "Can we get outta here now?" He goes, "Nooo! It's only
one-thirty. Let's have a cigarette in the courtyard." As we walk through
the milling mumbling crowd, still babbling about the pole-dancing thingie,
I notice Danny's face looks pinkish-red from his face sweating into the
make-up. Oh yeah, he had to have washed his face too, like I did. Well, not
with soap because more color is still on his face although it doesn't look
anything like it did after Hayden made-up his face hours ago.

Danny's telling me, "Hayden's in the courtyard with an older guy who won't
leave him alone and we might need to get physical." Oh that's just fucking
great! J.J. pulls on my arm, saying, "You basically looked like you didn't
give a shit up there on the stage, Newman. Where's the competitive juices
you show on a baseball diamond?" I give him another 'look' and sort of flip
my hand at him, like he's an annoying fly buzzing around my head or
something while Danny's pulling my arm heading us in the direction of the
second bar, the one we where at earlier. The one close to the door leading
to the courtyard. I'm smashed but I'm in that kind of drunken condition
where you don't think you're nearly as drunk as you are.

The courtyard isn't as crowded as it was when I was here with Tomas. I
guess most of the crowd is still inside where they're crowning the
pole-dancing-king. Better 'numb-dick' than me, and what an asshole he was!
Hayden's also washed his face sometime during the night turning the black
make-up into a full-faced gray mask. He doesn't appear to be in any trouble
with the old guy he's with though, talking nicely with an older guy who has
a full beard and a shaved head, which is one of the stupidest looks of all
time! It's become popular with professional baseball players so naturally
dopes like this old guy want that 'look' too. Danny lets go of my arm and
storms up to the older guy, saying, "He's simply not fucking interested,
old timer!" Hayden goes, 'Simon and I are just talking sports, Danny."

I tune them out as J.J., still at my elbow, says, "Weren't you interested
in beating that little twink twit?" I go, "J.J., I'm going to poke one of
your eyes out if you say one more word about that fucking pole-dancing
thing." He looks startled and says, "I'm telling my Uncle you're gay!" I
laugh out loud realizing he's drunker than I am. Danny appears to have
separated Hayden from baldie, so I ask J.J., "How are you getting home
tonight? You're not driving, right?" Danny calls over, saying, "We'll get
another beer after a cigarette. Okay, Dylan?" I shrug and look back to
J.J., who I notice again has eyes that are too fucking close together and
his ears stick straight out from the sides of his head... but then looks
aren't everything. Omigod though, his pale red doll-hair is sticking to his
head drenched in sweat. Yeah well, we all look like shit though!

He calls over to Danny, "Hey, am I invisible? Didn't you see me here too?"
but Danny's back talking to Hayden with both his arms loosely around
Hayden's waist. I go, "Let me put the question to you a different way,
J.J.. How'd you get here?" He goes, "My dad dropped me off at my friend,
Tony B,s, and we came together." Whoever Tony B. is. I go, "So he's driving
you home? This Tony 'G' person?" He shrugs, "It's Tony 'B' for Baldassarre,
and I'm not sure. He may have already left after throwing up twice. I ran
into Danny so I guess I'll get a ride home with him." Well fuck!

That's just great! None of us are sober enough to drive. J.J. goes, "Oh, my
folks had a cookout and my Uncle and Aunt where there. It was at my
parent's place and Uncle B. said...," I interrupt asking, "Your Uncle? The
one with the baseball team?" He looks disgusted, saying, "Of course! He's
the only uncle I have." Well how the fuck would I know that? He goes,
"Anyway, don't say I told you, but you'll be on the bench with me for our
first game, first of twenty real games starting Saturday afternoon, or is
it Sunday?" I go, "Oh no, you mean I made the team?" He thinks I'm being a
wise-ass, and says, "What, you thought your reputation would automatically
get you on the team?" I have no reputation except for the lies Danny told
Coach, but I act humble as if I did have a reputation, saying, "Of course
not! I had to earn a spot a spot on the team like the rest of you." He
goes, "And you did, Congratulations," and he holds out his hand. He's so
fucking drunk!

I shake his hand, muttering, "Thanks, J.J.," and he goes, "So we're infield
utility players and you're also maybe an outfielder back-up too, or maybe
we're both infield back-ups; I forget. We're both utility players, I'm
positive of that." I go, "Forget about that!  So, except for running into
Danny, how'd ya say you expect to get home tonight without a car?" He
points at Danny, "He said I could get a ride with you guys, but I don't
know what I'd do if I hadn't run into him." Swell! Nodding my head I give a
thought that maybe I can drive us home safely, and then veto that idea.

Danny comes over with his arm around the back of Hayden's neck, saying,
"C'mon. Ya done your smoke yet?" I haven't even lit one! Before I can
mention that, he goes, "Good! We'll get another drink and dance the night
away, ya know, working off the alcohol." Idiot! He says 'working off the
alcohol' while swilling down his latest just-purchased beer!  J.J. follows
Danny and Hayden as I stand here trying to think about getting us home
alive. Danny turns around, saying, 'You too, Dylan, let's go!" Oh brother,
he's acting as our leader again, and in his drunken condition too.

Nodding my head I follow them with a new thought in my jangled brain: It's
off the topic of getting home alive, but I realized I was right about
something. There are no guys here wearing the kind of make-up Hayden put on
us, so going to this gay club is the excuse for Hayden to do something he
loves to do... put make-up on people. He likes doing it the way I like
giving guys haircuts. The vast majority of guys in the world would think
we're both goofs, but fuck 'em. Both our hobbies are harmless enough,
although my thing has a sexual overtone to it while I'm pretty sure
Hayden's doesn't. He just likes doing it. Well, okay, I'm sure that's the
story behind the make-up although it's doubtful I'll remember it
tomorrow. No loss if I do or don't.

Inside we have another beer and I dance, mostly with J.J. who shocks the
shit out me by being a very, very cool dancer and best of all I don't think
he knows how cool a dancer he is. At least he doesn't mention it or brag
about it to me. To further shocks me, after dancing for like
fifteen-minutes, he's now embracing me as we're jostled by too many dancers
in too close proximity to each other. J.J. starts kissing me with his
tongue in my mouth and it's impossible to pull away because we're
completely encircled by this tight crowd of guys bumping into us as we bump
into them. J.J. extends the tongue-in-my-mouth-kiss to maybe thirty-seconds
with him groping my junk. I'm not fighting him off because, if I keep my
eyes closed and don't see his weasel face, it's a damn hot make-out and,
surprise, surprise, he has a sexy scent too. He feels my boner against him
and he's rubbing it from top to bottom. If he does it much longer I'm gonna
shoot off in my pants. How embarrassing can it get, but if you let yourself
get this drunk, ya know... shit happens.

Finished the make-out, he does one last grope of my boner and then takes my
hand and starts leading me, pushing aggressively at the crowd heading
toward the corridors on the way to the ten-stall lavatory, saying, "Don't
you dare tell anyone about this, Newman." Then he stops and says, "If I'm
gonna fuck you, I should at least know your first name, and I've forgotten
it." I say, "You can forget about fucking me too, because it's not
happening," and the look on his face makes me feel bad for him, so I add,
"Not tonight, I mean. That's all I meant," and I squeeze his shoulder to
kind of let him know he's alright, although he's far from alright as far as
I'm concerned. J.J.'s short but stocky too so his shoulders are wider than
mine.  He goes, "You're right, Newman. We're too drunk. We can discuss it
discretely at Monday's practice." I nod, and he says, "Who knew you'd fall
for me though, huh?" I give his shoulders a partial hug but don't say
anything to encourage him further along that bull-shit line.

J.J. is just a guy like all of us. I'm still feeling bad for my abrupt
rejection of his 'fuck plans' so I put my arm across his shoulders, asking,
"Who else will be on the bench with us?" He tells me some names and the
position that they back-up as I'm thinking I need to call a fucking cab,
and I mean even if I need to pay for it myself. J.J. says, "We'll get our
uniforms on Friday." I go, "Huh? Uniforms, Really? That's cool!" and he
talks about that for a while as I've finally decided to do something about
a ride home.

I go, "Excuse me John Joseph," and he chuckles and pokes my side, like he
does too often. I take out my phone and say, "I've got to get all of us a
safe ride home." He nods encouragingly and I Google car service for the
Quincy area and then make some calls as J.J. and I lean against a wall with
his arm around the back of my waist. He's just one of us gay guys and I
remember in middle school and high school how some guys were outcasts
because certain 'in crowd' snobs thought certain fellow students didn't
measure up. Those certain other students couldn't have had a good time at
school so I want to be kind of nice to J.J. He's just a guy. Not that I'm
letting him fuck me. Let's not get carried away, but I can at least be nice
to him and I wasn't earlier so I'm trying to make up for it now.

After four calls, I look at him and say, "I got a ride home for all of us,
J.J.!"

to be continued...

       Donny Mumford      thinat20@yahoo.com       donnymumfor@outlook.com

======================================================

Hoping some readers may be interested, there are books of mine published
and available on Amazon.com. Anyone who has Kindle can download them for
next to nothing. The books are usually around ten dollars. They are about a
19 year old gay boy (Oliver) who has a far different life than Dylan's. And
there is a new book, 'Mike, his Bike and Me'. Please at least check them
out by typing my name on Amazon.com. Information about the story in the
books can be found in some detail there. Thank you.

 Donny Mumford
 
========================================================

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