Chapter 9
NINE
Ethan
The Jackal King was an odd venue, a mash-up of a café, a cocktail bar, and a boho cabaret. The moment you opened the door, you were slapped across the face by the smell of coffee and weed, followed closely by the cloying scent of patchouli.
The club’s name came from a fable about a jackal who fell into a tub of dye and emerged with blue fur, then claimed he was king of the forest. On the wall opposite the bar was an expansive mural depicting the royal blue jackal, wearing his gold crown and perched on a tree-stump throne.
Tables and chairs, as well as a couch and some beanbag chairs, were arranged to provide a view of the stage – three shipping pallets pushed together and painted black. Tie-dyed curtains that looked like repurposed bed sheets formed a backdrop of sorts.
Ethan sat alone at the table closest to the stage, nursing the cocktail Zane brought over when he’d arrived.
Called a Peach Fuzz, the drink was made from muddled peaches, bourbon, and soda.
A little on the too-sweet side, the drink was fizzy and refreshing, and Ethan welcomed the chance to turbocharge his wine buzz with some liquor.
While Zane tuned his guitar, Ethan let his gaze wander over the club’s eclectic patrons.
The hipsters seated behind him were having an animated discussion about cryptocurrency.
At the table next to them was a guy wearing sunglasses and reclining in his chair, his hands clasped in his lap. He was most definitely sleeping.
Everyone else, whether in pairs or groups, was scrolling on their phones or taking pictures of the stage.
Ethan accidentally made eye contact with the bartender, whose burly, tattooed arms were crossed over his chest. When the imposing man’s scowl deepened, Ethan spun around in his seat, thankful to see his friend stepping up to the microphone.
Zane styled himself in a striking way that captured the attention of an audience.
His brown hair was streaked with purple, and he outlined his eyes with a matching purple eyeliner.
He wore a single blue contact lens so he’d appear to have heterochromia, like the guy in Taylor Swift’s Style video.
From time to time, he’d switch which side was blue (and deny it), just to keep people guessing.
Tonight, he was wearing hot-pink Converse high-tops and a purple camouflage bomber jacket. He picked up his guitar and slipped the strap over his shoulder.
The microphone crackled to life. “Hi everyone, I’m Zane Evans.” His introduction was met by a round of light applause. “I’ll be performing some parody songs and original tracks off my album Zane and the Giant Peach. For my first song, I’ll need a volunteer from the audience.”
Ethan groaned. The free drink and the seat next to the stage could only mean one thing…
“Are there any gay boys in the audience who’ve been unlucky in love?”
One of the crypto guys raised his hand, but Zane looked right past him as he scanned the room. His eyes landed on Ethan. “Anyone?”
Ethan raised his hand, a small smile on his face.
Zane beckoned to him. “Come on up.” He patted one of the stools on the stage and Ethan took a seat. After retrieving a box of props from behind the stage curtains, Zane sat next to Ethan. “What’s your name?”
Ethan leaned toward the mic. “Ethan.”
“So, Ethan, having trouble with the boys?”
Ethan recited the lines they’d rehearsed countless times. “Yeah, I just can’t seem to catch a guy’s attention.”
Zane studied him appraisingly, tousling his cherry-red bangs, looking deeply into his eyes, and lifting his hand, which Ethan allowed to drop limply back into his lap.
“Whenever I see gay boys, who struggle on the apps,” Zane sang, launching into the a cappella intro to “Masculine,” his parody of “Popular” from Wicked. “And come now, we all know you struggle on the apps. Rejected by the muscly, bearded guys.”
Zane pulled a baseball cap out of the box and popped it on Ethan’s head. “But let me share my secret plan, that helps a twink land any man. No matter his age, weight, height, or size.”
After turning the cap’s brim to the back, he strummed a chord on his guitar and began to sing.
“Masculine!
You gotta be masculine!
We’ll boost your testosterone,
Speak in baritone,
Learn to walk without a swish.
I can teach you how to top,
Make your stubble pop,
I’ll fulfill your every wish
To be masculine…”
As the number continued, Zane added more and more props, until Ethan was hidden under a flannel shirt, a fake beard, a beer can, a plastic toy fishing rod, and a football.
Zane finished the song in a comically exaggerated falsetto. “… You’ll be masculine. Just not quite as masculine as me!”
At the end of his set, Zane bowed dramatically – nearly folding himself in half – to the enthusiastic cheers and applause of the audience. He plugged his album again, then bounced off the stage, winking at Ethan on his way to the bar.
He returned to their table with two Peach Fuzz cocktails and set one down in front of Ethan. “Sorry for the ambush.” After air-kissing each of Ethan’s cheeks, Zane took the seat opposite his friend and fished a piece of peach out of his drink. “I knew the crowd was going to eat that one up.”
“It’s fine. I know audience participation is always on the table.” Ethan sipped his drink. This would have to be his last one of the evening. As delicious as they were, the sugar and liquor were going straight to his head.
“Clear your calendar for Friday,” Zane said, rubbing his hands together in excitement. “We’re going to The Manhole.”
“The Manhole? Isn’t that place a little skeezy?”
“It’s not skeezy. It’s liberating. What’s skeezy about a throng of half-naked gay guys exploring their sexuality together?”
Zane brought up the club’s Instagram page and slid his phone to Ethan. “Check it out. They’re having a live sex show. Pictures from last year’s event.”
Ethan flipped through the carousel of sweaty shirtless men hanging all over each other.
The photos stopped just short of being pornographic.
A slurry of arousal and embarrassment churned in his stomach.
He quickly closed the app and pushed the phone back to Zane. “A live sex show? Is that even legal?”
Zane booped his nose. “You’re so cute. Yes, it’s legal. By the way, there’s always live sex going on at The Manhole. On Friday, it’ll just be on the stage.”
“I don’t know. This doesn’t really feel like my scene.”
Zane continued as if Ethan hadn’t said a word. “Have you shopped for a new outfit yet?”
“Um, yes,” Ethan mumbled, sipping his drink and staring at the floor.
Zane leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table and clasping his hands under his chin. “What did you pick out?”
Ethan struggled to come up with a lie Zane wouldn’t immediately see through. “You know, just a… black shirt. T-shirt. A black T-shirt.”
Zane slapped Ethan’s hand and sat back in his chair. “You’re such a liar. Look for something sheer and stretchy. And easy to take off. We’re going to get you laid.”
“About that…” Ethan said. “I had a date on Tuesday.”
“What?” Zane exclaimed in surprise, his eyes lighting up. “You little slut! Keeping secrets from me? What’s his name?”
“Blake.”
Zane made a gimme gesture. “Let’s see a picture of this Blake.”
Ethan reached for his phone, but then paused and shook his head. He was too drunk to deal with Zane cooing over how hot Blake was and reminding him that he was dating someone out of his league.
“I don’t have a picture of him yet.”
“No time to snap a selfie, eh?” Zane asked, miming a blow job.
Ethan rolled his eyes. “We played games at the Midway. It was a good time.”
“Uh-huh.” Zane waved his hand impatiently. “And the sex?”
“We didn’t have sex.”
“Is he really religious?” Zane grimaced and clutched his shirt over his heart. “Is he saving himself for marriage?”
“What? No. I told him I don’t like jumping into bed with a guy on the first date.”
“Good job. That’s what every guy wants to hear on a first date. That he’s with a prude.”
Ethan scoffed. “I’m not a prude!”
The corners of Zane’s mouth lifted into a smile every bit as maniacal as that of the Grinch. “Then come to The Manhole with me on Friday night.”
Fuck. I walked right into that one.
“Fine. But I’m not hooking up with anyone.”
Zane braced his elbow on the table and blew out a breath, dropping his chin into his palm. “I miss Party Ethan.”
“I don’t.”
When he’d first met Zane two years ago, Ethan got swept up in his new friend’s “more is better” approach to sex.
He joined Grindr and had a wild summer where he dove dick-first into the hookup scene.
The sex was fun and liberating, giving him a sense of freedom unlike anything he’d ever experienced.
Although a few of the hookups had been a little awkward, none were bad until the late August weekend when he hosted a guy as an early birthday present to himself.
The minute the guy stepped through his door, he pushed Ethan to his knees and unzipped his fly.
Put off, but willing to get down to business, Ethan lowered the guy’s waistband, surprised to find a full erection.
The asshole shoved his cock into Ethan’s mouth, while holding his head so he couldn’t back away.
After a few brutal thrusts, the guy came, filling Ethan’s mouth with his bitter cum.
Then he patted Ethan on the head, zipped up his pants, and left without saying a word.
Ethan spit the cum into his hand and stumbled to the bathroom. While he brushed his teeth and scrubbed the man’s taste out of his mouth, he stared blankly at his reflection, face flushed, eyes red and wet.
He hadn’t had sex. He’d been used. But whose fault was that? It’s not like he’d been assaulted on the street. He’d invited a stranger into his home without even learning his name.
He spit out the toothpaste and rinsed his mouth over and over. If he didn’t respect himself, why would other men respect him?
Ethan climbed into bed fully clothed and curled up under the covers. He deleted the app and committed then and there to dating the old-fashioned way, even if it meant curtailing his sex life.
“You know what they say, man,” Zane said. “Use it or lose it. You don’t want your dick to fall off, do you?”
“Waiting for a second date isn’t going to make anyone’s dick fall off.”
“Without sex, there might not be a second date. Don’t be surprised if this guy makes like Casper and ghosts you.”
Zane’s words landed like a slap. Ethan was no stranger to being ghosted after refusing to have sex on the first date. But usually those dates were lackluster distractions from what the guy really wanted out of him. With Blake, it hadn’t felt like that. They’d had a genuine connection. Hadn’t they?
“We’ve been texting…” Ethan said, but his words were drowned out by the opening guitar riff of the next act.
He opened his text chain with Blake. The last message from Blake was a video of cat jump fails and the question: “Creamsicle?”
They hadn’t talked about getting together again, or even flirted. God, was Zane right? Had he been friend-zoned?
For the rest of the evening, a little feather of doubt kept tickling the back of his mind.
Did Blake see him as just a friend? They’d had such a strong connection on their date, but Blake was gorgeous.
He could have his pick of any man. Why would he wait around for sex with Ethan, whose body was average in every sense?
Hoping to silence the voices in his head, he’d agreed to a third cocktail, an impulsive decision he was regretting on his Uber ride home. The whiskey was giving him heartburn, and all the sugar left him jittery.
Dizzy and fighting a wave of nausea, he rested his cheek against the cool car window. Am I being unnecessarily strict with my “no sex on the first date” rule? If the guy isn’t a total asshole, what harm is there in having sex with him?
His father had gotten into his head. That was the problem. Be respectable. Respectable boys don’t sleep around. But his dad was straight and dating in the early 90s. Ethan was gay, in the twenty-first century. Had his decision to wait cost him his chance with an amazing guy like Blake?
After tipping the Uber driver, he stumbled into his apartment, his head spinning. He kicked off his sneakers and lurched toward his bed, tumbling onto the mattress face-first.
With an annoyed grunt, Creamsicle slithered out from under the bed.
Ethan rolled onto his side. “Sorry, buddy.”
Creamsicle tucked his paws under his body and stared up at Ethan with narrowed eyes.
“I just want a relationship with a nice guy,” Ethan said to his cat, his words slurring together. “Is that too much to ask for?”
He fished his phone out of his back pocket. Before he passed out, he fired off a text to Blake.
ETHAN
What are you up to tomorrow night?