Chapter 10
Club Blur was more packed than expected for the Saturday after Thanksgiving.
William invited a friend from his work, Remi, and Philip, an acquaintance of ours we’d met at the gym, to make it a party—and possibly because he knew there was a good chance I’d bail early.
Blur was once what we jokingly called slumming it. In our younger years, we’d had our moments, thinking ourselves better than others, giving in to the opinions forced onto us by our parents and the company we kept. Luckily, we’d grown out of it.
The clientele was definitely not what we’d find at our private clubs, but the heathenistic atmosphere was an itch that needed to be scratched from time to time. Once we’d surveyed the lower floor, the four of us practically ran for the VIP area and the somewhat more relaxed vibe it provided.
Here, no one knew us as our fathers’ sons. No one calculated our net worth before saying hello. We could be anyone. A tip to get into the VIP area and bottle service to keep us away from the crowded bar were all the pomp we needed.
The music wasn’t as loud on the second floor overlooking the wide dance area. A sea of bodies rolled like waves below us, with whitecaps sparkling here and there as the ever-moving lights glanced off glittery clothing or sweat-dampened skin.
“Where’ve you been hiding lately, Luke?” Remi asked. Both he and Philip had been out with us a few times. Neither were old money—our parents wouldn’t agree with the associations—but they were good guys.
I shrugged in answer and said, “Not hiding, just busy.”
William ordered a bottle of Don Julio, while Remi and Philip made some sort of complicated hand gestures, a pregame ritual of theirs before getting trashed off top-shelf liquor. I snickered and turned to watch the dancers while they talked.
How easy it was for them. They could come to a place like this, good-looking enough to have their pick of women, have fun, dance, get lucky, and call it a great time.
For me, this rivaled waterboarding in some ways.
Technically, I’d never been tortured for information, but scenes like this were a brand of hell I likened to it.
Seeing without ever touching. Dreaming with no hope of follow-through.
The patrons were a good ratio of women to men. Packs of ladies stood at high-top tables or danced in bunches. Other groups of men, like ours, eyed the women as if they were wolves spying on the sheep.
Sometimes, I could get away with watching the men more than I would allow myself in other settings. From critiquing what they were wearing, who was trying to impress, or who was compensating, it had been a way to relax. To be me without worry of who might catch me doing so.
This night wasn’t sometimes, though.
My recent glance out of the closet was too raw to let my guard down. The shock had worn off, even without all the answers. The confusion of why I hadn’t figured out Ashley was a guy had receded some. What remained were the what-ifs and what-could-bes.
What if he hadn’t shoved me away? What if he’d let me kiss him longer, deeper?
At the time he’d been Ashley, would I have wanted to kiss him harder?
In hindsight, knowing he was a guy, I could say yes, but at the time?
I could admit kissing Ashley hadn’t been as off-putting as it’d been with previous women. Did that mean something?
What could’ve happened if we’d both been there without secrets? With me as a gay man, and him as—well, whatever made him want me?
All questions I’d never have answers to.
“Someone catch your eye?” William said as he nudged my shoulder.
I turned around with a practiced smile. The bottle of tequila had been delivered along with shot glasses, a bowl of lime and orange wedges, and salt. Remi was doing the honors, while Philip briskly rubbed his palms together and hooted.
“Nah,” I said.
“That’s your problem.” William waved toward the club at large. “They don’t need to catch your eye.”
“Facts, man,” Philip agreed with a nod. “Get laid, not engaged.”
I laughed with them but didn’t feel it. Sure, theoretically, it sounded simple.
As a grown-ass man, I should be able to get laid, no strings, no anything other than consent, and go about my life afterward.
Theories, though, only in theories. My life wasn’t that simple.
I certainly wasn’t coming out in a place like this, but I couldn’t shop the women—purely for appearance’s sake.
A woman’s sex appeal didn’t hold value to me as it did them.
At this time in my life, attractiveness, at least in women, was more about approachability.
That was what had turned me toward Ashley.
At a distance, she had been quieter, but not shy.
She’d been reserved, yet not cold. Was the man the same?
So far, in our limited encounters, he’d shown me too many sides of himself.
Puzzling, for sure.
I could say chances were high he was queer since he’d dressed as a woman, but that would be a misconception based on biases instilled in me by my parents and the environment.
Little did they know, those same biases were against me.
Not only for my orientation but also for my lack of experience.
Father had sat me down at an early age, probably did the same to my brother, and said men required sex to function.
It was biology, encouraged, and tolerated when discreet. No bastards and no drama.
Did I consider myself weaker, lesser, because I was a virgin at my age?
No, not really. Was the fact that I’d never done anything other than kiss holding me back, instilling fear of the unknown?
Nope, that wasn’t it either. What was it Asher had said?
When he did have sex, he hoped they were healthy.
I chuckled to myself. Agreed. When the time came, if it came, I wasn’t going to hold back due to some virginal anxiety or shyness.
Fuck that. I had years of porn and imagination, and I planned to use it.
But on whom? When? Did I really think I could marry a woman to appease my parents and fuck her into the mattress? I could probably get away with postponing sex until after marriage. I had enough reasons to make it sound good. But then what?
Ha. Get laid? At this point, it might cause more problems than it’d fix.
William clapped my shoulder and shook me, all while keeping a precariously full shot level in his other hand. “Here.” He brought it closer. “You need this.”
I did. I so did. The burn of alcohol didn’t last long with a chaser of club soda.
By the time a hint of tingle hit my brain, Remi was pouring another round.
The second shot was easier. Philip laughed for no reason, and William laughed at him for it.
Even I snorted and smiled at how ridiculously easy it was to please them.
Four shots in, Remi and Philip were dancing where they sat, and William was on the prowl. He’d marked several groups of potential prospects, giving commentary on his ideas about their willingness. Faking interest was much easier with alcohol, so I played along.
“Dibs on the one in red.” Remi nodded toward a group of ladies in painted-on dresses.
William pointed with his glass. “That’s fine. I’ll take the virginal white.”
Philip shook his head. “Nope. Spells danger. She’s not looking for a dirty fuck wearing that.”
William laughed. “No? Bet she’s calling me ‘Daddy’ before the end of the night.”
I couldn’t help but laugh.
“Come on.” William made to get up.
“I’m not dancing,” Philip said but stood as well.
“Fuck dancing. I’m heading for the ladies.”
Philip exchanged a glance with Remi, who shrugged and followed.
Before he stepped too far, he turned. “Coming?” Remi asked me.
Dancing might be a more tolerable alternative to talking up some woman about her life choices. I sighed, hating my options, but I’d play the dutiful wingman. I’d mingle, talk, laugh, then slip away when they paired off.
Except that didn’t happen at all.
With a hand on the rail to remain steady as we descended the stairs, I glanced several times at the crowd of dancers.
Maybe it was magic or the warm fuzz in my brain, but the crowds parted in a slow sway, and I took them in at the right time.
There. Spotlighted as if it had been fate, Asher danced among the ramble of faceless strangers.
Within a blink, he was swallowed again, hidden, teasing my slowed mind. I stumbled the next step and grabbed the banister with both hands. Had it really been him?
I wasn’t exactly drunk, but with the buzz and the low lighting, I could’ve imagined him or mistaken someone else for him.
William, Remi, and Philip veered left, and without a word, I went right. Right to the edge of the dance floor.
The music was fast. The bass pounded in my chest as much as in my ears, controlling my heartbeat. Arms and torsos moved this way and that as I searched for the man who might have been Asher. Now, I wasn’t so sure I had seen him correctly.
There.
Like a ghost, the object of my keen interest moved in and out of focus. I wasn’t much of a dancer, but I was strongly contemplating taking a step into the crowd, doing the generic sway, so I could find this person and put myself out of misery. It couldn’t be him. What were the chances?
Would fate throw him at me every fucking weekend until I gave in?
But before I could take that first step, the sea moved in my favor. A clear path was cut from the edge of the throng straight to the man who caught my attention. He had the right height and build. He wore a pleated black kilt and a sheer shirt. Was it the skirt that made me think he was Asher?
Sweat-soaked hair flopped as he moved, the spiky length teasing me with hints of black-rimmed eyes above a lazy smile. His hands were raised, then smoothing down his neck to his chest. He contorted his body, rolling his hips in a dangerous mating call.