Day 9 New York, NY #3
“Good.” The man sits down and holds out a hand. “I’m Derek, by the way.”
I return the handshake, keeping my eyes on his face. “Max.”
“Can I buy you a drink, Max?” He has dimples, just like Sam.
“Sure.” He orders me another Long Island iced tea and something brown in a highball glass for himself. And while we wait, I figure maybe he needs to know what he’s getting himself into with me. “Um — I think I should let you know that I’ve never done this before.”
Derek grins at me. “Baby gay from the suburbs seeing the lights of the big city for the first time?”
“Something like that. I mean —” I wave my hand vaguely over my shoulder. “My friend wanted to come and he’s out there somewhere finding the man of his dreams. Or the man of his tonight, anyway. I just thought I’d tag along.”
“So you’re, what — an extremely open-minded straight dude?”
I lean forward, and my knee wedges against his. He doesn’t pull away. “For now, let’s just say — bicurious.”
Derek laughs. “I can work with that.”
The bartender comes back with our drinks, and Derek watches as I take a big gulp. “You know those things are like — ridiculously strong, right?”
“Are they?” I peer down into my glass. “Huh, I was wondering why my face was feeling so funny.”
He shakes his head. “God, you’re fucking adorable. I can’t believe your friend left you here all alone.”
“Maybe he knew you were gonna come and rescue me.” I put my hand on his forearm, and he covers my fingers with his. Mmmm. It doesn’t feel as nice as holding Sam, but I’m still into it.
It’s weird how easy this is. I know Derek is flirting with me, and so I go ahead and flirt back.
And it works just the same as it would with a girl.
The more I talk to him, the more I sip my drink, the better he looks, and the easier it gets to put my hands on him, to lean into his space.
And when he asks me to dance, when he pulls me to my feet, the room spins, and my legs feel a little wobbly.
But I let him lead me into the crowd, and I throw my arms around his neck and he grabs my waist, and it’s easy to find the beat with all the booze pounding through my veins.
His mouth is right in front of me, and he’s not Sam, so I don’t have years of history holding me back.
I don’t have to think about the consequences, about what I might be throwing away.
I don’t have to think about four-letter words.
I don’t have to think about what might happen if it turns out that I was wrong, that I’m actually straight.
I don’t have to think at all — so I shut my eyes and I slide my hand up into his hair and I crush our mouths together.
It’s like I lit him on fire. He springs to life, his arms going tight around me, fingers digging into my back as he shoves his tongue into my mouth.
And it’s rough — his arms are thick and his hands are strong and I’ve never been grabbed like this before.
I can feel the stubble on his cheeks, the chiseled line of his jaw, the scent of cologne and raw sweat, and it’s nothing like kissing a girl —
But it opens something inside me, some primal flood of need that I never knew I had, and it feels so fucking right —
And so I hold him tight and I let him slide his hands down my back, grabbing my ass, and I think maybe — maybe this is what I’ve been missing all along.
SAM
I’m following a pair of broad shoulders down a narrow hallway at the back of the club and I’m trying to tell myself that this is what I want.
I never asked his name, but then, I often don’t.
He was a little rude on the dance floor, but the way he pulled me close, mouth on my neck as he ground against my ass, gave me just enough of a shiver that when he whispered a crudely-worded suggestion in my ear, I turned to him and nodded.
So now I’m here, and I’m hoping this is what I need to clear my head.
He pushes open a door, and we’re in a single bathroom, the room barely large enough for the two of us to slip inside and lock the door behind us. His hand is still on the knob when I turn towards him, running my hands up his chest to pull him down into a kiss.
But he shoots out a hand to stop me, iron fingers grabbing my jaw. “Sorry, princess, I don’t do that.”
“Um —”
There’s an icy stab of fear in my stomach, but I don’t have time to say anything else before he’s spinning me around, one hand on the back of my neck, shoving my cheek against the door. His other hand is fumbling at my waistband, reaching for my belt, and I know I need to —
“Actually, I can’t — I didn’t prep —” I lie.
He groans. “What was all that teasing about then? You bring me back here just to lead me on?”
I shrug. “Sorry.”
“Well, that’s alright.” He grabs my shoulder and turns me around again. “You can still get down on your knees and suck my cock.”
I cross my arms across my chest. “You know what, I think I changed my mind.”
A slow smile spreads across his face. “Maybe I should go back out there and ask your little boyfriend instead —”
“You know what? Fuck you —” I shove him back hard, and it gives me just enough space to get the door open and escape into the hallway before he can grab me again. “Fucking prick —”
I stride back down the hallway, and boy, do I feel worse than ever. Most of the guys I cruise turn out to be perfectly nice, but every once in a while, you meet some asshole and it ruins your whole night. And tonight of all nights, when I’m already a total —
I’ll find Max. He’ll make me laugh and give me a hug and everything will be fine. And we’ll head back to Jersey City and we’ll forget this whole nightmare ever happened.
I’m back out in the main room of the club, and I’m scanning the crowd. Max isn’t where I left him at the bar, but he should be easy to find in that checked shirt, so distinctive under the lights. He has to be here somewhere —
And then my heart stops beating.
Because there’s Max in the middle of the dance floor. Kissing some other guy.
I think my vision whites out. I’m right beside them in a flash, grabbing Max by the shoulder and yanking him behind me, putting both hands on the other guy’s chest and pushing him away.
“The fuck is wrong with you?” the other guy shouts.
“What the fuck did you give him?” I shriek, and I’m pretty sure it’s at a frequency that only dogs can hear. I turn back to Max, who’s standing there in a daze. “Are you okay?”
The other guy wipes his mouth and glares at me. “Hey, if you didn’t want anybody picking up your boyfriend, you should have kept a better eye on him.”
“What is it, asshole night?” I seize Max’s arm and drag him toward the front door. He follows me meekly, and it fills my stomach with dread.
Outside on the sidewalk, I pull Max underneath a streetlight, digging in my pocket for the tiny flashlight that I keep attached to my keychain. His pupils look normal and reactive. I reach for his neck, putting two fingers against his pulse point.
“Did he put something in your drink?” I ask. “Are you feeling okay?”
Max grabs my hand and shoves me away clumsily. “Why the fuck did you do that?”
“Why did I —” I open and close my mouth a few times. “Because he was —”
“He was nice.” There’s a muscle working in Max’s jaw, and suddenly there’s a lump in my throat.
“He was —” I swallow hard and try again. “But you’re not —”
Max gives me a strange look. Then, without further preamble, he doubles over and throws up on the sidewalk.
“Fuck, dude!” I yelp. “How much did you fucking drink?”
Max covers his face with his hands, and I’m pretty sure he’s crying. Which, honestly, is what I want to do, too.
But I don’t. I swallow everything else I wanted to say, and somehow I convince Max to sling his arm around me so that I can walk him back to the PATH station.
And I let him pass out on my shoulder on the train, and it’s only after we’re safely back in Jersey City, after Max is tucked in on the couch, that I find a corner and I bury my face in my arms and I bawl.