Chapter Text
“Come here often?”
I can barely make out the man before me, never mind his features, his voice barely carrying over the shit music. From what I can tell, he looks pretty, but I barely know how to respond to him. Do I tell him it’s my first time? That would lead to what I do instead, and I’ll have to explain my situation. I know I can’t tell him that I have a wife at home- and a little boy- that would ruin it all before it happened.
“No, I haven’t been out in bars.. Like this, in a very long time.” I can tell I’m shouting, but it feels like we’re whispering over the music. At least that part wasn’t a lie, I haven’t been to a gay bar in a very long time, if a very long time could be classed as 6 months ago. That was the last time I ever tricked with a guy, and it wasn’t even that great. Most of my time has been dedicated to my wife, and to some extent my son, because I’m anxious that she’s going to find out my little secret.
The last guy wasn’t even that great, I mean the sex- it was boring at best. As soon as he finished he just fell asleep, and it was all very. Offputting. For a bottom to fall asleep right after is something I’ve never seen before, even while I’m fucking guys secretly.
It's best to call it a secret, than what it actually is- because I’m not a cheater, I just have needs..
“Christ, how old are you?” His face crinkles in such a way that even under the shoddy lights, I can make out his smile. I'd probably be drawn to that smile under 6 feet of snow. For lack of a better word, or lack of a more advanced description, he is gorgeous. Truly gorgeous, more attractive than any of my others, more attractive than my wife. It barely registers to me that he might be in his twenties, maybe even in his teens.
“I’m not that old!” His smile is infectious, and I continue to speak as I watch him with longing eyes. “I’m 37.”
“Well that ain’t too bad, I’m 29.”
“So what are you doing here then? If you ‘don't come here often’? The lights shift to a more subtle pink, letting me see his face just a little bit better. It’s not a great shot, but anything's better than nothing. Imagine if we met in a dark room instead- it’d be hell. As he talks, animated as anything, he lifts his hands, letting me see the flex of his muscle, gesturing at me a little too much for a simple sentence. “I, well, I’ve wanted to socialise for quite a while.” Not technically a lie.
That response seems to please him, from what I can tell, and I watch, with my sharpest eyes, the way his face seems to change, and he somehow manages to almost completely relax against the bar, fully taking me in for what I am, “Well you sure can socialise with me.” I can barely hear his laughter, but it's definitely there.
“Did you know you’re…very pretty.” I say, between drinks.
“You know what.. I did.” He says with a soft giggle.
“What’s your name?” I call back, watching him take a sip of some sort of brown liquid, wondering what he’s even drinking. I mean it’s a Saturday night, I shouldn't really be drinking. I mean he could just be a goy. Very possible, however much I hate it, but I suppose cheating on my wife with another man isn’t very pious either.
“Whizzer.” He says with a grin, stepping a little closer to me as he does, to the extent where I can fully smell his cologne, and the booze on his breath. An odd kind of cologne though, smells more like the floral stuff my wife wears if I take her out to eat.
“Marvin.” I smile back as he finally touches me, a hand against my arm- the feeling of his fingertips against me pure ecstasy. Fuck me, I’m desperate for him, maybe its because I haven’t had a good fuck in months, but I need him. “Do you want to go outside?”
He takes my arm- properly grabs it as he leads me outside, and a part of me wants to vomit at the thought of being outside, with other people, letting them see me this way. What’s worse is that my wife could see- I mean, I know she wouldn’t, because I’m about 20 miles from home, in a very gay-populated area, and if someone's here, it’s probably because they’re a friend of Dorothy. I still hate it though. My eyes finally focus from the strobe lights to the soft glow of the streetlights, and I can finally take in his face. When I said he was pretty before, it was a major understatement.
It’s his eyes I’m drawn to most actually, the hue of them, the brown of him- his hair, his hair! As Charlotte mew would say. For once, I finally understand all the poetry ever written in the preface of desire, maybe even love. I couldn’t claim the way I feel for him is love, bare-in-mind we’ve exchanged maybe 4 sentences to each other.
There’s something so soft about his eyes, something that I’ve never seen in any person but him- even my wife, she has this sort of muddy brown, the kind that while you can see yourself in them, there is nothing really to look at. His however, christ, his draw me in like they’d kill me. He’d probably kill me. I’d let him if he tried.
I practically drink in his other features, his lips, his hair- his nose, all so unique. All so gorgeous. It all reduces to that silly term.
“You smoke?” He mutters, hand now resting on shoulder, staring down at me, as if the question was life and death, his features mirroring the almost deathly importance of the question. I don’t smoke. The way the cigarette illuminates in his mouth, the flame reflected in his eyes, both change my mind. It can’t be that bad.
The only reason I can bear to drag my eyes from his lips is because I’m too anxious he’ll think I’m being a creep, maybe if he wasn’t so pretty I’d be able to focus on anything but his form. Christ I feel like a predator, focusing on all of the wrong things.
“Yeah. Sometimes.”
As I shrug my shoulders he laughs, not a sympathetic one, but not an entirely real one either- more of a condescending laugh, as he lowers the cig to my mouth, his eyes studying me- probably in the same way I’m studying him. I inhale, very barely, but that’s enough for me to cough out, spluttering and hacking on the floor. Brilliant. So attractive.
All I can hear is the exact same laughter, just louder, and slightly more sympathetic as he pats my back like it’s magically going to change everything. It doesn’t feel like I’m dying, but it certainly isn’t pleasant- and it does last for quite a while.
“Are you alright?” He giggles as I stand up to meet his eyes, and they genuinely look highly entertained.
“Fine. Just, inhaled a little too much.”
“I’m taking it you haven’t smoked before? Have you?” He teases.
“Uh huh. Well I did once in junior-high, but it wasn’t…great.”
“You know you could have said no?”
Something about the way he talks to me rubs me the wrong way, but I don’t really mind it- Trina would never speak to me that way, but I suppose with his type of man, he does prefer to talk back to men like me- to him, it makes us equal. Like him, knowing more about smoking makes him better than me in this aspect of life, because he can’t have what I have. Even if he isn’t aware of it yet. He’s so lucky he’s pretty.
“Yeah. Just wanted to try it.”
“You wanted to impress me, huh?”
Okay so he’s getting cocky.
“You think I need to impress you huh?”
I don’t know if I’m flirting or if he’s genuinely irritating me, but it’s working. I can nearly feel his breath against mine, and his hand returns, tracing the edge of my shirt as he smiles down at me.
“Oh you definitely do. You better have something going for you…or….” His lips are deathly close to mine, and I can smell the alcohol in his breath. So he had vodka.
“Or what?”
I pull back before he can kiss me, I don’t know why I do it, at the moment, but I know exactly why I do it. It just feels wrong for me to kiss- like this especially, in public. I even hate kissing Trina in public. It’s one thing to take a man home for the night than it is to kiss them- it all seems so much more intimate, like I’m loving him the way that I should love my wife.
I’ve never done something like this however, maybe because we’re in public, maybe because he’s so pretty, and I can’t risk letting myself get fond of him. Kissing a man is very easy for me, but maybe Whizzer isn’t easy- especially not like that. All I can focus on is the vague outline of a man across the street, that he most likely watched him try to kiss me, it makes me sick.
"Sorry. I thought- you wanted..” I don’t look at him, but I can picture the sympathy on his face at an instant, his hand still lingers, I suppose he doesn’t want to go home without something for his trouble. That’s what I do, so I can’t judge. I raise my head to him, watching as his face shifts between; confusion, sympathy and just a little desire. We are men after all.
“No I do- just not here.” It’s all I can manage to say, my mind still racing between what I want, and what I should do. I do want him more than anything else right now, but I don’t know if he’s worth it.
“No,, I was probably just too…gay for you.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You know. Different generations.” He says with a smile.
“Mhm. I can try. Well, can I get your number?”
That earns me a smile, and it’s good, it’s very good. It’s only now that I notice a vague dimple. We fumble around for a pen for a while, and I can barely draw my eyes away from his face, now slightly embarrassed about how I turned away such a beauty. If it was sex, I would’ve said yes. I don’t know why I turned him away. Eventually, we get a pen from a man at the bar- back inside the gay club - and he very gently writes his number against my skin.
We talk for a little while longer before we both leave, and I’m left trying to figure out when to call him, and how I will rub the number off my hand before I get back home to Trina.