Page 2 of Jack Frosting

“He’s never a problem. I’ll talk to you later.”

I hung up and headed to Henry’s room to pack a bag. I needed to decide where I was going and what I was wearing.

It was a Friday in March and I hadn’t expected it to be so crowded. In the Uber, I pulled a name from a distant memory and then browsed the reviews and photos on the way. The bar was called The Stable, and it was living up to its name.

The quieter corners had small groups of older men, catching up and chatting, and the dance floor was filled with young, sweaty, and mostly shirtless bodies. There were a few poles along one side as well, and it didn’t take much imagination to understand what those were for. It was as if several biomes of gays were curated to exist under the same roof. I was certainly not the fittest guy in the bar, but I wasn’t the least attractive either, though that still didn’t help my confidence at all. It was merely an observation, a way for my analytical brain to process the information I was inundated with.

Without hailing him down, the bartender finally made his way to me.

“What’re you drinking, cutie?”

He probably says that to everyone.

“Yo-you don’t mean that, do you?”

The shirtless twenty-year-old smiled before leaning in. “I serve everyone, Clark. I only flirt with the handsome ones.” He winked, then leaned onto the bar. “So, what are you drinking, or should I just give you something sweet to swallow?”

“M-my name’s not Clark. It’s Clayton. Why’d you call me Clark?”

“Your glasses. You remind me of Clark Kent. Plus, your polo gives you a bit of a nerd vibe.”

“And that’s good?” I was so out of my comfort zone. It felt like my armpits were leaking.

He nodded. “Shows off your pecs and shoulders. I’ll just make you something special. I’ll be back.”

My phone vibrated and I made the mistake of looking at it. It was Jill. She wanted the cat. I texted back.

Clayton: Over my dead body.

I made a note in my calendar to call a locksmith tomorrow and get all the locks changed. There was no way in hell I was giving her Bella. She was ancient, and on insulin, and I doubted she would even survive a trip to California.

The bartender came back with a glass of colorful pink liquid garnished with two cherries speared by one of those little paper umbrellas.

“It’s my personal favorite. I hope you like cherries. I’m Drake, by the way.”

I grabbed the glass, swallowed the entire drink in one go, then both cherries. “I’ll take another, Drake. Thank you.”

“You liked it that much?”

“It tasted great, but I’d also like to forget why I came here tonight, so can you make it stronger? Or should I just order some shots?”

“How about both?” Drake said, almost conspiratorially. “By the way, my friend wants to know if you think I’m cute.”

Wait, what? I could already feel the alcohol hitting my empty stomach. But that was the point really. I wanted to forget and let go. Like Eli had said.

“You are. Cute, that is.”

Drake smiled, but a man next to me asked for a beer and despite getting my second drink, he was eventually swarmed by other customers. Younger customers.

The second drink hit harder than the first, and the music eventually called to me. Out there, I was surrounded by writhing bodies. It was hypnotic. Something inside of me came alive out there.

That something made me have a few more drinks.

At some point, I had a man behind me and another in front, grinding to the rhythm and despite the amount of alcohol, my dick was still rock hard. This. This was what I needed.

I lost myself on that dance floor.

Inevitably, the drinks that had given me freedom called me to the bathroom, but I was not prepared for the couples in various stages of undress on the way back there. I had to wait at the urinal to calm down enough to let the stream go.