I’d like to think my mascot game has improved in the few years I’ve been doing this. Not having to speak to anyone is freeing in a way I can’t quite explain. Added on top of that, when no one can actually see me—me!—I feel like an entirely different person. I’m not Torin Jonah who has to warn all his hook ups that I’m ridiculously awkward and shy to the point of crippling anxiety so if they can’t just get to fucking, preferably in the dark and quickly so I don’t have to think too hard about being around someone, then I’m not coming over.
I’m not even Torin Jonah at all. Torin Jonah can’t speak to people. He can’t sit in a crowd or be looked at too long by a single person, never mind more than one. Torin Jonah becomes paralyzed with anxiety when surrounded by strangers.
Being Surry has given me the ability to breathe. To exploremyself and be among people without having to be me. I’ve learned to loosen up, dance and laugh and have some fun. As long as I’m behind a mask, I’m fine. As long asno onelooks at me as anything other than a mascot, everything is perfectly good.
In a lot of ways, I think taking this job has been one of the best decisions I ever made. My parents might not think much of it. They think it’s thoughtless and juvenile. It’s not acareer.
While I suppose I understand their point, it's more than just putting on a costume. It’s about getting fan engagement. Excitement. Interacting with the fans. It’s about creating a positive customer experience, so they want to come back, regardless of the outcome of the game.
It’s not enough to just put on the costume. I have to have a personality. I have to interact.
Those are things I haveneverdone in public. Not in front of anyone at all. To me, the fact that I’m able to is huge. Even if I’m hiding inside a big furry suit. It’s still me. I’m still doing it. For me, that’s a huge stride forward.
Having a job has allowed me independence. It’s afforded me the ability to have my own place and treat myself from time to time.
I’ve been through a lot of jobs in my short life and so far, this is the only one—and the only company—I’ve found that not only understands and cares about my mental health, they’re willing to work with me and make allowances that allow me to grow. I’m happy here.
Even without Hugo, I’d be happy here.
I’m happierwithHugo being here, though. With this team specifically. With Coach Ajo. It might be a recent discovery, but I mean something to these people. People who I thought never saw me. The reality is maybe they recognize my discomfort and allow me to steer our interactions.
As I make my way to my office and strip out of my suit, I reflect on this. I may be exhausted from a long day and know I have an hour’s drive home, but I wouldn’t trade this for anything.
The night is made even better when Hugo gives me his house key, wanting me to spend the night again. I need to pack a bag for my car with extra clothes. The fact that this is even a necessity hasme smiling like a crazy person as I finish for the night after he’s gone to hang out with his friends.
I try very hard not to be jealous. And it’s not exactly his friends I’m jealous of; I’m really glad he has close friends. It’s just, I wish I had some. Or even the ability to make some.
It’s that I know he’s going to a bar where there are girls who will want him. What if he’d rather hook up with one of them than come back to cuddle with me? I can’t even blame him. He’s spent a lot of time with me lately. He must be getting horny.
God, what’s wrong with me? Am I really thinking about Hugo being horny?
Shaking the thoughts out of my head, I eventually leave my office for the night with a wide yawn. I’m just stepping outside into the dark parking lot made bright by a whole lot of lights when my phone pings. I don’t check it until I’m in my car. The parking lot is filled with cameras and security staff are on the clock twenty-fours hours a day, but if someone is desperate, that’s not going to stop them.
The seventies and eighties saw California overrun with serial murderers. Technology to catch them might be better now, but if someone wants to do evil, they will. Being caught isn’t the threat to those people the world thinks it is.
As soon as I’m in my car with the doors locked, I open the message from Hugo. It’s a picture of him and Noah dancing. The lighting is dim and it’s hard to make out a lot of details. There are a few streaks of light, one of which is hitting on the three vultures—I mean women—staring at Hugo just beyond him and Noah. I don’t miss that predatory look at all.
My stomach flips with jealousy and the thoughthe’s minescreams through my head. It’s a lie. He’s not mine. Not at all. They have a better chance with him than I do.
Yet as I stare at the way they’re looking at him, I know their presence and the way they’re looking at him like that, is the sole reason for my insanity as I type back.
Torin Jonah
I’ll stop in for a minute. On my way.
As soon as I send it, my stomach turns sour. Holy fuck, what did I just do? All over misplaced jealousy? Already my breathing is heavier and my vision blurs a little. This is going to end up with me passed out on the dirty floor. I can already tell.
To be clear—Idon’t hate women. I don’t see them as awful people who just want to move into gay spaces and feast on gay men like some people do. I even understand why they encroach on our spaces—the men there aren’t going to hit on them. Ever. They don’t have to be as protective of their drinks for fear of being drugged. They don’t have to worry about being followed out of the place, stalked, or abused. No one gropes them without permission and then gets offended when told no. I totally get it. It doesn’t necessarily make it right—the LGBTQIA+ community in general should be allowed their own spaces—but I understand.
That’s not at all what my jealousy is about. It’s completely regarding Hugo. I’m definitely going to get my heart broken.
PJ’s is super close, I probably could have walked. The drive is less than ten minutes and I’m parked in the parking lot, staring up at the sign as bile rises in my throat, leaving a sour taste in my mouth.
This is a really bad idea. What was I thinking? All over a man who doesn’t want me the same way I want him. He didn’t send me that picture to make me jealous. He was just sharing his night. I know that because I know Hugo enough to know this about him.
I force my feet forward until I’m standing in front of the bouncer. He’s a big guy, though I’d expect nothing less. It only makes sense. He has to be big enough to enforce crowd control and all that.
“Evenin’,” he greets. “ID, please?”
