The room gets darker farther on the dance floor, but I can still feel Julien’s eyes on me. I let the music take me, let my body remember how to move without thinking about who’s watching—or who isn’t.
I dance because it feels good. Because the bass thrums through my bones and rattles all the tension away. I roll my shoulders, my hips, close my eyes and pretend I’m somewhere else.
When I open my eyes again, Julien is watching me unabashedly. I like being watched.
So I give him a show.
I step up on one of the low platforms and force myself to push any thoughts about Will out of my head.He’s not here. He doesn’t want me.
But Julien does.
We don’t get many pretty boys like you in here very often…
My hips roll to the low, throbbing beat. Flashing lights reflect off the pole, the holographic writing on my shirt, and my belly button ring. I use the pole like a professional, pretending I’ve done this a thousand times when, really, I’ve only done it once. And that was at a party I went to with Jesse, where things got a little crazy with some bikers. I felt that for a week afterwards.
The memories of how good it felt to be free and fucked have me turning around to face the bar.
Will’s not here. He doesn’t want me.
With my back to the pole, and one hand gripping it above my head, I watch Julien watch me. His attention makes me brave. I keep my eyes on him, rolling my body. My free hand pushes into my hair, then caresses down my neck to my chest, down my stomach past my belly button. I tease my fingertips into the waistband of the jockstrap that peeks just above my belt, then slide my hand down, over my bulge, and into my pocket. I pull out a lipstick-tube shaped inhaler Jesse gave me a few years back. I only ever really did poppers when Jesse and I went clubbing together, but tonight I want—no,need—to feel something more. I want the extra motivation to just go for it, to let myself feel more and think less. To loosen up in all respects, because I don’t want the mental or physical prep work of getting Will out of my mind.
Flicking open the cap, I bring it to my nose. Just a small inhale. A little sting inside my nostril, the slight acrid taste in the back of my throat. Warmth flushes down my face and neck, the tension in my body loosening, and a pleasant swimmy feeling pulls at the base of my skull. My hand, still holding the inhaler, comes down to press against my swelling cock.
When I focus back on Julien, he tips his head at the curtained area, and I nod.
It’s time to put on a different kind of show.
As I walk by, I can hear Julien shout to the bar back to cover for him. There are footsteps behind me as I make my way into a dark hallway and through a swinging door. The bathroom is empty and clean enough that I don’t question myself too much.
Stepping into the largest stall, I pull supplies from my wallet and start getting myself ready, taking small hits from the inhaler here and there to help keep that pleasant heavy buzz. I’m ready. To be touched. To be fucked. By someone else.Not Will. He isn’t here. He doesn’t want you.
What’s taking Julien so long?
One strong drink on an empty stomach and the high have me on edge, every touch intensified. But I don’t want to touch myself anymore. I want to be touched by someone else. I’m ready for Julien to come in here and fuck me already.
But he never does.
I let myself come down, the euphoria draining away as realization creeps in that Julien never was right behind me like I thought.
Feeling drained in the absence of all the happy good things that were rushing through me minutes ago, I right my clothes and wash my hands. A mild headache starts behind my eyes. I splash water on my face before I remember that I’m wearing makeup.Shit.
I end up spending another few minutes with a wet paper towel, trying to make it look like I haven’t been crying while I physically hold back real tears and berate myself for being so stupid.
Did I really misinterpret what I thought were clear signals? Was he just flirting to get a bigger tip or something?
Am I really this attention-starved and pathetic that I made up an entire interaction?
How is it that I’m supposedly a rockstar, but I can’t get laid on my own?
Not wanting to face my embarrassment, I walk out of the bathroom with my eyes straight ahead, not looking at anyone or anything other than the exit. At the end of the bar, I take out my wallet and drop a wad of cash on the surface without looking up to catch anyone’s eye. Hopefully that’s enough for his efforts.
When I turn around, I run face first into a solid chest. A familiar one that smells like home and makes me want to run away and cry at the same time.
Will’s hands grip my shoulders, catching me before I can stumble back. His eyes are wide and concerned, then something darker flashes through them as he really looks at me.
“What are you doing here?” I blurt out, because it’s easier than saying anything else. Easier than explaining why my eyes are red and my throat is tight.
Will’s mouth opens, then closes. He looks around the room, gaze settling on something or someone behind me, and his jaw flexes.
