“Ah,” he said. “Got it.”
I ran my thumb over the lip of my glass, battling down nerves. I wanted to drag my fingers across Marco’s cheek instead and feel if his skin was as soft as it looked. Pushing aside my insecurities, I reminded myself that I was an adult and fully capable of navigating simple social interactions like this one.
No matter how weak-kneed Marco made me.
“If you’re a newly single gay man, and this is your first time in The Forty-Eight, I do believe I should give you a tour,” he said, grabbing my hand. My heart leapt to my throat, and just as quickly, Marco started off across the bar, and I stumbled along behind him.
I felt his palm and the way he loosely laced his fingers through mine, casually dangling our hands together to guide me through the club.
“It’s still quiet for a Saturday,” he said over his shoulder. “By midnight, you’ll get lost in the crowd. But the rest of the week is usually lowkey. Fancy cocktails, relaxing DJs…” He turned over his shoulder, then winked at me. “Lots of haircuts. You know what I mean?”
“Haircuts,” I repeated.
“And overpriced shirts,” he laughed, then guided us to the back of the dance floor. “The DJ is up in the box there,” he said, gesturing with a twirl of his hand. “But this spot is pretty quiet, usually. If you ever need the room to spread your arms and dance, this is it.”
A high-pitched trill shot through the music, and Marco threw his hands in the air, perfectly in time. He bounced from side to side, playfully swinging his hips and turning his face up to the spinning lights. I caught his excitement and started to hop on my toes, bobbing my head a little but not nearly matching Marco’s enthusiasm.
When was the last time I had been dancing, actually? Not since Zoe and I had moved out to Philadelphia together, that first year when things were still good between us. Since she left, I had danced alone in my apartment a little, when I was cleaning the place or cooking dinner. But that was so different than now, dancing in this crowd of people, all bouncing and gyrating to the same beat.
And it felt nothing like dancing with Marco felt. Like my grin was just going to keep crawling up my cheeks.
“What are you looking for tonight, Grayson?” Marco yelled above the music, leaning forward and placing his mouth close to my ear. “What brings you out to the club?”
I tilted my head to the side. That was a good question, and one I hadn’t been sure how to answer myself. For the most part, I just felt like I had to tear the bandage off and start living my life as a gay man instead of fantasizing at home. But in terms of what I expected out of that particular night, I hadn’t quite had the guts to admit the possibilities to myself, let alone commit to anything.
“I’m not sure,” I answered honestly, feeling comfortable in Marco’s warmth. “Meeting new people, maybe?”
Marco raised his eyebrows up high, and I noticed how meticulously they were shaped. “Meeting new people at The Forty-Eight? That sounds like you could get into some trouble, Grayson.”
I laughed and leaned into the music a bit more, letting my hips sway back and forth the same as Marco’s, flirty and fun. “I’m not expecting anything too exciting,” I said with a bounce in my step.
And I truly wasn’t. I’d had plenty of sexual experience in my life, but I didn’t expect to add any more that evening. I was more interested in a relationship than a hookup, and I wasn’t even sure what the average gay cis man thought of trans men like me. I knew there was a lot more education and awareness than in the past, but since moving, I had been pretty disconnected from the social scene and off in my own world.
For example, right now, does Marco realize I’m trans?
And would that matter to him?
Before I could say more, a fashionable twink scurried up to our corner of the dance floor, then said something into Marco’s ear. Marco frowned and took my hand with a squeeze. “Sorry,” he said. “I have to excuse myself for a minute. I’ll find you? We haven’t finished the tour yet.”
An ache hit my chest, but I held my smile as I nodded. “Sure, no problem. I’ll be around.”
Although, of course, the second Marco left, I felt like I couldn’t dance anymore. When I tried to shake my hips, the movement was awkward and stilted, and when I threw my hands in the air, it was more like I was punching the sky then celebrating the night. After only a minute, I snuck away, snaking through the crowd, then retiring with my drink to a counter along the far back wall with a sigh.
I cast my eyes across the crowd again, watching as people clinked their cocktail glasses together and clasped arms. There was a healthy mixture of different kinds of masculinity in the club that night, from the stern daddy types in their collared shirts to the burly bears, flirty twinks, and hairless gym bodies.
My mind flashed back to my first nights out after I transitioned, when I walked into a run-of-the-mill straight bar in Louisville. I’d chatted casually with the other men and line danced across the dance floor with the best of them, pride filling my chest the whole evening. But back then, I’d had Zoe on my arm, beaming her smile up to me and kicking her boots by my side.
Having someone who cared about me, and who saw me as my true self, gave me all the confidence I needed. Even with how difficult things had been with Zoe in the end, I still craved that kind of connection.
“Frowning in the corner? Not allowed.”
I turned, and Marco had reappeared, a fresh smile on his face. His shirt was made out of a sheer, black fabric, and when the light caught him right, I could see the nubs of his nipples and the firm lines of his pecs.
Thank god,I thought. Even just spending a few minutes alone had caused me to sink back into bad memories.
“Sorry,” I said. “Lost in thought.”
“The ex?”
