They must have spent so many nights like that, I realized. Their lives together must have been filled with dancing and friends.
I wanted so desperately to figure out who I would be in this world. I had figured out that I was a gay man, no doubt about that, but I hadn’t truly explored what that meant, and definitely not in the company of other gay men. But as I danced by Demir and Marco, I began to feel myself out, shaking my hips and losing myself to the music.
I began to find myself.
“You’re handsome,” Demir said, leaning forward. “Did Marco already tell you that?”
I felt another thrill, not only at receiving the compliment, but at how forward he was in giving it. “You’re both very flattering,” I said.
“It’s that beautiful skin,” Demir said. He reached out, and I almost gasped when he laid his hand on my cheek. His thumb brushed lightly across my skin, just like I had imagined myself touching Marco earlier. “Soft. Olive. Beautiful.”
The thrill in my chest shot downward, warming my cock. “Thank you,” I said, the words tumbling off my lips.
My skin had always been soft, although it had grown a bit rougher with the testosterone. I shaved every day, but still, a light stubble grew on my cheeks, and Demir scraped his fingers across it while he drew his hand away. “Anyway,” he chuckled, “young guys like you get too much of this attention, don’t you?”
“I’m twenty-seven,” I replied. “But you’re probably assuming I’m younger than that. Most people do. You can’t be that much older, though.”
“Thirty-four,” Demir laughed. “People have always assumed I was younger, too. It’s a gay superpower, I guess, although now that my silver is coming in early, the secret might be out.”
I laughed. Earlier in my transition, I had looked so young that I had trouble convincing people to take me seriously. The past couple of years, I had started to grow into my body more and put on lean muscles and mass that suited me.
It felt good, though, to have Demir relate to me like he was, and I relaxed a bit more into his company.
Marco popped back up by our side, then threw his arm over Demir’s shoulder. “I remembered something,” he said brightly. “We didn’t finish the tour.”
I arched an eyebrow. Was Marco intending to show me another one of the back rooms? I had already told him I wasn’t comfortable in those spaces, and he didn’t seem like the kind of person to get pushy. In fact, I felt safer with him and Demir than I usually did with new people.
“The office!” he said. “I know it sounds like an odd stop, but trust me, it’s kind of amazing.”
I turned to Demir, who nodded as he raised his glass in the air. “Wherever Marco flies off to, I usually follow.”
I let the two of them swoop me away again. We wandered a corner behind the bar and into a hallway that was dimly lit. I wondered for a moment if we were actually supposed to be back there, or if an employee might come back and yell at us, but then Marco fidgeted with a door handle and pushed his way into an unlit room.
When he found the light, I blinked, then slowly took in the wall of beauty I was facing. Every inch of the wall was covered with framed photographs, giant paintings, old posters, and various postcards and flyers, all celebrating the club and its friends. A few desks and chairs were scattered around the room, and paperwork was piled on some old bookshelves, but the wall was clearly the centerpiece.
“It’s amazing.”
The door shut behind Marco, and the music sounded muffled in the distance. “This place has had some memorable history,” he said.
“Is it okay to be in here?” I asked, glancing around again.
Demir and Marco looked at each other, then both broke out laughing.
“What?” I asked, feeling embarrassed that I had missed something obvious. Like I was going to prove myself an outsider.
Marco tapped the side of his head, laughing. “I forgot to mention, I guess. I do that sometimes.”
“We own The Forty-Eight,” Demir said. “We opened this club together.”
“Ten years ago,” Marco added. “Almost exactly. I guess that’s why I’m feeling a bit nostalgic about the place, showing you around and everything.”
“Oh!” I said. Somehow, the way he laughed about it helped me not to feel embarrassed. “Well, beautiful club,” I said. “And beautiful wall of memories.”
I glanced across the pictures once more, and a yearning stirred in my chest. Demir pushed his hand through Marco’s hair, and Marco nuzzled against him. I could almost see myself in those pictures, and a part of me hated that I had spent so many years lost before I arrived here.
“It’s a life,” Marco said warmly. “But anyway, do you need to get back, Demir? Do they need you behind the bar tonight?”
Demir rested his hand on the small of Marco’s back, then turned his eyes to me. “I’m not in such a hurry. Maybe we could make Grayson comfortable.” He paused for a healthy length of time, letting the comment and its implications sit, holding me with his gaze. “What do you say, Grayson? Would you like to spend a little more time with us?”
