1. copyright © 17 August 2010 written by dARkcrest PUBLICATIONS<br />I sit in the most gay club in that area. <br />The club’s thumping around me and—god—hot gay guys dance and rub against each other in very provocative ways on the dance floor, up on the banisters and against the walls. Yup. If I thought I’d ever get into heaven, this would be it. <br />It’s my first night in a gay bar. Well, in this gay bar. But I’m cool. I love gay boys and despite being a girl I look damn like a guy that I suppose I pass for one. Several guys winked my way when they passed the bar. They didn’t initiate anything so I’m not sure if they know I’m a girl or not, intruding in their all man-on-man sanctum. If they did, they showed no wanting of kicking me out. It’s easier for gay guys to accept straight... well, bi girls into their domain that it would be to accepting a straight guy, I suppose. <br />I sip at my drink, a soda mix lemonade non-alcoholic drink because no matter what I do I can’t fathom the liking of alcohol. I guess it’s just one of those things I subconsciously rebel again. Not that I’m much into this coke slash lemonade failure of a hype drink in my hand. It’s super sweet and the bubbles from the gas run up my nose every time I sip it. But it’d look even more awkward me staring blankly at hot gay guys humping each other without a drink. At least with a drink, it just looks as if I’m absentmindedly looking while enjoying it. <br />I feel the thumpa-thumpa in the beat against the floorboards and smile sweetly thinking I’m sounding more and more like Emmett from Queer as Folk tonight. Maybe it’s because I re-watched some episodes last night. Huh.<br />“Hey there, sweetheart,” a guy suddenly said, he leans his long thin arms against the bar top the same way I lean my back against it. He’s cute enough but he’s an American. Or some western dude. Even as a bottom western guys aren’t my taste. They’re too masculine and their chests are too board. They’re too... straight-looking, I guess? At least against my Boys they are. But he looks sweet and that lop-sided grin on his face makes his features look oh so cute. Seductive to a gay guy, I’m sure. But to a fag hag like me? Adorable. <br />“Hey hottie,” I say back after a second or two looking him up and down, practically raping the poor man with my eyes. He has no quarrel with it from the way he’s grinning and coming closer. <br />“You’re pretty hot yourself, sweet thang. What’s a cutie like you all alone at the bar just looking? You should be out there—” he points his right index finger to the dance floor suggestively. “—having fun.” <br />I laugh out loud, amuse and liking the way this guy talked. Emmett. Very much Emmett. “Sorry, hun, I know where this is going but I have ta warn ya. I definitely not you’re type.” <br />“Oh really?” He looks like he doesn’t believe me.<br />“Really,” I almost broke out laughing because if he were an Asian boy I’d have jumped him right on the spot. Haa... It’s unfair how the world works sometimes. I lean a little more into the bar top, grab my drink, take a sip smiling when I say, “I’m a girl.” <br />He looks very taken aback and takes a step backward before realizing how offensive that might’ve looked and comes back. His face pulls into a shock expression, his eyebrow high and mouth a little agape. I swore, he looked adorable. Like a fish sucking on non-existing water once its been caught. Asian or not I would’ve just topped him there and then if I’d been a guy. <br />It takes him another few seconds to process it. He smiles when he does and doubles over laughing, a surprisingly unaltered grip on his drink. Tequila, I think. He flings his head back, laughing earnestly, one hand over his eyes. “Something must be wrong with my gaydar tonight, sweetheart. I’m sorry,” he nods his apology sincerely. <br />“It’s cool. At least it says my confidence in crossdressing’s in the right place.” <br />He nods his agreement and down his shot. He snaps his fingers for the bartender to refill his glass before he says anything again. “Aren’t you in the wrong place, honey? If you haven’t noticed this is a—”<br />“—gay bar. I know,” I say. “That’s why I’m here.” <br />“Is that so?” He crosses his arms over each other sipping at his new drink, inching closer, amuse and clearly interested on why that was so.<br />“Yup. Boy on boy action in the making.” I turn to look out onto the dance floor where less and less of them were actually dancing and more looking as if they were giving each other head right in the open. “This is every girl’s dream come true.” <br />“Maybe for an extra sex thrill, yeah. But babe, I haven’t seen a girl in this club other than Dyke Night for eight years,” he cocked his head to even the male hustler dragging a new customer out the side door and into the back alley. “And that’s saying something. Even straight girls usually go somewhere where they are at least some straight guys amongst all us gays.” <br />“But I’m not into straight guys.” That, undoubtedly, catches him by surprise. Because one minute he was all composed and seductive-looking, even after knowing I’m a girl, and then he has half his drink on the counter top, cursing at his half wasted drink. “I like guys with other guys. Guys having sex with other guys, guys cuddling with other guys—if they’re caught dead cuddling, that is. I don’t know. I’ve always just liked gay guys. I’d be more than happy as long as I see the man I love being loved back by another man.” <br />I paused, downing the last bit of my drink, my head twisting at a weird angle at the sourness at the bottom of the glass glaze over my tongue. <br />Then I half turn my head to him. “But if I catch him with another girl, I’ll cut her boobs off and have his balls bouncing on a tennis court in a Hilton hotel court,” I smile gingerly. As if what I just said was something sweet and sugary, like having icecream on a hot mid-summer afternoon. <br />“Oh darling, you’re definitely born the wrong gender for that.” Ironically. <br />“I know right?” We exchange a smile and a look of understanding. He can somehow tell I mean what I say and there’s not a single judging vibe in my body suggesting I had even the littlest problem with the over masculine that was not ‘masculine’ around me.<br />“So aren’t you gonna dance, hot stuff? Cuz there’s at least three guys over the DJ who’ve been checking your sweet ass for the past two minutes,” I asked, pointing with my pinkie while loosely holding my glass to the boys I meant. “The middle one’s cute, but I think the blonde looks hotter with you.” <br />For a second the man looks interested. <br />But he shrugs them off, upturns his glass with a tap to his bottom lip and eyes my empty soda glass after he gulps his drink down. “Not tonight. I’ve already gotten very good company.” He grins at me. I shift my weight from one foot to the other, ending up a little bit closer to him than I already was. “Let me buy you a drink?”<br />“Only if you’re having one, too.” I twirl around and have our shoulders, side to side, pressed and familiar. Like we were bestfriends on an all single’s night out or something. <br />“Perish the thought of anything otherwise, my dear girl,” he jokes with a very bad English accent. But it’s funny in the way he purposely does so, slugging an arm over my back and left shoulder.<br />“What’s good here?” <br />“Everything lil’ old me suggests. So you better open up. I’m gonna drown you down tonight!”<br />And for the first time I’ve no problem at the thought I’ll be drinking something alcoholic.<br />