Polysomething

Chapter Four

Aaron smiled and nodded. Maybe he didn't have to worry about talking after all. "Yeah, sounds great."

"All right, let's go."

"Okay," Aaron said then followed Wilson into The Cock. As soon as he stepped inside, he grimaced in discontent. Suck a dick, he thought, surveying the square, musty-smelling room. The bar was everything he had expected: it was small and crowded and everywhere he turned there was a go-go boy—their large penises stuffed into tiny thongs—dancing to a loud, nonstop ding ding-techno dance mix. Its only redeeming quality: it was dark, which meant it would be hard for anyone to see him (or Wilson's outfit).

However, as he made his way through the crowded bar of twinks and twink-chasing dads, he felt a new film of sweat on his palms. Fuck, he thought, trying to dry them with his pants as quickly as possible. When he finished, he hid his hands in his coat pockets and gave a deep internal sigh. All right, stop. There's no need to worry. You can definitely do this. Okay? He gave a mental nod. Okay.

A second later, they stopped at the narrow, black bar. There, the shirtless, muscle-jock bartender--probably named after his father's favorite American Gladitor--walked over to them and said in his deep, masc4masc voice, "Hey, can I get you guys something?"

"Yeah," Wilson answered, "I would like a vodka cranberry and"—he turned to Aaron—"do you want a soda or something?"

"Oh, uh, sure," Aaron said. "I'll just have a Coke, if they have it."

"Okay," Wilson said then turned back to the bartender. "Do you have Coke?"

"Sorry, man," the bartender replied. "No drugs at the bar. You can try the bathroom, though."

Aaron's forehead squeezed into confusion. Why? Does it have a soda machine?

"Oh, no," Wilson said, laughing. "I meant like the soda."

The bartender gave a surprisingly high laugh. "Oh, sorry. Yeah, we got it. Just a second."

"Okay, thanks," Wilson said. As the bartender walked away, Wilson turned to Aaron with a devilish smile. "Oh my God, this place is so sketchy. I love it!"

Aaron gave a nervous laugh. "Oh, yeah," he said then added in his head: It seems like a great place to catch chlamydia.

"All right," Wilson said, "so let me tell you what happened with Scott. It's so fucking stupid." He shook his head with a pinched look of dissatisfaction then continued with his story: "So we were both in the living room on our computers. I was just, you know, shopping for clothes and I think Scott was watching something on Hulu or whatever. Anyways, I was feeling kind of restless, so I got up and walked over to him for a kiss. So, we started making out and then, all of a sudden, he laughs and says, 'Stop' and I'm like 'Um, why?' So he says, 'I know you, baby. You're going to want to do something more' and I'm like 'Well yeah. Don't you?' And then he tells me he's fine with doing stuff to me, but he doesn't feel like me doing anything to him because he's too tired and I'm like 'Well that sounds like a lot of fun!'"

"Here's your vodka cranberry," the burly bartender said, placing the drink in front of Wilson. "And here's your soda." The bartender handed a small glass of—what looked like—Coke to Aaron.

"Thanks." Aaron gave the bartender/light porn star a friendly smile.

"That'll be eight dollars."

Aaron nodded reaching for his wallet. "Nope," Wilson said, placing his hand on Aaron's arm. "I'm paying for the drinks tonight."

"Oh, no," Aaron said with a gracious smile. "You don't have to do that."