Flaming Go is one of those nightclubs that people go to even though it's "the gay one". The girls like to go because it makes them feel safer, and I'm secure enough in my sexuality to not be bothered. And look, I'm just happy enough to get out - makes a change from drinking at the Northie and getting into fist fights over the Buck Hunter machine.
I think the girls like dragging me around because it's nice to have a straight guy who's not going to hit on them. I mean there was that one time with Renae, but we both agreed it was a mistake and it was really the vodka hooking up.
As I was at the bar, nursing a horribly overpriced Jäger and Red Bull, Brooke came over to me and grabbed my arm.
"Ohmigawd, look at that weirdo!"
She pointed across the dance floor at a slightly heavier set guy, wearing a black dress shirt, a trimmed beard and BRIGHT RED lips.
"You think he's a tranny or something?" she slurred.
"I dunno. The beard...? Maybe he's a drag queen or something."
"WEEEEIIRRDD" she said, before stumbling off to be sick in the ladies.
I sipped my drink and looked over at the man, the club lights reflecting off of his lips. He'd trimmed his beard, so that his mouth was perfectly framed in short, black hair. Like a painting in a gallery, it felt like your eyes were just drawn to look at his lips. Bold, red and glossy, in a sea of black.
I blinked and noticed he was looking directly at me. I felt a little self-conscious. A guy looks at another guy in a gay nightclub; it's going to have connotations. I'd have been looking at those lips regardless of who they belonged to. The corners of his lips raised and they parted a little, as he tapped his tongue to his upper lip.
I felt my cheeks flush and looked away. I didn't want him to get any ideas. I turned my back and faced the bar, trying to drown my embarrassment out with the thumping bass over the speakers.
I felt a tug on my sleeve. Expecting the man, I looked over and saw Kelly, who'd tied her hair up at the top of her scalp, in a moment of drunken inspiration, and she looked stupid.
"Come on, no one wants to dance with me..."
I shared a look of sympathy with the bartender, and downed my drink as Kelly dragged me to the floor. The bass kicked up more, a song I didn't know or enjoy, but it was worth it if it improved Kelly's night. I'm happy to throw myself on a grenade like that.
At the end of the day, I don't need to be doing things I find fun to have a good time. It's the people I get energy from, and Kelly, for her faults, is friendly enough. I'm on head-holding-while-cradling-the-porcelain-throne levels with her. In comparison, doing the anxious two-step while she thrashed and told me loudly and "THIS SONG IS BASICALLY MY LIFE" was normal. I don't think there were any lyrics.
After a few minutes, Renae tugged on my shirt asking after Brooke. I told her and she said she was thinking of leaving, handing me her rum and coke as she dragged Kelly to the bathroom. I do not understand women clubbing.
Pondering what to do next, I sipped Renae's - now my - drink and looked around. At the edge of the dancefloor, I saw them- I mean Him, again. He smiled, and I watched as he brought a lipstick to his lips, looking down at a small... I don't know, a compact? A mirror?
He pressed the waxy redness to his lips and pushed it around. From the divot under his nose to the corner, then a low swooping across his bottom lip and back around. Around and Around.
I felt my focus narrowing. The club, the dancefloor, the man, his face, those lips. Glistening in the lasers and smoke. Moist, wet, juicy, succulent, plump lips. I blinked.
Where had these thoughts come from?
His lips. I could barely look away. I wrenched my gaze away to look for the girls. Nowhere in sight. Shit.
I needed ... I needed fresh air. To clear my head. I downed my drink and, leaving the glass on a small table, headed for the back. Past the toilets there was a little courtyard. The night air would help. I pushed off the dancefloor and into the small corridor that -Fuck.
A queue for the ladies room blocked my path. I tried to squeeze but no. Stuck. Busting like I needed to pee, but I needed air. Not my pants. Ignore pants.The corridor was narrow and I felt like the walls were closing in. A touch on my hand. I turned around.
A pair of red lips framed by a trimmed beard said, "Hi."
A soft, but firm, grip took my hand and I felt dragged into the men's room. The thumping bass was lessened and the overhead lights were bright, shining off of those beautiful moist lips, dazzling my eyes. It was quiet. Him. And Me. I exhaled.
"That's better, isn't it."
Better. Yes, Better. His voice was rich and smooth. His skin was like a creamy latte. When his said the letter "b" it was like he was blowing a kiss at me. All I could do was squeak in agreement.
"That's good. Now," his hand ran along my cheek and behind my ear. I couldn't feel my knees. I looked up. His eyes were impossibly brown, like a creamy rich chocolate. I felt sucked in but I looked away, back to those perfect plump lips.
What could I think!? lips lips lips lips lipslipslipslipslipslips
I felt a push on my head and stepped sideways. I was vaguely aware of the cubicle wall behind me and the closing of a latch.
My knees buckled and I felt a deep growth in my trousers. I felt helpless, but those beautiful lips. I needed to stare. I just needed to stare. Those lips were everything. I needed him to k-
Lips on mine. Man's lips. I felt the itchy bristle of his beard against my skin. The waxy smoothness of his lips. I was in heaven. It was perfection. I ignored the growing wetness in my underpants and grabbed onto Him.
I let the red consume me.
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