A long and unfortunate half-an-hour later, I stepped off the bus near the end of Sixth Street and made my way toward the club where Mr. IceFire was hopefully still patiently waiting for me.
Austin, Texas—live musical capitol of the world. Flanked on both sides by varying restaurants, bars and clubs, the street resembled something like a cross between an exotic carnival ride and a brick-and-concrete wasteland meant to tailor to various bikers and cowboy culture. The gay district—comprised of three clubs, one of which had recently closed—loomed strong: one, the less flashy of the two, the other, the Thunder club, which IceFire had invited me to. I managed to slide past the cover fee on the chance that it was Funky Friday and entered the club after being IDed with few expectations.
A quick scan across the club showed no sign of IceFire.
I couldn’t blame him for that though. He was but one body in a sea of glistening, shirtless torsos—lost in every gay man’s utopia on Sixth Street. He’d find me. It wasn’t like it would be hard, being one of the few guys with glasses or hair that hadn’t been covered in enough mousse to burn the ozone layer.
Rather than wait, I stepped up to the bar and settled down on one of the stools.
I was immediately greeted by a bartender.
“Hey,” an attractive Asian guy said, leaning forward to offer a smile below an impressively-defined nose and near-mouth-dropping cheekbones. “Anything I can get for you?”
“I don’t drink,” I replied almost instantly, then realized my behavior. “Uh… sorry. Cola.”
“No problem.” He filled a glass and passed it over to me before offering a slight frown. “You look a bit down on your luck.”
“I’m cool,” I replied. “Just waiting for someone to find me.”
“Ah, I see.” The bartender paused. “Anything I can get for you, sir?”
I nearly started to speak, but stopped when I realized someone had settled onto the stool beside me.
“No thanks,” the guy said, his deep voice somehow cutting through the jarring madness of techno and pop music.
After giving the newcomer a brief smile, the bartender scurried off to the end of the bar, leaving me to my cola.
“So,” the newcomer said. “You must be TheConqueringWorm.”
I nearly spit my drink. I had to lift my hand to contain my laughter before swallowing and said, “Yeah. That’s me.”
I turned.
Though not shirtless, he was easily the man I’d been speaking to online.
“IceFire?” I asked.
The man nodded and offered a smile.
His square chin was the first thing I settled on before my face traversed the fine cleft leading to thin but fine lips. His jawline was the same as the one pictured in his profile, as were the definition of his cheeks and the proud yet proportioned nose, but I hadn’t expected his features to be so strong. What completed them was the military-style buzz cut that perfectly framed his brow with its fine blonde stubble.
His eyes, though—they completely took me aback.
He’d listed them as blue, but not like I’d expected.
They had what looked like aqua rings surrounding already-breathtaking meridian-blue eyes.
I blinked in an attempt to appear as if I’d just spaced out, but the smirk on the man’s face proved he knew otherwise.
“Your eyes,” I said after a moment.
“Yeah,” he laughed. “I get that a lot.”
“Do you wear contacts?”
“Nope. Not a day in my life.”
“Sorry,” I chuckled. “And here I was trying to play it cool.”
“Hey—don’t sweat it. It’s cool.” The man extended his hand. “I’m Guy, by the way.”
“Guy?” I asked.
“Yeah. Just Guy.”
“Jason,” I said, taking hold of the man’s hand.
His strong, reassuring grip wasn’t the fleeting greeting I’d expect.
Guy’s eyes crossed my features before falling to the glass in my hand. “You drinking?”
“Just soda,” I said.
“You wanna dance?”
I didn’t need convincing.
A minute later, we were one with the sea of bodies, moving to the sound of remastered 80s electronica and mashups of all the Top 30 on the Billboard Charts.
Our proximity was intoxicating. I wasn’t sure if it was because it’d been so long since I’d been with a guy or if it was because I was just having a good time, but over the next short while, I found myself getting closer to him—whether I was being drawn, quickly, to his musky cologne, or the scent of his sweat that seemed to pull us closer like two opposing magnets. I was so embarrassed and was about to apologize for my behavior when Guy set his hands on my hips and pulled us together.
“This ok?” he asked, lips so close I could almost feel them on my ear.
I nodded.
The only natural thing to do was to put my hands on him.
Bracing my hands along his ribcage, I tilted my head up to look into his eyes and smiled.
“Having a good time?” he asked, inching his hands up my chest when our height difference proved to be troublesome.
“I haven’t been out to the clubs in forever,” I replied, laughing as he snaked one arm out from under mine and draped it across my shoulders. “I wasn’t sure if you were being serious.”
“I read your profile,” Guy said. “You seemed cool. And now that I’ve met you in person, I can definitely say that you are.”
Unsure how to respond, I merely smiled.
Leaning forward, Guy closed the distance between our faces before asking, “Is it all right if I kiss you?”
I didn’t respond.
Instead, I pressed my lips against his.
At that point, I didn’t care.
I just wanted to have a good time.