The Stripper's Boyfriend
by Rick Anton
There was a guy dancing by himself. I could only see his shadow. The lights were focused on the strippers in the middle of the dancefloor. They sucked. While the next stripper got on the floor, the one who had just finished started making his rounds-going around the crowd touching guys on the chest hoping they'd put a dollar in their crotch. After this spectacle, the floor was empty for a couple of minutes. Nobody wants to be the first one on the dancefloor. The guy behind the shadow jumped into the light and continued his dance in the middle of the empty space. I couldn't tell if he was supposed to be entertainment or the first to brave the floor. He was a skinny Latino with a small goatee. As a dancer he was damn good. He knew his moves. Not so much sexy as sensual. It was inviting.
I went to the bar, ordered a shot for courage, and started making my rounds. There were plenty of guys I wanted, but I couldn't get anyone interested in me. I walked around the bar about 3 times and realized I must look ridiculous. There was one fish biting. He stood there giving me glances but looking down when I looked back. I wasn't interested, but when you're in your early twenties in a small town and you finally make that hour long drive to the one gay bar for hundreds of miles to meet other gay people… Well, you take what you can get.
The conversation was going nowhere. Was this guy nervous meeting new people or did he really not have a personality?
Out of nowhere, the cute Latino boy was right next to me. He even brushed up against me. He was buying a drink, and I couldn't resist. I asked him where he'd learned to dance. I regretted the words as soon as they came out of my mouth. He didn't answer right away. He looked me down and back up again and said, "Hold on a second." I didn't realize he hadn't paid for his drink yet. I thought he was trying to get rid of me. I slithered away, hoping not to run into him again.
But he came back smiling and said his name was Andrew. "I love to dance," he said. "When I'm at home alone, I just turn on my mixes and dance for hours, all by myself." This was believable. Then he told me he'd been a stripper for a while. Right. How many guys have told me they were strippers? How long until he tells me he's also a porn star? He was cute, but come on now.
I was new to the gay scene and had never had a boyfriend before. My experience in bars was practically zilch. But I had already learned the lessons of the Internet and that you shouldn't believe everything a guy tells you.
I guessed Andrew was a club kid. But where in the world did he buy those awesome clothes? Not at the Wal-Mart in my town, I can tell you that. By this time in my gay development I figured there was a whole gay world out there that I'd never seen, and I was still struggling to find it. It would be another year before I learned that Boystown existed.
I must have had "hick" tattooed on my forehead because Andrew played me like a violin. And though I knew he was doing it, I didn't care, because this was my gay experience and it was better than not having any at all. When I told Andrew I was from a cornfield town, he told me he'd been in a porn video in the Nebraska cornfields. Yep, I was waiting for that. I was drunk enough by then to tell him to cut the crap so we could get down to business. I grabbed him and he put his hands on my chest. I took him to my car and gave him a blowjob. After he was, um, done, he zipped up and left the car, apparently going back into the bar. He didn't say a word. Couldn't he at least pretend to be courteous?
I don't know why, but I felt a bit mad at that point. I knew he had used me, but I had used him too. I knew he was a sleazy liar, but I had gotten what I had wanted out of him. I waited ten minutes and went back into the bar. I wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of leaving. When he saw me again, he looked shocked. He was at a table with a group of other people. As I slowly inched towards the table, I could see his eyes darting around more frantically as I got closer. I didn't know why he was so nervous. Was it that awkwardness of seeing a one-night stand again? Did he expect me to be mad?
When I got to the table, I introduced myself to everyone, and he ran off to get drinks. Everyone looked puzzled. I sat in his seat and joined the conversation as if I knew these people. They probably wondered who this strange guy was who had invited himself to their table like that. They tried to ignore me, but I kept interrupting the conversation.
One guy did introduce himself; his name was Phil. I asked him how he knew Andrew. "He's my boyfriend." Oh. I see.
Since I knew I'd never see Andrew or any of these strangers again, I figured I'd blurt out anything I wanted. "Well, I hate to be the one to tell you this, but your boyfriend's a slut." Now the rest of the table was paying attention. "I just fucked him in my car ten minutes ago." I didn't actually fuck him, per se, but that's what came out of my mouth.
Rather than get upset and call me a liar, Phil calmly asked, "Did you really? No you didn't."
"I absolutely did. Why do you think he disappeared?"
He got off the stool and signaled me to follow him. I thought maybe he was going to start a fight. I thought, "How sweet! My first fight over a guy!" Then he said, "You know, I believe you. This one time when we were here, I went into the bathroom and caught him giving another guy a blowjob…"
"And you're still dating him because……."
"Well, he said he wouldn't do it again. I cried the whole night, and he seemed sincere… You know, you're kinda cute. Now that Andrew and I are finished, you and I should hook up some time."
Ok, that was enough gay experience for one night. I made my excuses and started the long drive home to my house in the cornfields for two hours sleep before work. Phil's number was stuffed into a corner of my wallet. I guess he didn't mind that I was the one who'd been out in the parking lot with Andrew earlier that night.
Rick Anton (www.rickanton.com) is just a guy—ex-poor white trash—whose hobbies include long walks on the beach, skiing in the Alps, and taking Prozac. When he's not writing about his first adventures in gaydom, Rick is a singer and songwriter based in Chicago. His first full length CD, which explores the emotional dysfunction of modern relationships, is scheduled to be released in 2006.
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