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Leefstyl | Lifestyle > Gay > Fiksie | Fiction

Well I never!

Shaundre Balie - 2009-03-10

I am standing in the corner of the dance floor next to the oversized speaker when I see him. The sound of Madonna’s classics has everyone singing along and dancing to the beat. I can’t believe it. What is he doing here? I don’t figure him for this scene or a crowd like this. Maybe he’s here with some friends. Some straight guys are under the misconception that it’s easier to pick up girls in gay clubs. Maybe it’s true, but I think it’s bullshit. I personally think that most straight guys are normally too insecure to hang out in gay clubs. Other excuses are that they like gay clubs such as the Bronx because there’s no charge at the door. Bullshit again. My opinion is that a real straight guy will stay clear of gay clubs. With all the men kissing, touching and dancing provocatively, no straight man would stand for it.

But wait, it’s been 20 minutes. He went to the bar, got himself a Black Label (very butch) and returned to the exact same spot. I am convinced that he’s alone. But why? Why would a straight guy come to a gay club alone? Maybe because he’s not that straight after all. I would never have guessed. He was the one poking fun at all the boys who were slightly in touch with their feminine side while we were at school, calling them all sorts of obscene names. He was the one chasing after every girl in a skirt and sometimes even pulling down his dirty grey school pants, whipping it out for all to see. I remember fondly that his hind sight was just as desirable. However, that was the action of an utterly straight boy, proudly flashing in public. And, boy, did he have reason to be proud!

It’s been five years since we completed school, so I’m certain that his pride has become more evident. I never looked at him before with such filthy thoughts. Time and age have made him bulkier, he has developed a pair of biceps which can go on for days and it seems like that tight shirt he is wearing is concealing a solid six-pack. In addition to this, he has lost that juvenile grin that used to annoy me so much at school.

Oh no, he spots me. Well, at least he didn’t see that I saw him seeing me. At least that’s what I think. From the corner of my eye it seems like his eyes are fixed on me while I pretend to dance, pretend to be having a chat with my friends, pretend to laugh, pretend to be super-cool, pretend to have a good time, all the while pretending that I’m not aware of his stare.

I ask my friend to look over my shoulder. I then describe him to my friend, which is not at all difficult, thanks to the Black Label. I instruct my friend to be my eyes and to inform me where his eyes are fixed. Apparently he’s looking at me the entire time with a lustful smirk. The only time he fails to look at me is when he gets himself another Black Label. My friend tricks me into believing that his attention is elsewhere, but then I turn around to find that he’s still looking. Our eyes meet. We stare at each other for a couple of seconds while my friend bursts out laughing at his successful deceit.

He smiles. I smile. He’s making his way towards me. What am I going to say? We were never in the same class during school, so we never conversed.

Just as he’s about to reach me, he takes another long sip of his Black Label as if his life depends on it. Finally he stands in front of me, facing me, smiling at me, and then takes yet another sip.

"Hey, Rabbit," he greets me with the most amazing dimpled smile that hits my knees immediately like a ton of happy bricks. Back at school I would’ve been extremely agitated had he addressed me as Rabbit. It was a derogatory term created after the former term, Bunny, had been banned by the principal.

"I do have a name, you know," is my lame attempt at a witty response.

"I know," he says with an even bigger smile, revealing his dimples to be much deeper. We continue conversing, about old school teachers and friends, as if we are the only ones in the club and nothing else matters. Turns out we have both lost contact with all our school buddies. At odd times in our chat we go to the bar, get drinks, have a smoke together, go to the toilet; and we end up going outside to get some fresh air.

We sit on the pavement in front of the club, talking and having a laugh about schooldays and what we have both been doing with ourselves since then. The conversation is so good that we fail to notice that the summer’s night is turning into a luminous morning and that the club is emptying. My friends are ready to go home. As we say goodbye, I get worked up because he’s not making any effort to get my contact details or to send me off with a much-anticipated kiss. Frustration builds as I, too, fail at this. We end up hugging and going our separate ways. Suddenly, I turn around and make an audacious move.

"Hey, why don’t I go home with you? Then you can cook me breakfast," I propose anxiously. He smiles while walking towards me again.

"I don’t think that’s such a good idea," he responds. It’s not at all the desired response, but I am on such a cloud that I take a leap. I lean in and kiss him. We embrace and kiss fervently. After what feels like one of my top-ten kisses ever, he retracts. "Well, on second thoughts …" He grins slightly, revealing those winning dimples again. I end up going home with him and, after an intense wrestling and rolling session, we fall asleep.

"What the fuck is going on here?" I hear a voice bawl, but with my eyes still shut I am not familiar with the source. "Is this the kinda shit happening while I work?" the same voice continues with a degree of antagonism. I feel a shift under me.

"Baby, I can explain, I’m sorry." I recognise the source of this voice. A bellow of cursing completely wakes me. I open my eyes to the sight of a naked man having a severe dispute with a strange guy dressed in what looks like a doctor’s white coat. I realise where I am and what is playing out before my eyes. I get up, dress and depart while they obliviously continue with their argument.

Not only did the high school clown become sexy, he also turned out to be as gay as Christmas, and exceptionally good in bed. But … he has a boyfriend. First time I’ve slept with someone else’s boyfriend. At least, as far as I know.