“Your gay bar. You’re not putting your mouth on any part of me but my ass.”
With a chuckle, I followed Winston from the restaurant. “You know, some men find that sexy. It’s called rimming.”
“Uh, no, thanks. Know what bar you want to go?”
“Nothing fancy. Just a regular gay bar.”
“And you think I’m going to know where to find a regular gay bar?”
I threw an arm around his shoulder. “Don’t worry, buddy. I have a pretty good idea. I’ve looked this up.”
After being unable to get August from my mind, I’d jumped completely in and done my research about what it was like having sex with another man. That was exactly what I wanted from August, and I needed to understand, if even from a theoretical perspective, what to expect.
I’d found a whole lot, but I’d also discovered that everything was subject to the individuals. If I wanted to know how all this affected me, I needed to experience it for myself.
“So what’s my role in all this?” Winston asked when my driver let us off at the entrance to the gay bar I’d directed him toward.
“Be my boyfriend.”
He halted, but I kept walking. “What? Charles, that wasn’t a part of the plan.”
Footsteps hurried after me, and his hand landed on my shoulder. I stopped. “It’s not a big deal, okay? I’m not going to kiss you or anything. In fact, if someone piques my interest, you may leave.”
“Okay, deal.”
I opened the door, and Winston followed me. The world didn’t end, and except for a few curious stares and an abundance in testosterone, it looked pretty much like any other bar. We found two stools at the L-shaped bar.
The bartender promptly appeared, flashing a friendly smile at us. His top half was bare except for the mat of curly red hair on his chest and horseshoe nipple rings. The hairy chest reminded me of August, causing a jolt in my pants.
That had to count for something, right?
“What can I get you two gentlemen?”
Winston leaned into me and murmured, “What do you order in a gay bar?”
The bartender laughed, the sound loud, only drawing more attention to us. I groaned and gestured to the door and Winston. “You can go now.”
“What, did I say something wrong?”
“You can order anything you want, sweetie,” the bartender said, still chuckling. “And because you’re such a cutie, your first drink’s on me.”
“Um, thanks.” Winston’s face was red.
“Don’t I get a free drink too?”
“When you’re that cute, sure.” The bartender couldn’t keep his eyes off Winston, and my friend was lapping it up.
“Get out,” I whispered fiercely at Winston when the bartender fixed our drinks.
“What?” He blinked at me. “Aren’t we having fun?”
“You’re stealing my thunder with that stupid innocent face of yours,” I hissed. “That free drink should be mine.”
“The least I can get out of this is a free drink.”
“Then I hope he takes you home tonight and makes you bottom.”
“Did somebody say bottom?” The bartender placed our drinks on the counter.
I slapped Winston’s shoulder. “Just my friend here stating his preference.”
Winston spewed out his mouthful. On the bartender.
“Oh my god, I’m so sorry,” he apologized, grabbing some napkins and leaning across the counter to dab away the droplets of liquid from the bartender’s skin.
I stared at Winston, who was so intent on fixing his mistake he missed the bartender’s cheeky grin.
“Well, damn, honey, you didn’t need an excuse to touch me.”
Winston paused. I should’ve been pissed at him for gaining all the attention since we walked through the door, but I couldn’t help laughing at his look of horror. His face couldn’t get any redder.
“This is so embarrassing,” he muttered. “I…um…ahem.” He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, but there’s a misunderstanding. You see, I’m not gay.”
“Keep touching me like that, honey, and you’ll find it very hard to convince me you aren’t.”
Winston finally realized he still had his hands on the bartender’s chest. He dropped them and closed his eyes as if that would make everything disappear.
“I’m really not gay,” he said, then pointed at me. “I’m just here with him. He’s the one you should be coming on to, not me.”
“You’re more my type, sugar.” The bartender stepped back. “I won’t push, but if you change your mind, I’d bottom for ya.”
With that, he was off, and Winston shifted on his stool and glared at me. “This is your fault.” He grabbed his drink and guzzled it down. “Are you satisfied now?”