Gulliver Takes Five (21 page)

“You okay, Todd?” I ask. “You don’t look so good.”

“Gee, thanks, bro,” Todd grins. “You really know how to boost a dude’s ego.” And before I can correct myself...

“Todd Fucking DiTempto!”

Mikey Drama has spotted his partner from across the room and is now headed in our direction, one arm outstretched. “Todd Fucking DiTempto! Get your ass OVER HERE!”

“What I wouldn’t give to have the power of invisibility sometimes,” Todd whispers to me.

“Why?” I ask.

“Nothing. Gotta take care of some shit. Be right back.”

Todd lets his business partner drag him away from me, to the cluster of Screwniverity representatives. I’m way too drunk to understand what’s going on, but his weirdness is starting to bring me down. Do I really want to go home with Todd when he’s like this? In all fairness, there’s a lot that isn’t right with me either tonight. But I’ve never seen Todd even half this trashed.

Todd shakes Marty Brayden’s hand for what seems a strangely long time, holds onto it once the shaking has stopped. It’s like how he kissed me a little longer than normal last night. Does that mean he’s changed his mind about bringing me home and decided to flee the scene with Marty instead? Hell, who WOULDN’T choose Marty? Everyone in here is staring at him, trying to get his attention, approaching him with the unholiest of intentions. And I’m no different. What the fuck is wrong with me? Did I really think that dying my hair some crazy color would get Marty to notice me? Take me home? Fall for me? Jesus!

No, Marty will not be mine tonight. Not when it’s me against everyone else—my competition including but not limited to a dozen drop-dead gorgeous porn stars, anyone who’s anyone in gay New York City nightlife, and Todd DiTempto. I can already see how this will unfold: Todd will go home with Marty, because that’s MY luck. Nothing changes. The rich get richer; the poor stay poor. Nick
prospers; I falter. Grandpa’s still dead; Mom remains a bitch behind bars. I can dance my ass off at school and at the clubs trying to change it, eyeing guys I know deep down are too good for me. Yeah, maybe I’m hot enough for one live sex session at the Screwniversity dorm or one roll in the hay with Todd DiTempto (when his inhibitions are way down in the gutter, that is). But I’m not the boy who gets a call or a smiley
“Last night was fun!”
text in the morning. I’m the boy whose number gets inexplicably “lost,” whom Todd will grimace with regret at tomorrow: “Oh, that was YOU?”

So why kid myself? Why am I here? I’m not VIP. Todd is VIP. Marty’s VIP. And VIPs fuck VIPs, don’t they? I should be back down with the not-so-important people, making not very much money. At least there I’ll be dancing with someone who, for whatever reason, DOES want me. Well—he wants a place to crash. He wants a mouth on his dick as he lies back motionless like he’s watching
Real Housewives of New York
on TV. He wants someone he is so obviously better than in every way. And even that will only last until he finds a guy more like him. Some other snooty Long Island boy with his own Jaguar and private beach.

I should have just ended this night after the diner and slept through to Sunday.

After a final round of hugs, flexes, and flirtatious grabs, Todd returns to me, even more zoinked than he looked only a few minutes earlier. “Fuck, bro. I gotta get outta here.”

“Oh, really?” I ask, unable to mask my utter lack of surprise. I hand him another drink, which he chugs in one breath. “Well, it was nice running into you.”

Todd grabs me and kisses me again. “With you, fool. We’re getting out of here.”

Oh. OH! Well, that wasn’t what I was expecting...

“Can you do that?” I ask as soon as he releases my lips from his grasp.

“Fuck yeah. I got people here, didn’t I? But—shit, I have to introduce the porn guys in twenty minutes. After that, I can leave. Need to leave.”

“You’re not suddenly wanted by the FBI or something, are you?” I ask. “You’re acting very fugitive-esque tonight.”

“No.” Todd laughs.

“Because if we’re going to be interrupted mid-fuck by a blazing searchlight from a helicopter outside your apartment, I just want to make sure I’m looking my best. For my mug shots, you know. Since those always end up on the Internet.”

“I’m not wanted by the FBI. Unless YOU’RE the FBI,” Todd smirks. “The Fucking...Beautiful...Shit, I can’t think of what could start with
I
.”

“Me either,” I laugh. “If only I were Iraqi. Or an Indian.”

“Right. So yeah. I’m going to run down and do that. Meet me by the front door after the first show?”

“You got it,” I say, kissing him on the cheek. Kissing him goodbye, maybe? Perhaps this is just an easy way for him to pull an Irish exit and abandon me in the VIP while he sneaks off with Marty Brayden.

He spins my face and kisses me deeply again. “I’m gonna fuck your brains out tonight, bro. Hope you’re ready.”

Okay, so if this is an Irish exit strategy, he’s executing it very bizarrely. “I was born ready,” I say before he leaves me, crosses the room, and vanishes through the door.

Well, now I’m excited. Excited and nervous. Is this really about to happen? After all these months of wishing, wanting, and wet dreaming? The outcome of all of those morning conversations at the diner with the other go-gos that would PAY Todd for a single ride? It’s still hard to swallow.

Then I notice Marty has vanished from the room, even though his costars remain. Where did he go? Is he with Todd?

Fuck! Of course he is.

Why would Todd kiss me like that and then run off with Marty? Is he planning a doubleheader?

So what if he is? I’d still take him. Is that totally pathetic to admit? Maybe I’m crashing. Maybe I’m not thinking clearly. Remember the last time I slept? Yeah, I don’t, either.

A smarter guy would cut his losses and leave now. Leave Nick to make his money, which he’ll lug home in a big bag with a dollar sign on it, only to set it all on fire. Leave Marty to get cheered on as his slutty celebrity climbs a few rungs higher on the ladder of porn infamy. Leave Todd to fuck Marty or any other guy he wants, who he can easily get. To be honest, a little shut-eye may actually feel better than an orgasm at this point.

But then they win.

Nick wins. Todd wins. Marty wins. The Actor wins. Everybody but Chase wins in that scenario.

I’m not letting that happen again tonight.

They say nice guys finish last, and that’s fine, because what’s so great about being first, anyway? Most winners I know are total douche bags. Take Nick, for example. But I’m also not just gonna give up to make things easier on everyone else. I am still IN this race, boys. I may or may not end up with Todd or Marty or anyone else tonight, but if not, it won’t be because I threw in the towel.

I hope I don’t just pass out when I hit Todd’s bed. Marty’s bed. Whoever’s.

I catch a boy staring at me from across the bar. Well, I catch him, and then he does that thing where his eyes rush to stare at anything else, which is more an admission of staring than it is a successful cover-up. He’s cute. And he’s back to staring at me. Because when it rains, it whores, right? Well, if Todd can double-dip tonight, maybe I can too.

“Nice hair,” he says before I even reach him.

Fuck, he’s a looker. Square jaw with short brown hair. He fits nicely in a simple, logo-less solid-brown T-shirt and a pair of neither tight nor short shorts.

“Your hair’s pretty nice, yourself,” I say, brazenly rubbing my hand through it. “Man, I feel like we’re in a shampoo commercial or something.”

He doesn’t stop me. “Thanks. I had it straightened this morning. Seriously, though, bold color choice.”

“It’s one-wash,” I assure him. “I’ll be back to dirty blond after my next shower, whenever that happens.”

“Figures that the two cutest guys in this room have ridiculously colored hair, even if one of them has it for tonight only.”

“Yeah. Great minds, you know? I see you’re without a drink. Want this one?” I hand him a drink off the bar, my eyes locked on his.

“How much is that?”

“Free,” I laugh. “First time in VIP?”

“Yeah, I guess,” he says, drinking and wincing at the strength of the brew. “Glad I met someone with a little more experience where very important people are concerned.”

“It’s my first time too,” I say, leaning closer to him. “I’m just a quick learner. You new to New York?”

“Sorta,” he says, sipping. “Actually just here for the next twelve hours. Then back home I fly.”

“Go on.”

“I’m from Los Angeles, just in town to...surprise a friend.”

“Oh my, a real-live Cali boy in town for one night only? How lucky am I?”

The boy smiles at me and looks down. “Please don’t make me blush. I’m red enough from the sunburn. No one warned me that New York was sunnier than LA.”

“It’s cute.” I smile, getting closer. “You wanna duck out and...do something?” I’m not usually this brave, but I’m also not usually this drunk. Plus, he’s a limited edition.

“No, not really,” he chuckles, backing up. “Man, you New Yorkers don’t waste much time, do you?”

The fact that he’s smiling doesn’t lessen the blow. Am I in store for another judgment and shaming session? Already had one of those today. Check, please?

“Oh. Sorry. I guess I should probably leave you to your West Coast pace.” And with typical East Coast lightning speed, I about-face and walk away.

“Hey! Wait, wait!” The guy grabs my shirt, pulling me back to him. “I didn’t mean to offend you. Tonight’s just a rough night.”

“Yeah, that seems to be going around,” I say, finishing my drink.

“Don’t take this the wrong way—but I wasn’t looking at you because I was interested in you. At least, not like that. It
was
actually your hair. Um. Can I ask you a totally random question?”

“After my proposition, I’m curious to see what you consider random. Go for it.”

“That kid with the blue hair—do you know him?”

“Ah, yes, I sure do. That was Marty Brayden.”

“Friend of yours?”

“Not exactly. Well, I guess you could say he’s everybody’s friend—friend with benefits. He’s sort of a pretty huge porn star.”

“Really,” the boy says with a sigh. “How big?”

I laugh and have to cover my mouth to stop vodka from coming out. “I’m pretty sure you have to get a membership to his site to find that out.”

“I meant popularity-wise,” he smirks. “Is he well-known?”

“I think so. The hair certainly doesn’t hurt.”

“Or that douche-bag chinstrap,” he says. “I’m going to introduce myself when he gets back.”

“Ah, hoping for a night with the star of New York Screwniversity, are you?”

“Not exactly. Been there, done that.”

I imagine he’s lying. But whether he’s telling the truth or not, I’m not about to tell him anything about MY past with the sapphire-haired superstar. Don’t need a bad rep reaching all the way out to the other coast.

“So you do know him?” I ask, looking over my shoulder for signs of Marty’s return. “Don’t tell me that’s why you’re up here.”

“Isn’t it why you’re here?” he asks. “The green hair. I thought maybe you were a fan. Or trying to get his attention.”

“Attention? Maybe. His? Not necessarily. It works on other people too. Got yours, didn’t it?”

“Guess so,” he replies.

“I’m Chase Winterman, by the way. Feel free to Facebook me when you get home. I’ve been thinking about checking out California.”

“It’s nothing like this place, I’ll tell you that. And I’m Graham.”

“Well, Graham, I should get going. And I promise not because you shot down my advances.”

“I’m glad. Maybe if you ever get out to Cali, we can hang out.”

“Maybe so. Good luck with your porn star.”

“I’ll need it,” Graham says. “Have a good night, however it unfolds.”

“Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

I take a back staircase out of the VIP, leaving Graham to get another drink and await the return of the famous Marty Brayden. I sneak back into the go-go dressing room, slip into my street clothes. I also grab my money, guiltlessly, from the wrangler, who pays me the promised four hundred dollars for the set despite the fact that I danced for maybe twenty-five minutes. This must be what Nick feels like when he cashes his trivial checks at the end of FreakOut Fridays.

As I cross the main dance floor, I can see Nick having the time of his life. By now I imagine he’s acquired so much green in those biceps that he looks like the Hulk. Good for him.

And now I wait, hoping Todd actually shows. I order and nurse a Marty Brayden, some blueberry-flavored thing that’s actually a bit too sweet for me. I’m also double-fisting it with Red Bull because now, more than ever, I need my energy. I wish I could do another couple hundred push-ups and sit-ups just to make sure I’m in my absolute prime when Todd rips off my clothing, assuming that’s going to happen.

From here, I watch the first of two live performances by the boys of the Screwniversity. This one is, predictably, tamer—why buy the cow now when you know it’s getting milked even harder later?
Marty stands just to the right of the head of the dorm, Joey Gambit. He gives the crowd a peek of his cock and they go nuts. Or maybe the crowd is going nuts because two other guys are giving each other head. Or maybe they’re going nuts because they know what’s coming later. The show ends, the crowd has a collective vocal orgasm, and the party returns to dancing and drinking. The boys—Marty included—sprint for the VIP area.

Todd makes it just as I finish my third drink. He breaks through the crowd, grabs me by the waist, and kisses me deeply. “Oh, boo, you got dressed.”

“Just for now. Lead the way?”

“Absolutely. I’m done here. And if we don’t get out before they lock the doors, we’ll be stuck until the second show is over. Don’t need that, bro.”

“Aren’t you curious to see what all the fuss is for?” I ask, poking him. “Thirteen hot guys all going at it in public?”

“You’re the one I want naked. And in private, preferably. Let’s go.”

We haven’t moved five feet when I hear Nick screaming. “Chase! Where are you going?”

Yeah. I knew this was too easy. Nick is breaking through the crowd, only a few feet away from me. Todd is already by the exit. I’m stuck in between.