A couple Tuesdays ago, I met a guy at a place called Rimjob.
Yuck! Ew! What?
Come on, it was a gay bar. The gay bars always are allowed to have the best names, you know. And the best names for drinks, too.
I met 4 of my best gay friends there. They had told me about the place, "It's dirty, DIRRRRTY!" Loads of go-go dancers, all greased up and undressed, a functioning shower stall for a little exhibition, the occasional dirty mattress for dancers to romp on. Porn being played on the TVs with "Boys Gone Wild" videos on the pull down screens. The crowd was great: very friendly, regular guys - not overly pumped up and beautiful like in West Hollywood where they all look like Abercrombie & Bitch models. Just normal cute and not so cute, buff and not so buff, nice folks.
Early on, it was announced that I was going to provide some of the evening's entertainment. "One of the dancers is straight," announced K. "And he's hot. And when a girl gives him a dollar, he makes out with her." K then handed me a dollar. "He's gonna love making out with you!"
"Oh God!" I said. "I'm not going to make out with a stripper!"
"Oh, but he's hot!" replied K. "You must. You will."
The dancers slowly started gathering around the club. The hot, straight one emerged shirtless, in camouflage pants which were sort of draped around his ass. It was my first experience with gay male dancers (that I can remember, anyway) and there was a lot of that sort of ass hanging out business, which makes sense. Guys in their underwear, pushing it halfway down their ass.
Anyway, my friend S gives my arm a tug and goes, "Oh, check out that guy. He's definitely the hottest one in the place!" He was pointing out a guy in a cowboy hat, boots, and black underwear. The guy was pretty cute, and he was chewing gum like there was no tomorrow, so we figured he was probably pretty coked out too. But S was just fascinated, "He is soooo hot. Maybe he's straight? Maybe we could get a threesome going?" "Ugh! I couldn't! Jeez!" I gagged. "He knows we're checking him out, he keeps looking at us," S said. I wasn't noticing this, but I was kinda overloading on the whole scene.
But K still had his eyes on the original prize. "Here's another dollar, Mo, go talk to the straight one. Go!" Instead, we got another drink. On the way over, we passed the running shower, up on a table, where two guys were almost having sex. Then we went outside to get away from the crowd which had swelled up inside the place.
My BFF and I were sitting on a couple of stools and our friends were circled in front of us, and we were all chatting. We realized we had a pretty primo spot, as behind us was the entryway to the dancers' dressing area, so they were constantly passing behind us. We could get as great a look as we wanted. S and I were talking, when he spotted Brokeback: "He's right over there and he's looking at us."
Turned out, he was looking at me.
The Cowboy went right through the crowd, cut through my friends, and right up to me. "Hi, I'm Todd. What's your name?" "Mo. Todd, huh? I had a stalker named Todd once. You're not a stalker, are you Todd?" "Not unless you're into that." "Well, I wasn't. So, are you making any money tonight?" (I don't know... what do you talk to strippers about?) "Oh yea," he gushed. "It's a blast. I'm having a great time. I noticed you in the crowd and wanted to talk to you because you're so sexy." "Oh?" I responded. "Are you straight then?" "Oh, well," he stammered. "Ok, but you have to get back to work." We rambled aimlessly a few more moments, and then he went back into the dressing room.
In the meantime, BFF had attracted a go-go dancer of his own. Once that guy left, K said, "Hello, stripper magnets! What's up?" S turned to me and said, "You HAVE to hook up with that guy! For me! For our sakes!" Then the Cowboy re-emerged in his (lack of) costume and goosed me from behind. I turned around and poked his chest. It was oiled up. "Ew!" I yelped. "You're all greasy! Don't get that on my jacket!" "Oh, I wasn't going to lean into you... Are you going to stick around for a while? Watch me dance?" "Yes, we'll be here."
The next round of conversation went a little like this. Cowboy Todd: "So, are you single? Are you dating someone?" Me: "No, I'm waaay single. And waaaaay older than you, too." Todd: "That's hot. I like older women. How old are you?" Me: "How old are you?" Todd: "Almost 31." Me: "Yea, I'm way older than you." (I was also taking into account that he was totally lying, and most likely 23 or 24.)
He went back to his post to earn more crotch cash, and my friends and I debated what I was supposed to do next. S said, "Well, if you don't give him your number, I will!" BFF said, "You have to go out with him. You dating a bimbo is like me dating a smart guy!" true, that. But I was confused, if he was working in a gay bar, and totally workin' it too, then why was he hitting on the fag hag? "Well," BFF replied, "If he seems like he's straight, that makes him more of a challenge. It's kinda hot." Oohhh...
So what did I do? I gave him my cell number. And that is a story for another day...