Page 18 of Tell Me Lies: Manlove Edition

He clears his throat and backs off. “I meet some friends here. We see the teaser.”

“You can sit if you like.” I gesture to the stool beside me.

“No.” He doesn’t even deliberate.

Even straight men never shut me down so hard.

He stirs his sour, sucks the cherry off the straw, almost seductive. He’d do for a quickie. A three or a four.

“So, Chard,” he bites my name, accusing it of being fake. “How long have you been stripping?”

“About twenty-nine years. I never liked clothes.”

His full smile is unexpectedly charming. Raises him to at least a five.

I lean nearer. “How long have you been watching strippers?”

“Ever since Jude hired a cook. I come for the cheesesteaks.”

Christ, was he actually straight? “The half-naked beefcakes don’t interest you?”

“Never said that.”

He is not.

With another five minutes to amuse him, he’d be putty in my hands. But Jude brings him dinner, and he takes the plate and his drink to the high-top in the corner.

I watch as he sets up a computer and doesn’t cast me a second glance. If this is a tactic to pique my interest, it fucking worked.

****

After my run, my shower, and my afternoon meds, I return to the bar too early for my call. I hang out with Paul, ignoring the wistful hints from the Latino rocking a fedora, indifferently declining the drink from the bear in a red tank, and wait to more kindly reject the very young twink being pressured by his girlfriends to approach me.

Trockel lurks in his corner, his cut-up face illuminated by the blue glow of his tablet. He rubs his beard with gloved hands but never lifts his eyes to the room. I can’t shake the taste of our encounter, and I hate that.

“You know, I realize that as the studliest stud who ever studded, you might never have faced this particular dilemma, so here’s a tip.” Paul put two empty shot glasses in front of me. “You buy these shots, carry them over, give him one, then you don’t make fun of him.”

“I’m in a gay bar and I’m a goddamn male stripper. I do not buy drinks.”

“In two hours you can pull it out of your thong.” Paul fiddles with a bottle. “You’ll want a snakebite. It’s the only other thing I’ve ever seen him drink.”

“What happened to his hand?” I wiggle my fingers at Paul.

“Christ, you’re an asshole.”

“Wait, wait…” I reach for his arm. “I’ll give you a twenty later.”

“Thanks for the generous tip.” He turns away to perform his alcohol alchemy.

“You can take it with your teeth, and you’re welcome.”

Paul set down two neon-green shots. “Do us a favor, and don’t break the little guy, all right? That hard-on you’re trying to get rid of counts as a concealed weapon in at least three states.”

****

I fall into my Queen Bee strut to mask my nerves. I haven’t been rejected by any kind of man since I grew into my height and built up my muscles. I wasn’t ready to take a “no” from this guy.

“So, Trockel, do I call the shots since I bought them?” The green potions rap loudly on the high-top.

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