A/N I wrote this a while back and it's sorta autobiographical in situation anyway. I found it just recently and thought I would post it since my muse is being difficult with chapter 3 of Away Home and I wanted to post something.

Boys Night Out

We used to go out every Wednesday night. It was Boys Night Out, no literally, that's what they called it at the club, Boys' Night Out. You had to go, at least in the beginning, when they first started it. Boys Night Out, was the night to be seen. Saturdays were pretty much a given, no school, no work, and those of us who weren't near heathen, you could count on one hand, so waking up for our weekly religious inoculation wasn't really a problem. But Wednesday night had that special something extra. Three words: Conquer The Box. It was a contest, with that Queer As Folk feel to it, half naked, gorgeous hot boys all gyrating and grinding, the music pounding and ethereal, the atmosphere electric and lust filled, by the end of the contest, there were three guys left and the winner was usually glistening wet from pouring a bottle of water over his head and down his chest , probably had a studded black belt which he would run sensually between his legs, thrusting his hips, probably no shirt, sometimes no pants just a pair of really small cute underwear and more than likely drunk as hell. The winner would be proclaimed, confetti would be blasted from small cannons onto the dance floor and the whole floor would go wild, while the winner did a final dance waving a giant check for 500 as his prize. It was something to see, in the beginning anyways.

“Where's Jessica?” Dalton looked at his watch, pacing back and forth. With each pass in front of the mirror, he'd check again, to make sure his hair was still properly coifed, his ass still looked fine and the two unbuttoned buttons revealed the right amount of tanned chest. He tested again, unbuttoning a third, then re-buttoning it back. Then unbuttoning one of the bottom buttons instead to reveal the black belt with the silver belt buckle shining. “It's ten. We have to leave now to get in for free.”

“Would you shut up about getting in for free. It's five bucks. Besides the way she drives we'll be there in time. You should know this by now.” Jeremy was the club veteran. He'd been going to Village for about two years and the mere mention of going out there drained the animation from his face. He says Village has an expiration date, You go there long enough, you curdle like milk. Jeremy had slowly soured on Village, but it was my birthday and I wanted to see shiny wet gyrating grinding boys, see, feel, taste and touch, let's not forget touch and so Jeremy had relented.

I've not been to Village but for the last six months, tops. But my timing couldn't have been better. They started Conquer the Box, the first night I went. I was mesmerized. Especially since it took an act of God almost, though that may sound a bit blasphemous to say, to get me out there. Actually, if you call it what it really was, it was an act of Billy.

I'm in love with Billy. Not lust, though there is a great deal of that too, but love; an honest, well honed, overwhelming desire and want that I like to call love. He doesn't love me, though. Well not in that way, anyways. “You're Matthew, you're my best friend.” That's what he said, when I first told him that I loved him, out on the balcony, the alcohol a little too much to keep my inhibitions from getting the better of me. They were hard words to hear, at the time, harder words to remember. I always catch myself looking at him, in that way. I can't help myself. The word adonis comes to mind when I look at him. His face finely sculpted, strong jaw bone, deep blue eyes, a lovely neck. He doesn't like the ridge of his nose, but I'm reduced to pathetic sighs when catching a glimpse of him. I'll be the first to say he's not perfect, unless I'm plied with alcohol, then I'm apt to drop the negative from that statement.

“Happy birthday to me, happy birthday to me, happy birthday, dear Matthew, happy birthday to me.” I smiled at myself in the mirror. My eyes weren't near as deep blue as his, bur rather shallow pond blue, my jaw was not so much squared but looked rather like someone had taken a lathe to it, to square it up a bit. And I would trade the ridge of my nose for his, any day. It's a good thing I don't suffer from vanity issues.

“You look cute in that shirt.” Billy looked at me, appraisingly, spinning me around, looking at my ass, then spinning me more and running a hand down my chest and abs. “Yep, you're ready. Let's find you a man.” I hated it when he said things like that.

I don't take compliments well, they always take me by surprise. “Thanks.” I could feel the blush in my ears, which were always the first things to turn red. Horrible give away.

“Come on, let's go. Screw Jessica.” Dalton wedges his way in front of the mirror again, pulled down his shirt which had started to ride up and bunch under his arm pits. He looked at his face from both sides and smiled a white toothed grin. He wasn't an ugly person, really. There was something rather repulsive about him though, something in his personality which bled over into his looks if you studied him too long.

“Are you gonna drive?” Jeremy asked, knowing the answer before any of us could blurt it out.

“No!” I yelled.

“No!”

Dalton always looked offended when we answered like that. He'd had a little fiasco a couple of years back, involving alcohol, a bridge and his car. I would assume he'd understand where my “no” came from. I was in the passenger seat, watching first hand as the car spun out of control, round and round, slamming into the railing and then watching the front half of the car being devoured by the cement barrier. The air bags had deployed like white powdery magic, which seemed more distracting at the time as I was putting my arm in front of him to keep him from slamming into the steering wheel. It wasn't his brightest moment.

“Hey guys.” Jessica was the prerequisite fag hag. She preferred the term fruit fly, which seemed more apt as she hung around a lot of us, flitting back and forth between us, like we were overripe grapes. Fag hag is more a territorial position she'd said. She loved us all equally. She held open her arms. “Hugs.”

“We don't have time for hugs. We have to go. We have to go now. Five bucks buys three drinks before midnight.”

Jessica rolled her eyes as Dalton whined.

Jessica's hugs were nirvana. She's soft, in all the right places, smelled sexually floral and in her hugs she says all the right things. “Matt, you looks fucking adorable.”

“Marry me and have my babies.” I laughed It's an automatic response, that laugh. A nervous response that's become more pronounced since I came out..

Billy stepped forward for his hug. “She can't. She's having mine and Brad Pitt's babies for us.”

Do I get to sleep with Brad Pitt?” Jessica asked.

“NO, I sleep with Brad Pitt, you get the stretch marks from carrying our love child. Besides, I'm the only one pretty enough plus I'm sure he's gay and wouldn't have you.”

There's one thing you have to know about gay men, well most gay men, well okay all the gay men I know, they're all under the impression that they're gods. I missed the class where they handed out the god complex assignment and have failed at it miserably. But Billy, he aced it. It helps that he looks the way he does, but the attitude, the walk, the talk, he's it.

“Come on, let's go before Dalton slips into a coma from lack of alcohol.” Jeremy already has that look of resignation, that 'let's get this over with look', but he puts on a smile for me and I have to love him for it.

The trip itself is quick, though it seems to take forever tonight. I can feel the music already, the rhythm beating. The first time it was a bit overwhelming, deafening, but now, its inside of me before I get out of the car.

Village is under remodel and has been for a couple of weeks. The Rose Room has been torn down completely, so no more drag shows. Again, a first for me, one that surprised and titillated. You wouldn't think it possible, but then the music would start up and some mother's baby boy would part the crowd and start belting out Whitney Houston, well lip syncing really, in a sequined dress all sparkles and makeup and all you could do was laugh and cheer and woot and wave a dollar bill or two. But the Rose Room is gone, closed until they finish the club. Labor Day is the grand reopening, which seems far away. But we've all decided, it's a must attend event.

We head directly to the bar. Missy, a man in his forties, balding and a little on the pudgy side, turns glasses in one hand and sets them on the bar, bar napkins already in place, a bottle of vodka already pouring into a shot glass, already eyeing us for our order.

“Vodka punch, a cherry vodka sour and a Missy's punch.” He grabs down three more glasses as soon as he serves the last drinks he was preparing for the previous guy, a bear of a man, decked out in black leather. Sorta makes me shiver. Missy deftly pours and mixes and shakes until there are three glasses filled to the brim with wonderfully alcoholic elixirs.

Jeremy hands him his credit card over my shoulder and leans into me. “Happy birthday Matt.”

I can't help but smile. I have a crush on Jeremy too, but it's just a crush.”

We take our drinks to the rail that over looks the dance floor and all three of us light up a cigarette. The dance floor is a barren waste. The three boxes in the center, outposts yet to be conquered. The lights are search lights which carry my eyes with them as they work their way through the smoky haze in search of bare chests and perfect abs and beautiful faces. We watch, the boys walking past, drinking till our straws signal empty and time for refills. “Let's walk.” I don't know who says it, but we cruise through the club, stopping at the bar, then go outside on the patio, downstairs and through the dance floor. Britney is on, but nobody's dancing.

“It's dead tonight.” Billy seems somewhat let down by this fact and looks around the club in hopes of catching someone's eye. I watch him, unable not to because it doesn't take long. Walking through the club, anywhere actually, the eyes follow him like some celebrity. It's an attractive thing to see everyone looking at him, and him looking at nothing at all. He's oblivious to his affect on people. Guys and girls. He knows he's beautiful and he'll say it if you aren't quick enough to stop him, but still, there's a part of him that's in denial.

Three guys get out on the floor, laughing and drunk. They dance, if that's what you want to call it, bumping each other, eyes closed, moving to the music. I'm too self conscious for that because it doesn't look like dancing to me, plus, well I don't dance. I do what they do, but it doesn't feel like dancing to me at all.

One night, I had gotten out there with some friend from work. We had arrived late and had to make up drinking time. So after thirty minutes and six drinks, I was drunk and ready to dance. But normally, that doesn't happen.

Jessica perches her head on my shoulder and wraps her arms around my front. “Happy Birthday Matt.” She kisses me on the cheek. I lean back into her and smile.

“You sure you won't marry me? We can elope. Billy doesn't even need to know.” We laugh and I try to kiss her back, accidently bumping her jaw with my forehead.

Slowly, the club fills up, slowly the boys come in, slowly the dance floor becomes populated and slowly people hop up on the boxes. I'm suddenly mesmerized by a blond beautifully tanned boy who's taken his shirt off and thrown it to his feet, pulled off his belt and unbuttoned the first button of his khaki shorts revealing cute boxers. The lights are shifting dramatically over him and his chest is sparkling with perspiration.

“Oh my fucking God. He's gorgeous.” Dalton grabs Billy by the arm and pulls him towards the dance floor and then in front of the box. He pretends to dance with Billy for a bit, but then turns his attention to the box boy. From the edge of the dance floor, I'm torn between who I want to watch. Billy or the boy on the box, sparkling in his own sequined manner. Jeremy joins Billy and Dalton on the floor and I watch them, leaning and talking and laughing at what ever was said, smoking their cigarettes and moving to the music. None of it is dancing per se, but the looks on their faces, the euphoric bliss of the music and the motion makes it dancing.

“Come on hot stuff.” Jessica grabs me from behind, taking my hand and dragging me onto the dance floor. “It's your birthday. Let's dance.”

I follow, half willingly. Billy turns and gives me a radiant smile as we approach. Sometimes when he dances, he looks like he's boxing. I pointed this out to him once and he's tried to remedy that. Right now though, he's a little tipsy and he's in his boxing stance and I smile, thinking how gorgeous and sexy he looks and I'm hoping to go a few round with him on the dance floor.

But like I said, I don't dance. My hips don't seem to want to work that way, my feet grow roots and my dancing seems to be a mix of Nazi goose stepping and the final few muscle spasms of a hanged man. Not a pretty sight, so it's easy to understand why I don't do it. I can feel the drinks in me, and the music is in me and the box boy is over Dalton's shoulder, oblivious to Dalton's shimmying dance. His eyes, naturally, are on Billy. But I look at him as he dances, his abs and chest luminous. He smiles down at me and whatever rhythm I might have, is gone, just that quick. He winks and I laugh and he laughs. He has a beautiful mouth, his lips are full and red and luscious and my eyes don't know where to land on him. He signals me to come up and join him on the box but I shake my head, my heart racing like I'd sprinted from home to get to the club. He leans down towards me, wanting to talk. “I'm Bryan.” He holds his hand out to me and I reach to shake it.

“Matthew,” I respond.

He pulls me forward and up on to the box. I look over my shoulder in astonishment, my eyes probably huge with surprise. Billy, Jeremy and Jessica are laughing gloriously in the smoke and flashing rainbow lights. Dalton gives me a tight lipped smile. All I can do to that is laugh and I do, I throw back my head and laugh at the ceiling, to all the faces along the railing on the second floor, at the giant video screens with blurring video, at the whole world. The music takes hold of me and in my hanged man dying throes and Nazi goose stepping, I lean into Bryan, smelling the scent of his cologne, the musky scent of him of sweat and pheromones a scent more feral and more intoxicating than anything dreamed up and poured into a bottle and whisper. “It's my birthday.”

He kisses me then and after a moments hesitation, my hands resting on his chest, I kiss him back. He pulls back and I'm surprised to see him smiling. “Happy birthday Matthew.” I laugh again, I'm practically giddy and drunk. Not from the alcohol, though that is having its affect on me, but more the adrenalin rush. I feel his arms around my waist and he's pulling at my shirt. I pull his hands away, gripping both of his wrists in one hand in front of me. He leans in and kisses me again and I here an inner voice yelling. That's Not Billy! I even feel myself hesitate mid kiss, his tongue in my mouth and tasting of alcohol and I think I even try to pull away. But he's gotten his wrists away from me and his arms hold me tightly to him. He's gyrating and I'm lost in the moment, feeling free and unshackled from something that is beyond my grasp but that I've been grasping for a long time.