When the dead arose, Jimmy was going down on
the balding accountant.
Curtis was standing several yards away from
the accountant’s car, by the corner of the club, the neon sign
above him shedding a harsh blue light over his body. Asylum was the
name of the place, but the ‘s’ and ‘u’ were burned out and no one
had bothered to replace them, so the sign currently read ‘A yl m’.
Curtis shivered, pulled his light jacket tighter around himself,
and checked his watch. Half past four in the morning. He wanted to
go back to the dorms, but Jimmy was his ride. Curtis also had to
urinate something awful, but there was no way he was going to the
restroom in the club. He’d made the mistake of trying that earlier
in the night and walked in on some kind of orgy.
So much that had happened tonight had been a
shock for Curtis. This was his first trip to a gay club, and seeing
so many homosexuals gathered in one place was a revelation. Growing
up in a small southern town, Curtis had always felt alienated,
alone, a freak among the multitudes. But at Asylum, the freaks were the multitude. Men dancing together and kissing right
out in the open, no fear or shame evident. Curtis had initially
resisted when Jimmy had offered to take him to the club, but Curtis
was glad he’d finally agreed.
Of course, there was enough small-town in
Curtis for him to be appalled by the easy sexuality on display at
Asylum. The bathroom orgy, Jimmy’s random hookup with the
accountant, the stripper with the dreadlocks and the sculpted
chest—these things had the power to make Curtis uncomfortable.
Still a virgin at age twenty, Curtis had yet to even kiss a man. He
certainly couldn’t imagine hopping into some stranger’s car and
giving him a blowjob.
Curtis sometimes wondered why he and Jimmy
were friends, they were so different. Where Curtis was shy and
awkward in social situations, Jimmy was a blaze of self-confidence
and gregarious charm. On the surface they had nothing in common
other than being gay, but in some ways Curtis thought it was their
differences that drew them to one another. Curtis admired Jimmy’s
openness about his sexuality, his refusal to be anyone other than
who he was. Conversely, Curtis suspected that Jimmy saw him as a
project, a naïve, inexperience little gay boy that he could mold
and teach in the ways of gaydom.
And lesson number one had been fashion.
Curtis had always dressed conservatively, favoring khaki slacks and
button-up shirts, but Jimmy—whose own fashion sense included things
like bright orange felt pants and women’s blouses—had been trying
to change that. Curtis resisted the most wild articles Jimmy tried
to push on him, but he had started moving toward a more
casual look.
Lesson number two had been hair. Not one for
product, Curtis had never used gel or mousse in his hair, but Jimmy
had taught him to style it in a spiky way that Curtis actually
thought was rather flattering. Jimmy had tried talking Curtis into
bleaching his brown locks, but all Curtis would agree to were a few
blonde highlights.
Lesson number three had been Asylum. Feeling
uncharacteristically daring, Curtis had allowed Jimmy to dress him
in a pair of tight leather pants that were uncomfortable in the
crotch region and a hot-pink T-shirt with the logo “I LUV BOIS”
emblazoned across the chest. Jimmy had balked when Curtis had
insisted on wearing a jacket over the shirt, arguing that it ruined
the effect, but the late-autumn night was chilly. Jimmy himself had
worn a pair of red vinyl pants that looked painted on and an actual
fur coat—rabbit fur, he said—under which he wore no shirt, his bare
chest and pierced nipples on display. The odd thing about Jimmy—and
one of the things Curtis admired about him—was that he seemed
perfectly at home in such an outrageous outfit. In contrast,
Curtis—his own outfit much tamer by comparison—felt like he was
wearing a Halloween costume.
Curtis had spent most of the night by the
bar,
the balding accountant.
Curtis was standing several yards away from
the accountant’s car, by the corner of the club, the neon sign
above him shedding a harsh blue light over his body. Asylum was the
name of the place, but the ‘s’ and ‘u’ were burned out and no one
had bothered to replace them, so the sign currently read ‘A yl m’.
Curtis shivered, pulled his light jacket tighter around himself,
and checked his watch. Half past four in the morning. He wanted to
go back to the dorms, but Jimmy was his ride. Curtis also had to
urinate something awful, but there was no way he was going to the
restroom in the club. He’d made the mistake of trying that earlier
in the night and walked in on some kind of orgy.
So much that had happened tonight had been a
shock for Curtis. This was his first trip to a gay club, and seeing
so many homosexuals gathered in one place was a revelation. Growing
up in a small southern town, Curtis had always felt alienated,
alone, a freak among the multitudes. But at Asylum, the freaks were the multitude. Men dancing together and kissing right
out in the open, no fear or shame evident. Curtis had initially
resisted when Jimmy had offered to take him to the club, but Curtis
was glad he’d finally agreed.
Of course, there was enough small-town in
Curtis for him to be appalled by the easy sexuality on display at
Asylum. The bathroom orgy, Jimmy’s random hookup with the
accountant, the stripper with the dreadlocks and the sculpted
chest—these things had the power to make Curtis uncomfortable.
Still a virgin at age twenty, Curtis had yet to even kiss a man. He
certainly couldn’t imagine hopping into some stranger’s car and
giving him a blowjob.
Curtis sometimes wondered why he and Jimmy
were friends, they were so different. Where Curtis was shy and
awkward in social situations, Jimmy was a blaze of self-confidence
and gregarious charm. On the surface they had nothing in common
other than being gay, but in some ways Curtis thought it was their
differences that drew them to one another. Curtis admired Jimmy’s
openness about his sexuality, his refusal to be anyone other than
who he was. Conversely, Curtis suspected that Jimmy saw him as a
project, a naïve, inexperience little gay boy that he could mold
and teach in the ways of gaydom.
And lesson number one had been fashion.
Curtis had always dressed conservatively, favoring khaki slacks and
button-up shirts, but Jimmy—whose own fashion sense included things
like bright orange felt pants and women’s blouses—had been trying
to change that. Curtis resisted the most wild articles Jimmy tried
to push on him, but he had started moving toward a more
casual look.
Lesson number two had been hair. Not one for
product, Curtis had never used gel or mousse in his hair, but Jimmy
had taught him to style it in a spiky way that Curtis actually
thought was rather flattering. Jimmy had tried talking Curtis into
bleaching his brown locks, but all Curtis would agree to were a few
blonde highlights.
Lesson number three had been Asylum. Feeling
uncharacteristically daring, Curtis had allowed Jimmy to dress him
in a pair of tight leather pants that were uncomfortable in the
crotch region and a hot-pink T-shirt with the logo “I LUV BOIS”
emblazoned across the chest. Jimmy had balked when Curtis had
insisted on wearing a jacket over the shirt, arguing that it ruined
the effect, but the late-autumn night was chilly. Jimmy himself had
worn a pair of red vinyl pants that looked painted on and an actual
fur coat—rabbit fur, he said—under which he wore no shirt, his bare
chest and pierced nipples on display. The odd thing about Jimmy—and
one of the things Curtis admired about him—was that he seemed
perfectly at home in such an outrageous outfit. In contrast,
Curtis—his own outfit much tamer by comparison—felt like he was
wearing a Halloween costume.
Curtis had spent most of the night by the
bar,
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