Cocky Batter

by Drake Rockford

  Rudy was patting Pete on the back, who was bent over with his hands on his knees and dry heaving. “We’ll have to catch up. He needs more time. Where are you gonna be?”

  “It’s a new underground place in town. A pansexual Latin-themed dance club.”

  Adrian raised his eyebrows and Rudy mimicked the action. “Pan what?”

  “Pansexual. People open to any type of sexual experience.”

  “In other words, gay.”

  Dale rolled his eyes. “Not gay enough. There’s more twat than cock usually.” He leaned into Adrian to give him a playful shove. “I promise it will be fun.”

  “No gay bars. That was the deal.”

  “It’s not gay. Come on. Where’s your sense of adventure?”

  “Got choked to death on my last little walk on the wild side.”

  “Come on!” Dale tried a new tactic. “There’s gonna be lots of cheap booze there.”

  “Not my concern. You’re paying.”

  “Fine.” He added, “How about cheap women?”

  Pete perked up with a raise of his head. “Floozies, you say?”

  “Not slutty—sexually liberated. You’ll still need to bring your A-game.”

  Pete grabbed his crotch and shook it savagely. “I’m gonna bring the best fuck game those chicks have ever had. Tell ‘em, Rudy.”

  Rudy pushed Pete over and he thudded onto the floor. “Fuck off.”

  Pete clambered up with the help of Rudy’s leg and a nearby chair. “Dude? I meant you know from our tag-teaming sessions. Everyone knows you’re all man.”

  Rudy shrugged Pete off and walked away. “Text us the address,” he called over his shoulder. And then, “Come on, Pete. Get some food inside that skinny ass stomach of yours.”

  “Hell yeah! I’m starving.” Pete nodded at Dale and Adrian. “See you in an hour or so. Save a skank for me.”

  Adrian nodded. “Sounds good. I’m sick of this place, anyway.” He watched Pete amble away in a drunken zigzag and turned to Dale. “We'll need to go back to my place so I can change. That Neanderthal dumped most of his last drink on me.”

  Dale waved that concern away. “No worries. There’s a men’s boutique nearby. I know the manager. We’ll buy new outfits there and he’ll hold our clothes in the backroom for us. I’ve done it a couple of times before.”

  Adrian grimaced. “A men’s boo-what?”

  “A boutique. A shop—”

  Adrian punched Dale in the arm. “I'm kidding, fucker. I know what a boutique is: A store gay men go to to shop for super tight, low-riding skinny jeans and overpriced hair gel.”

  “So you know the place,” Dale teased and laughed.

  “Only in passing. I’ve never had reason to go in there. It’s not exactly my style."

  Dale pulled Adrian towards the door excitedly. "You just haven’t figured your style out. Come on. I want to get to the boutique before they close. I can’t wait to make you over!"

  “You’re not making me over.”

  Dale raised his eyebrows and smirked. “Come on, Grumpy. Live a little! I know there’s a Cinderfella hiding somewhere inside that big ol' body of yours.”

  Adrian opened his mouth to protest and then snapped it shut. Dale was already across the room and waiting expectantly at the door. Like a giddy stray puppy.

  Adrian had to admit to himself: he liked puppies.

  Oh hell.

  Chapter 6: Pandora’s Box

  Adrian didn’t have much fashion sense. For as long as memory served him, he’d always preferred loose-fitting, even downright baggy clothes. When he was the size of a prize-winning hog the only things that fit were sweats and XXXL t-shirts. There was no Calvin Klein or Boss or other high-end wear for men his size. So when he’d lost close to two hundred pounds it never occurred to him that he had now joined the target demographic for designer duds.

  Instead, he kept going back to those flexible sweats and non-descript oversized jeans from Wal-Mart and Target. These were most comfortable, he convinced himself. The truth was he feared his flaws would press through anything form-fitting; that his form just wasn’t firm enough. He never imagined he’d one day squeeze his ass into a pair of skinny jeans and a slim tailored Kenneth Cole button-up.

  Yet, here he was at the door of a Latin club, decked out and dapper, looking every bit the ladies’ man he’d always longed to be. On the outside he had adopted the practiced role of buff stud and projected a calm assurance he did not feel. Deep within he still carried those two hundred pounds of shame and it showed in his statuesque posture, as if one wrong move would send the buttons pressed into his chest flying at the bouncer’s eyes.

  Beside him, graceful and carefree, stood Dale. His relaxed posture was almost a slouch, that stance of indifference boys feigned when beautiful girls completely out of their league passed by. Except, of course, Dale wasn’t feigning. He was the beauty out of everyone else’s league. What did he have to feel insecure about?

  Adrian was still ruminating about Dale, wondering if he’d ever felt a moment of true anxiety in his life, when Dale caught his stare.

  He raised an eyebrow and shook his arm. “Loosen up,” Dale urged. He grinned and nodded towards the entrance. “Your darkest fantasies await. The sexiest girls you’ll ever meet, all decked out in skimpy club-wear, eager to meet guys for a night of debauchery. They’ll strip you naked right on the dance floor, if you let them.”

  Unease fluttered in Adrian’s stomach. He envisioned a roomful of would-be starlets of incomparable beauty and their male counterparts beside them, lean and sinewy with waifish waists—live portraits of stunning androgyny in the current standard of model beauty. Muscle bound beefcakes with huge torsos and tree stumps for thighs were a thing of the past in this carb-free era. He’d stick out as a fake no matter what slimming outfit he managed to stuff his bulk into.

  The panic almost made him turn on his heels to escape. Instead, he stalled, hoping his voice did not betray his reluctance. “What about Rudy and Pete? Shouldn’t we wait for them?”

  “They’ll find us easy enough. I texted Rudy the address while you were in the dressing room.”

  “We should have stayed and helped Pete sober up,” mused Adrian. “They might get turned away by the bouncer.”

  “They’ll be fine. If Pete can stand upright, they’ll let him in.” Dale frowned. “Are you chickening out because of the type of club this is?”

  “Of course not,” said Adrian. He scrunched his face in annoyance.

  Dale raised an eyebrow speculatively. “Are you upset because Pete and Rudy stayed behind to do their own thing?”

  “Huh? No! I don’t care what those butt pirates do,” proclaimed Adrian. “Or who they do it with. I’m kind of surprised they agreed to go to a gay club.”

  “Pansexual,” Dale corrected with a sigh. He straightened up as the line ahead of them inched forward. “Come on. You’re about to get your mind blown.”

  They trailed behind a group of coeds, seeing nothing until they had passed the velvet rope and then burst into a wide-open space alive with music and dance.

  Adrian had expected strobe lights and pulsing electronic music that would contribute to a throbbing headache the next day. But the lighting was soft and the music a rumbling Caribbean melody that eased his worries with its fun, energetic beat.

  The area was tiny, creating an inclusive vibe with small round tables squeezed close together so that one could easily talk to friends and strangers alike. In the center of many tables were tall flasks resembling bongs filled with amber liquid. Most of the patrons imbibed from these, though he could see that some tables were free of the bongs and littered instead with standard twelve-ounce beer bottles, jugs of liquor, and plastic cups.

  Some tables were unoccupied, their residents up and about on the dance floor, shuffling and humping and bumping and grinding with hedonistic abandon. The faces and bodies were, as he had suspected, radiant and dazzling, yet he could sense that many people wouldn’t find them a
ppealing simply because they were physically attractive. Their allure came from the glow that lit their faces with joy and an outward passion for life that came, he presumed, from an inner sense of contentment and esteem.

  They were beautiful because they were happy and carefree. He saw no conceit, no demonstrations of narcissism or vanity. With a growing appreciation for himself, he realized that he could actually fit in here amongst the skinny minnies and Greek gods and goddesses. He was charming, after all.

  “How’d you know about this place?” Adrian pondered.

  Dale pulled him toward a free table. “Through a hookup I had a few weeks ago. He took me to a party, I met another guy, and he brought me here for a nightcap. If I see him, I’ll point him out.”

  “No need,” said Adrian wryly. “I don’t want to meet your one night stands.”

  “Jealous?”

  Adrian sneered. “Shut up, Dale. You still owe me a lot of beer. Drinking at my place doesn’t count. Get me drunk!”

  Dale pointed at a red button on the table. “This is cool. Push that once for a tower of the house beer—it’s very good—twice for a bottle of rum or three times for special orders. What do you want?”

  “The tower.”

  “Done.” Dale slammed his hand down on the button and then waved at the dance floor. “Go mingle. You won’t get any pussy sitting here like a wallflower. The drinks will be ready when you come back.”

  Adrian gazed out at the crowd, scanning the gorgeous laughing and smiling faces, already losing some of the courage he’d felt moments before. Then he saw a girl alone near the bar and his confidence crept back to the forefront. She had the slender figure and warm, mocha complexion of an Egyptian princess, like that model from Michael Jackson’s African-themed music video. He couldn’t remember her name, but that woman had nothing on this girl. She was hard to miss, not only because of her stunning beauty even for this crowd, but because her countenance, unlike everyone else, was one of boredom. She wasn’t frowning, yet neither was she smiling as she waited, it seemed, for a bartender to take her order.

  “I’ll be right back,” Adrian said without taking his eyes off the girl.

  He heard Dale respond, but whatever he had said didn’t register. Adrian was too busy reflecting on his ability to wow this girl with his charm. She was clearly out of his league. Her posture and elegant dress suggested she was of a class much higher than the immature chicks he usually took home for an hour of pleasure. Going up to her meant risking rejection, or even worse, risking having her accept his advances and then being repulsed by his skin flaps once they were stark naked. She didn’t seem the type that would be cool with a quick, clothes-on tryst.

  Of course, no amount of self-deprecating speculation would solve the riddle. If he was going to find out if he had a chance, it was now or never.

  Adrian weaved through the pairs of dancers, apologizing as he stepped on toes along the way and pushed between couples in his quest to reach the Egyptian princess. Once, he lost sight of her. Then, as he navigated a few paces to his left, he saw her again; she had moved further down the bar, still trying to catch the swamped bartender’s attention.

  He was almost through the throng, his chest a heaving bundle of nerves, when he stumbled over someone’s foot and went sprawling to the floor.

  “Watch it, man!” mumbled the guy he’d tripped over.

  Adrian sat up and groaned. “Oh hell, Pete! I should’ve known it was your long-ass feet in my way. What are you doing here?”

  Pete turned from his dance partner and looked down. “Chambers, get up already.” He held his hand out to hoist Adrian up. Pete excused himself from his dance partner and pushed Adrian aside. “What do you mean, what am I here for?”

  “How’d you get in here before us? I thought you were sobering up?”

  Pete tugged the collar of Adrian’s shirt. “I guess while you were off getting all dolled up for your new butt buddy, me and Rudy were busy scarfing down Mickey Dees in the taxi. Nothing sobers you up like a belly full of fast food. And a quick dash to the toilet.”

  “God, you’re disgusting.” Adrian turned away and scanned the bar again. “Damn. She’s gone.”

  “Who?”

  “Some chick. Beautiful skin as dark as molasses. Long, black hair. A real knockout.”

  “Red dress?” asked Pete. Adrian nodded. “Oh her. Or him. Whatever. That’s a tranny.”

  “Fuck outta here! How do you know that?”

  Pete clucked and shook his head regretfully. “She told me. I asked her to join me in the john, and she said ‘I’m not your type, honey; I used to be a he before I was a she.’ All sultry-like, too. So I asked, ‘Do you got a pussy now?’ So she says yeah, and I’m like that’s all that matters to me. And then she slaps me and heads to the bar. Fucking skank.”

  “Oh.” Adrian’s chest deflated.

  Pete gave him two quick love taps on the head. “I’m kidding, Chambers.” He raised his eyebrows. “Or am I?”

  “Pete—”

  “Fuck off, yeah I know.” Pete stepped closer so that he could stoop a little and whisper in Adrian’s ear. “What’s up with you and Dale? I’d hit that if I were you.”

  Adrian palmed Pete’s face and pushed him back. “I’m not gay.”

  Pete sniggered. “Whoever said you were gay? I merely suggested you tear that little ass up. Fuck, if Dale gave me a shot I’d be all up in that.”

  “What the hell is wrong with you?”

  Pete shook his head. “My bad. I’m drunk. But Dale is good for you, bro. He’d make you happy.”

  “I don’t need him to make me happy,” protested Adrian. “I’m plenty happy.”

  Pete poked him in the nose. “You’re plenty cute when you blush.”

  “Go away, Pete. I’m sick of you.”

  “Ok, ok. My piece of tail is waiting for me anyway. Go find your tranny. But if I were you, I’d give in to my carnal nature and fuck Dale before he finds someone else. Ain’t no shame in being bi. Since you aren’t gay.”

  Pete snickered and sauntered away.

  “Motherfucker,” mumbled Adrian. His face felt hot. And the image of the girl was sullied with Pete’s dumb-ass suggestion. Plus, now he was thinking about Dale, sitting alone at the table, waiting for him and probably hoping Adrian would get so drunk they’d end up in bed together.

  “Not gonna happen,” said Adrian aloud. He had better put an end to that fantasy before it even started.

  Adrian started to make his way back to his table. When he got closer he saw that the beer bong had been delivered, but Dale wasn’t there.

  Adrian swept the crowd with his eyes; Dale wasn’t on the dance floor. Then, as he looked towards the restroom, he saw Dale. Beside him, a spiked-Mohawk guy walked close, practically elbow to elbow. Together they reached the restroom vestibule, where a small group of patrons clustered while still dancing and holding their drinks. Then, to his surprise, the crowd parted and Dale and the mystery guy pushed through.

  Adrian stared in disbelief. A funny little stitch fluttered in his stomach, and his chest burned as hot as his face had a moment before. For one incredible moment, he felt a sense of betrayal. The best thing to do was go sit at the table, drink a few beers, and wait.

  But that little pang of jealousy was back again. He knew what he had to do. He couldn’t wait for Dale to return. He had to talk to Dale now. To set the record straight and make sure Dale understood the boundaries of their friendship.

  Thoughts aflame, Adrian pushed through the crowd to straighten Dale out once and for all.

  Chapter 7: A Curious Thing

  The bank of urinals was empty when Adrian entered the bathroom. He had expected to find Dale propped against the wall, pissing away the liquor he’d imbibed between rounds of shaking his ass on the dance floor. Adrian was pretty sure he’d seen him enter with the strange guy. The only other place he could have gone in this direction was the exit. For a moment Adrian bordered on real anger. That motherfucker had stif
fed him with the bill!

  But the sound of someone retching and gasping for breath caught his attention. He realized then that the toilets were separated from the urinals by a stucco partition. Dale was probably on the other side, face down in the bowl, spewing apple martinis while trying to salvage what little dignity his stomach could cling to. Damn lightweight.

  Adrian made his way toward the poor bastard. He could see him on his knees in one of the stalls, his feet sticking out from beneath the door. Adrian was on the verge of doing something funny, like literally kicking him while he was down or slamming the door with enough force to make Dale jerk up and bang his head on the ceramic rim of the toilet. But he figured that wouldn’t be funny; that’d be cruel. And he’d had fun with Dale tonight. The last thing he wanted was to make the guy feel worse.

  He decided instead to be cool and offer to get him some water. But by the time he approached the stall, he wasn’t sure if that was a good idea. Would he want someone fussing about while he was puking his guts out? Even if they were trying to be helpful? No. He’d want to suffer in private to save himself the embarrassment.

  Privacy in that little cubicle was minimal, though, with the door cracked wide enough for Adrian to see the action within.

  The sight that met his eyes appalled and intrigued him at the same time. The spikey-haired twink was leaned against the toilet, his pants unbuckled and his long cock nestled in the hand of someone Adrian couldn’t see well from this angle, though he could still see plenty of action. The guy holding the cock was built like Dale, with the same blonde hair. But he couldn't be sure it was him. Lots of guys here had that chiseled Abercrombie look going on. Even the clothes were similar. Adrian couldn’t remember what Dale was wearing anyway.

  The guy who might be Dale alternated between stroking the massive dick and hiding the behemoth in his mouth. He’d stroke with both hands, twirl his tongue around the tip, and then deepthroat the cock in one smooth plunge. Then he’d come up for air and do it all again. It had been the grunts of the twink Adrian had heard, responding appreciatively to the masterful kneading and edging the mystery guy was giving him.