------------
Chapter One
------------

He'd never done this sort of thing before. It was making his stomach
tie up in knots and even all balled up, butterflies still managed to
make their way in. Man, he was going to be sick.

"Relax, John," Michael said to him, putting a hand on his shoulder and
giving him a few pats. "It'll be fun, I swear, the wildest. You'll
love it."

He looked at his friend, anxious. "It's just - I mean...I've never
gone to a gay club before."

Michael smiled that charming smile which got him all the men and
women. "There's a first time for everything."

He was really going to throw up. Really, very seriously, he was just
going to throw up all over the place, and embarrass not only himself,
but Michael as well. He couldn't do that to his friend, could he? Of
course not. Which is why he definitely shouldn't follow him into the
club. But did he? Of course.

The place was dark, even with all the different colored lights
illuminating the dance floor. There was a haze of smoke blanketing the
entire club, invading John's nostrils, but he could smell something
else too: Sex. The air was ripe with it, and it scared John, but
excited him at the same time.

His eyes traveled from the dance floor to the adjacent bar and back
again. Boys were everywhere, and they were all so strikingly
beautiful. Too beautiful. John paled in comparison. He shouldn't be
here, he didn't have a place, unless you counted the background,
because all he would do was fade away surrounded by all these gorgeous
bodies.

"Where're you going?" Michael called. Even *he* was pretty: dark hair,
dark eyes, dark skin, a regular Don Juan. Oh, no, he was the ugly one
out of the two of them, there was always a pretty one and an ugly one,
and he was the ugly one. "The dance floor's this way, if the moving
lights and tons of dancing boys didn't clue you in."

"I was going to get a drink," John said, pointing to the bar. He'd
also maybe been about to leave, but kept that to himself.

"Oh, come on, we'll get something later," he stated, just a hint of
exasperation in his voice as he grabbed John's arm and pulled him
towards the crowd. "Someone'll steal it or spike it anyway. Let's dance."

"Dance??" John squeaked. "I don't know how to do that!"

Michael stopped and looked at him, obviously annoyed. "John, it's not
hard. Here, I'll teach you: You knock your cock against somebody
else's and move your arms a little. Lesson over! Let's *go*, I want
you to meet everybody."

"Everybody as in more beautiful people?"

Michael gave him a sympathetic look, reaching out and grabbing his
chin, smushing his face. "Oh, John, you're cute! In this lost puppy
kind of way with those big brown eyes of yours." He let go and
suddenly looked at John distastefully. "You could do with tweezing
your eyebrows a little less, though."

John touched one of them, hurt. "Vanessa did them."

"She's a fucking *drag queen*," Michael stated. "Never let one of
those near your face unless you want to end up like one. Now let's go."

"Does it look bad?" John asked, frightened. He grabbed at Michael, who
was walking away from him again. "I should - "

"John, I swear to *God* if you don't stop I'm going to kill you," he
hissed, turning sharply. "You are *really* bringing me down here, buddy."

"I'm - "

"Michael!" someone called, interrupting his apology. It was a tall
black man, flashing the most perfect set of teeth John had ever seen.
The man kissed Michael on both cheeks once. "You finally made it!"

"Yeah, well, the Virgin Mary here started freaking out on me last
minute," Michael replied, and John gawked with embarrassment.

"Virgin, huh?" the man asked, putting an arm around John's shoulders.

"Just to the whole...scene," John clarified.

"Well, don't you worry, baby," the man purred. "We'll break you in yet."

The statement didn't ease his nerves one bit.

-------------------------------

They danced. It was exactly how Michael had described it: you knocked
your cock against somebody else's and moved your arms a little, but it
was a lot more fun. He danced with Peter, the handsome black man. He
danced with Michael, and Michael's friends, Art and Danny and Scott
and everyone. But he wanted to dance with the beautiful dance whore,
the boy who moved from body to body so easily, like it was some game,
staying just long enough to make them want him.

John wanted him.

"Don't even think about it," Michael said, following John's gaze.
"He's way out of your league. He's even out of mine."

But he did think about it. He thought about it all night, as he lay in
bed, awake. He thought about it as he grasped himself between his legs
and jerked off. He thought about it even after that, because his own
hand wasn't enough; he wanted that boy's.

Oh, man. He couldn't wait to go back.

-------------------------------

To be continued...

He was mad again.

Dave sat on the couch, rolling his eyes with exasperation. He was
always mad, and Dave was getting tired of it. Tired, and maybe a part
of him was scared, but he had no other place to go. Besides the clubs,
that is. He loved the clubs, he would meet people there, gorgeous men,
and if some john wanted to take him home, even better. He could never
stay, but for those few hours...

"How can you just sit there??"

Dave blinked, glancing up from his work. He knew this game. The anger
would be directed at him now. Nasty things would be said.

"You always do that, you sit there while I'm trying to talk, all the
time! Can't you fucking say anything? Of course not, you're too busy
getting fucked up, or just plain fucked, you slut!"

Dave flinched. He couldn't help it. He didn't care about him like
that, the words shouldn't hurt him, but they did, every single time
they did this. Thankfully, it was a quick game, and now they were
getting close to the end of it. Next, however, was the part where his
things would get thrown around. Quickly, he tried to stuff his papers
away. He'd been working so hard.

"Where do you think you're going?? You're such a class act, you know
that, Dave??"

His books hit the wall. They were getting closer still. He prepared
himself for violence.

"You always try to make yourself look like such a saint! God, here I
am struggling, and you're the one who's fucked up and you get away
with everything!! Sweet, perfect Dave. I'll show you perfect!"

Here it was, the end of the game, the worst part of it. He grabbed
Dave, grabbed his wrist in both hands and pulled him off of the couch.
He pushed him, hard, and Dave nearly fell to the floor, which would've
made things worse and Dave didn't like to be kicked. Thankfully, he
kept his footing and went where he was supposed to, to the bed, but
that wasn't enough. It never really was. He wanted Dave on his back,
like a slut. He wanted to see his face when he spit on him and hit him
and slammed into him.

It hurt. It always did, but he responded anyway like he was supposed
to, gripping the headboard and begging for more. If he was quiet he
would hit him to get a reaction, or - worse - fuck him harder. He
liked it when Dave cried for him to stop.

He was getting close, Dave could tell by now. He urged him on, moaning
and writhing, hoping he would come soon and he did. He pulled out and
straddled Dave's chest, Dave opened his mouth and closed his eyes.
Warm stickiness hit his face, and it was over. He lay there, out of
breath, sweating, hurting, spit and semen on his face as he got off of
him and began to leave.

He turned back. "Go clean yourself up, you look like a whore."

He flinched again. As if he didn't know.

-------------------------------

To be continued...

It happened to everyone, getting a song stuck in your head. But
instead of a song, John had a boy stuck in his head, the beautiful boy
he'd seen at the club. That olive skin and messy hair, broad
shoulders, strong arms...what color were his eyes? John hadn't gotten
close enough to see them. He imagined some deep green or exotic brown...

"And I loved that part when Tom Cruise shoved that gerbil up his ass."

"Yeah, me too," John murmured. Suddenly he looked at Michael. "What??"

His friend rolled his eyes. "I knew you weren't listening. I was
talking about the movie. What has been with you lately? It's like you
took some bad drugs last week and you're still zoned out."

They paused at an intersection, waiting for the light, having just
come out of the city's movie theatre. "A Few Good Men" had had a few
cute actors, but John had been too busy thinking about that boy stuck
in his head to even remotely pay attention. He was about to step into
the street when Michael stopped him, looking at him with a frown.

"Are you still thinking about that guy?" he asked sourly.

"No," John lied. "I have a test tomorrow."

"Tomorrow's Saturday."

"I meant Monday." Michael looked at him, unconvinced. "I'm not lying."

"Now I *know* you're lying," he stated. "Only liars would say that."

"So would people telling the truth," John shot back. "Look, you told
me not to think about him, so I'm not."

"Good," Michael said, and they began to walk again, dodging traffic as
they made it to the other side of the street. "So what did you think
about the movie?"

"It was great," he said, and then cracked a grin. "Especially that
part where Tom Cruise shoved that gerbil up his ass."

-------------------------------

They were meeting Peter for lunch at a gay-friendly café. The large
black man was sitting at a small table out front, looking over the
menu as he sipped bottled water from a straw. He glanced up and saw
them, smiling broadly and showing off those perfect teeth he had. He
beckoned them over as if they weren't already going to join him.

"Michael," he called, as they came closer. He stood up and they
exchanged kisses. John stood there awkwardly, stuffing his hands into
his pockets as he waited for them to sit down when suddenly he was
being pulled into kisses too. "Johnny, right?"

"Uh, yeah," he replied hastily, startled. He'd never really been into
the whole gay thing before; Michael was really his only gay friend.
Well, Michael and now this guy. He sort of liked it, but it was still
a little...overwhelming. There were so many things he needed to know,
did they have some kind of classes for all of these things or
something to help him out here? "It's John, actually."

"Johnny's so much more fun," Peter insisted. "Sit, everyone, let's go.
I've got this waiter in my pocket, he's going to give us a discount."

"I can cover the bill, if you want," John blurted out, and realized
how lame he sounded. He might as well be wearing a sign that read
PLEASE LIKE ME. "I mean, you know. My treat, for my first time meeting
you. Out of the club, I mean. So second time, then." He wished he
would shut up and was thankful when he did.

Peter just smiled broadly, pure amusement in his eyes. He was always
all smiles, and John liked that. "Sure, honey. Who am I to turn down a
free meal? You still want me to get that discount?"

"He doesn't need it," Michael interjected. "John's richer than God."

"Oh, no!" Peter exclaimed, fascinated. "Well, now I know who to go to
when I need some cash. Don't worry, Johnny, I'll give you something in
return." He put a hand on John's arm, winking, and John felt his face
get hot. "Look at him blush! Aren't you adorable?"

Suddenly, Michael jumped, looking at the pager he kept secured to his
belt at all times. "Shit, it's the hospital. I gotta call." He stood
up, glancing at Peter. "Order for me, would you? Anything's fine for me."

"Hot dog with extra mayo it is," Peter replied, a mischievous twinkle
in his brown eyes. "I'd hope you'd have more class at a place like
this, but you like what you like, I guess."

Michael flashed a grin. John didn't get it. He smiled anyway, trying
to fit in, but he knew he looked uneasy. He watched Michael walk to a
nearby payphone before he felt Peter's hand on his arm again.

"So tell me, Johnny," he began, leaning forward with interest, his
eyes bright with curiosity. "How did you end up with him?"

"Oh, we're not...dating," he replied, shaking his head. "We're just
friends."

"Really," Peter asked, cocking a brow. "So how did you two meet?"

"I took a lecture class for pre-med students last semester," he
explained. "Michael spoke there."

"Oh, teacher-student thing," Peter said, grinning. "How scandalous."

John felt his face getting warm again. "Well, he's still a med-student."

"Have you guys ever...?"

Now, he blushed. "Once."

Peter seemed delighted to hear this. "Oh, that's so hot. Was it on a
desk or something??"

"Actually, it was at my apartment."

He frowned. "That's no fun. So why no relationship?"

John shrugged. "I was too new to it. I didn't really know what to do,
I - "

"He held that against you?" he asked, upset. "That jerk!"

"No, no," John quickly piped up. "I just wanted to be friends, it was me."

"A modest fag," Peter surmised, nodding. "Who knew they existed?"

"Wait, you can say that?"

"What? Fag?"

"Yeah," John replied. "I thought that was a...slur, or something."

Peter pulled a face. "Hasn't Michael taught you anything? Of course we
can say fag. We are fags. I can say nigger too - but you can't."

"I see." John nodded, understanding. "It's like an exclusive club thing."

Peter smiled. "Something like that. See? There are so many benefits to
being gay."

"Like the clubs," John blurted out, getting excited just thinking
about it.

"Addictive, huh?" his companion asked. "You going tonight?"

"I don't know. Is Michael going?"

"Who gives a shit?" John blinked in surprise. "You gotta get out there
on your own, Johnny. Meet some new people."

John sat there for a minute, fidgeting. He was considering what Peter
said, but he could never go alone, he was too shy. Shy, he considered,
the exact opposite of that boy, and then he was fidgeting for a
different reason, pursing his lips, wanting to ask his new friend
something. He waited for Peter to take the initiative, but he didn't,
he just sat there, smirking, amused. Finally, John spoke up,
hesitantly so. "There was a guy there."

"I knew it had to be a guy! What's his name??"

"I don't know," John admitted, glancing around for Michael. He was
still jabbering on the phone nearby, looking pissed. "Michael said he
was out of my league."

Peter looked incredulous and slightly angry. "That's terrible! If you
want him, you should go for him."

"Really?" he asked, leaning forward. Maybe Peter would help him get
this guy! "He was dancing with all these people, and he was tan and
had dark hair, broad shoulders, full lips...I didn't see what color
his eyes were."

He'd been imagining this boy in his head, and when he focused on Peter
again, for the first time since John had met him, the man was
frowning. John leaned forward. "What is it?"

"He's out of your league."

"What! But you just said - "

"I didn't know who you were talking about," he replied, and suddenly
brightened. "So who else did you meet?"

John rolled his eyes, annoyed. "Why is he out of my league? Because
he's prettier than me?"

"Of course not," Peter replied, looking sympathetic. "He's just
trouble. Forget him, Johnny, there's tons of other boys."

"Will you at least tell me his name?"

His friend rolled his eyes now. "Dave, okay?"

"Dave," John repeated quietly to himself. Dave. The boy's name was
Dave, like the sculpture. Beautiful like that sculpture too. It made
John want him more, knowing his name. How old was he? What was he
like? The more he knew, the more he felt he would fall in love with
him. He leaned forward, ready to ask Peter more when suddenly there
was a hand on his shoulder, effectively startling him.

"Okay, ladies," Michael said, rejoining them at the table. "What did I
miss?"

"Oh, nothing," Peter replied, shrugging. "Except they didn't have any
hot dogs so I ordered you fish."

Both men burst into laughter, but John still didn't get it.

-------------------------------

To be continued...

John had gotten ready at his apartment to go to the club that night.
He dressed in pants and a nice shirt, fixing his hair and putting on
his best cologne. He grabbed his wallet and his keys, checked his
breath...but when it came time to actually leave, he couldn't muster
up the courage to walk out the door. Instead, he procrastinated, his
mind racing to anything but the club. Maybe he should do the dishes
before he went, and hadn't he promised himself he'd vacuum in the
bedroom? And by the time he was finished with the hundred or so things
he'd found to do, it was too late to go anywhere.

That had been Friday. Now, it was Saturday, and he was doing it again.
He was on his hands and knees, scrubbing the kitchen floor in his
pants and nice shirt, sweat dripping from his nose, when the front
door flew open. He sat up with surprise, glancing back to see Michael
and Peter standing in his living room.

"What on Earth...?" Peter asked, looking rather aghast. "Oh, Johnny."

Michael, however, didn't seem so sympathetic. He approached John,
grabbing his arm and hoisting him up, lifting him bodily. John had
never known Michael to be so strong. "John, you need to get out," he
said, his voice exhibiting his annoyance.

"I don't understand," John replied, as Michael plucked the sponge from
his hand and dropped it into the bucket of dirty water beside them.

"Oh, yes, you do," his friend stated matter-of-factly. He pulled John
away from the kitchen and toward the bedroom. "You weren't at the club
last night."

"I was...busy," he lamely said.

"We can see that, Mr. Clean."

Peter sneezed. "This place smells like a hospital."

"Now get in that room, get dressed," Michael commanded, pushing John
into his bedroom, "and get your ass to the club. And maybe shower
first, because this place might smell clean but you definitely do not."

"Aren't you guys going to wait for me?" he asked, turning around to
look at them with those puppy dog eyes Michael had mentioned once.

"Don't even try it," Michael said, pointing. "You're getting over
yourself and getting to the club all by yourself. Goodbye."

The bedroom door was closed in his face, and John blinked in surprise.
Tough love, he thought to himself, and went into the adjoining
bathroom. He stripped off his clothes, relieved they had rescued him
from his self-consciousness. Because he swore if they hadn't, he'd
have been stuck on the kitchen floor forever.

-------------------------------

The club was exactly as he'd remembered it. Dark and smoky and...sexy.
Sex, just - everywhere. The bar, the dance floor, it was on the walls
and in the air, and he was itching for it. It had been so long and he
wanted it - badly. His eyes began searching the floor, looking for
him, looking for -

"Johnny!" It was Peter, smiling as usual. "So glad you could make it.
Nice shirt."

He fingered his button-down nervously. "Really?"

"Oh, relax," Peter said, coming up beside him and putting a hand at
the small of John's back. "Let's get you a drink, honey. What'll it
be? You're rich, right? A martini?"

John smiled. "A beer'll be fine."

"Oh, my goodness," Peter declared distastefully, rolling his eyes.
"This isn't a lesbian bar, Johnny. We don't order beers here." He
turned to the bartender. "A screaming orgasm, please. He could really
use one."

John blushed furiously. The sad thing was, he could. "Thanks." Within
moments the drink was placed before him. He gaped.

Peter asked, "How do you like it?"

"It's..." He sipped it gingerly. "It tastes like someone spiked my
coffee. Where's Michael?"

"Oh, he's...somewhere," Peter replied, glancing around for him. "Last
I saw, he was with Tony. That guy is so fucking ugly, I wouldn't go
near him if you paid me, and I know you're rich, Johnny. He's got a
big dick, that's the only reason anybody hooks up with him. It's
always the ugly ones that get blessed, they ain't got nothing else
going for them."

John was surprised at the harsh words. It was what scared him, that
these people were so unrelenting. Did they think that about him? Did
Peter, behind his back? And was that all that really mattered? How
good he looked and the size of his dick? Because if so, John was only
mediocre in both departments, and suddenly being here didn't seem like
such a good idea.

"Enough gossip," Peter abruptly said, grabbing John's arm. "Ditch the
drink, let's dance."

Soon, bodies surrounded them. Flashing lights and loud club music,
sweating and dancing, it was all that mattered on the dance floor. It
was too noisy, too...moving to gossip and compare faces and penis
sizes. He loved it here and wondered why he'd been so scared to come
by himself before, because he was definitely going to come by more
often, with or without -

A new song came on (although they all sounded the same to John), when
suddenly there he was, the beautiful dance whore, right in front of
him. He was smiling, a naughty, sexy smile as he came up beside Peter,
fingertips trailing over Peter's arm and John was absurdly jealous.

"Peter," he said, but his eyes were on John, traveling up and down his
body. "You brought a new friend tonight." He didn't even look at the
handsome black man once. John wasn't jealous anymore, but he wished
Dave would touch him. "Why don't you introduce us?"

"Dave," Peter said, and for once the man that always smiled wasn't
smiling at all. Dave was smiling, however; the sexist smile John had
ever seen. "This is John. John, Dave."

Dave went to him. Came up beside him and pressed his hips against
John's side. "Nice to meet you," he whispered huskily into John's ear,
and John could've died right there. Was this beautiful boy that was
supposedly out of his league really showing an interest in him??
"Let's dance."

Apparently so.

-------------------------------

It was the most erotic thing he'd ever done, dancing with Dave. Their
hips were against one another as Dave held onto him, one hand at the
small of John's back, pulling him close, the other in John's hair,
fingertips against his scalp. Lightening was shooting right through
his skull and into his brain, down his spine and straight to his
groin. It had to be impossible for Dave not to feel his erection, and
when the boy noticed it he looked up with a suggestive smile and
winked; John nearly came undone. Hell, he nearly *came*, right there
as Dave pressed his thigh into John's hard-on.

"Come on," Dave said, pulling away from John and taking his hand,
leading him through the crowd. "I need something."

There was a door at the end of the club, people were constantly coming
and going, rushing in and out. John had heard about the so-called back
rooms of bars where boys went to have sex or...whatever else, he
didn't know. Was Dave taking him there to have sex? John had only
fucked another guy just once before - Michael. What if he wasn't good
at it?? And who was going to be doing whom here, exactly? He never
knew how you told the difference, he wasn't good at this, he was
awkward and inexperienced and -

It was dark. Darker than the bar, and the haze of smoke was thicker,
but it wasn't just cigarettes that he could smell, it was something
else. It was drugs, and suddenly he was uncomfortable and his steps
became hesitant. Was this what Dave needed? Not him, not sex, but
drugs? And did he want John to do them too??

Dave must've noticed his anxiety because he turned to him, his hands
on John's shoulders, thumbs brushing over his pulse. He smiled that
sexy, naughty smile. It wasn't reassuring. "Relax, John. Just relax."

He tried, but his nervousness only increased as Dave led him to a
bunch of boys at another bar against the far wall, but no drinks were
being served here. There were lines of white powder and rolled up
dollar bills and boys laughing before and after they took hits. John
glanced around nervously, hardly able to believe that he'd missed the
boys having sex against the walls, some getting fucked by more than
one guy, some eyeing him, looking at him and...Jesus Christ, he didn't
belong here. What had he been thinking coming in tonight, he had to -

"Dave," he said, wanting to leave but too scared to go by himself. But
when he looked back, the beautiful boy was sitting on a bar stool,
snorting a line of coke or speed or whatever the fuck it was. He
leaned back and winced for a minute before opening his eyes and wiping
his nose. Powder and blood and he smiled as he rubbed the leftovers
against his gums. John hesitated only briefly before turning back and
getting the fuck out of there.

-------------------------------

To be continued...maybe...

------------

Chapter Five
------------

Dave felt bad. Okay, that wasn't entirely true, he'd been too fucked
up to really remember what had happened at the club, but he felt like
he should've felt bad. And when he didn't see John for the next
couple of weeks, he knew he should. Most guys didn't mind the
backrooms. Most of them were turned on by it. It made them want to
take Dave home, drunk and stoned and vulnerable. He didn't mind. For
those few hours, he could be somebody else. He could be their
boyfriend, their sexy lover, their long lost soulmate, their anything,
as long as he wasn't..

"Dave!"

He startled, nearly dropping his cash. He glanced up at his dealer,
about to apologize when there was a hand on his arm, pulling him back
and away.

"What the fuck, Pete?" he asked, annoyed. They were at school, on
campus, and it was hard to exchange drugs without doing it discretely.
And this definitely wasn't discrete.

"Don't call me Pete," he replied, seeming equally as annoyed. He
grabbed the drugs from Dave's hand and gave it back to the dealer who
was so high he couldn't give a fuck. "Put that shit down," Peter said,
exasperated. "Christ, how much can you do?? I need to talk to you."

"That kid has my cash," Dave stated, indicating his retreating dealer.

"I'll pay you back."

"It's three hundred dollars."

"Shit. Where the fuck do you get money like that?" he asked, and then
thought better of it. "I don't want to know."

Dave waited, sighing as Peter got his money back. He really didn't
need this right now. They didn't get along and this was bound to be
something bad -- unless Peter was drunk and horny, but today he was
clearly neither.

"Here," Peter said, giving him crumpled twenties.

"What is this about?" Dave asked, before stepping close and smiling.
"Wanna fuck?"

Peter actually looked disgusted, and a part of Dave felt that way for
an instant before he regained his composure. "I wanted to talk to you
about John."

"That virgin you brought to the club a couple weeks ago?"

"Yeah," Peter snapped, angry and defensive. "The one you brought into
the back room. What did you do to him back there? Did you make him do
any drugs? Did you do anything with those scumb bags back there?"

"What??" Dave asked, incredulous. "No. He left almost as soon as we
got inside. Why, did he say something? 'Cause if he did, that *kid's*
a scumb bag for -- "

Abruptly, Peter pushed him up against the chemistry building they'd
been talking behind, his hands on Dave's shirt, body flush to his. It
stole the breath from him and for a moment he was scared before
remembering himself and smiling.

"Peter, I didn't know you liked it rough," he said, hearing the tremor
in his voice and hating himself for it.

"Go near him again and I'll fuck you up, Malucci," Peter hissed, his
usually handsome features contorted with anger. "I mean it."

"Okay," Dave replied, his hands raised in surrender. He could tell by
Peter's face that the response wasn't good enough. "I promise. You
know I'll keep my word."

"Good," Peter said, letting him go. "See you in class."

"Yeah." Dave watched him go, before thinking better of it. "Peter."
The man turned back. "I'm sorry. I didn't know."

Peter shrugged. It was too late now.

------------

John felt bad. Well, that wasn't entirely true, he'd been too scared
leaving the club to really remember what had happened and wether or
not he'd offended Dave by running out so suddenly with his tail
between his legs. He'd just been so startled, so new to all of this,
and now he was kicking himself for acting like a true virgin.

"Peter!" he'd cried, finding his new friend at the bar talking with
another man. Michael had already gone home with his latest trick, that
guy with the ugly face and big dick.

"What??" Peter had asked, the look on his face showing his concern
over John's apparent horror. "What is it, what's wrong??"

"I went into the back room," he replied, out of breath. Peter looked
at him. "Do you know what they're doing back there??"

"Who brought you in there?" Peter asked, and suddenly he shook his
head. "I told you to stay away from that kid, didn't I? Did he do
anything?"

John nodded. He'd been doing drugs but he didn't want to get Dave into
trouble. "I'm going home."

"John, what happened?" his friend asked, concerned.

"Nothing, I'm going home."

After that he'd raced home, only seeing how silly he'd acted in the
morning. Now he was too embarassed to go back to the club, fearing
he'd see Dave again. Not that it mattered, he knew the beautiful boy
probably wasn't interested in him anymore. That was what concerned him
most of all.

It bothered him too. It was the only thing he thought about during the
day, keeping him so distracted during class he didn't even hear the
professors calling his name half the time. When he got home he
couldn't concentrate on his homework, doodling lines in the margins
while he stared off into space. And to top it all off, it kept him up
at night. He would lay in bed, staring at the ceiling and replying the
night over and over in his head. He'd go over how much of a dork he'd
been, running out and practically crying for mommy. Over and over he
could see himself. "Peter! Do you know what they're doing in there?"
Well, what did he *think* they were doing back there??

It would all run through his head until he was exhausted. And when the
shadows of sleep would creep up into the edges of his mind, when he
couldn't think anymore, he would remember the dancing. THe way Dave
had held him close, fingers through his hair, his other hand gripping
at John's back. And those hips -- God, those hips against his, that
thigh against his groin, pressing into his erection, teasing him,
making him ache. Before he knew it, John would be grabbing his cock
under the sheets, stroking himself until he came so sweetly, wishing
so badly that Dave was there with him. It was only then that he would
fall asleep, the beautiful boy the last thing on his mind.

------------