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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...
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