After several hours of convincing, I convinced my Friend Ronnie to come to The Swag Club.
The Swag Club was an after hours gay club, swag stood for,
Secretly
We
Are
Gay
Swag.
There wasn't a dress code at Swag, but you usually wore something indicating your level of dominance, you wore punk, type stuff if you were a top.
Baby blues and lavenders if you were a bottom.
I, being a total top, put on black jeans, and a faux leather jacket.
Ronnie wore flannel, rookie mistake. Unless he's a switch, I honestly have no idea.
The atmosphere is expected, his nerves, and my giddyness.
I grab my keys, and grab a package of condoms, handing a few to Ronnie.
We walk down my apartment stairs, almost slipping on the residue of the showers of earlier today.
I can tell he's nervous, so I put a hand on his back. He gives me a look, a look where he's basically screaming how grateful he is to know me.
I don't live all that far away from the subway, we're there in 9 minutes. Not one of us has spoken since we left the house.
But the silence isn't uncomfortable. It's almost...pleasant.
The stairs to the underground are visible now, and I speak.
"You ready, Ron?"
He nods. I know he's not ready, he's so nervous.
As we head down the stairs, I snag a newspaper. To read, and fan Ronnie.
We get there right as a car arrives, I walk in, and Ronnie sits next to me.
"I can't breathe, man."
I grab his hand, and all eyes shoot to us. I ignore them, he's more important.
I say the cliche reassurments, avoiding anything that could provoke him further.
He calms down, and I pull him into a hug, still not minding the judging eyes.
As we step off the train, an old woman grabs my arm.
"You two are going to hell." She smiles.
I pull my arm away and drag Ronnie up the stairs.
We walk behind The Tavern, The Tavern is the complete opposite of Swag.
It's straight central.
I use the knock that's been burnt into my brain for the speakeasy.
The door opens, and a lanky boy lets me in. I've seen him, I just can't remember his name. Michael, or something.
I sit down at the bar, immediately losing Ronnie. He'll be fine. I order a jack and coke, when I feel a tap on my back.
I spin around. A very, very tall boy. 6,3, at least.
He's got his hair in a quiff, glitter under his eyes. A Bowie shirt tied in a knot, showing the lower part of his torso, fishnet leggings, combat boots, and a skirt on.
Wow. What a twink.
He's quite tall to be a bottom, I must admit.
"Hi, cutie." I smile, motioning for him to sit.
He waddles, taking a seat. It's quite cute, i've got to admit.
The bartender serves someone next to us, and he starts to speak up, but slumps back down.
