01758: Random LGBT Story Prompt

Right now, Ruby Tuason is being questioned by the Senate Blue Ribbon Committee on her involvement in the PDAF scam. But I don't want to talk about that right now. On the way home the kernel of a story started to form in my head.

I don't have a synopsis. I don't have a characters. I don't have an ending. All I have is a scene, and maybe that's a good enough place to start for now. Coincidentally, it was after the first NetRunner Night that I also found myself resorting to stories to express myself. And admittedly, those weeks had been some of the most creative ones that I had experienced in years.

So let's see where this might go.

*****

It takes about 15 minutes before my nose cancels out the smell of the smoke in the bar. It's still there, but at least it doesn't bother me so much - unless someone blows smoke directly into my face of course. But the smell of smoke in my lungs and on all of my clothes is a small price to pay for another interesting night at the club. And there's just something that feels so right about a smoky bar. I guess it adds to the feeling that you're involved in something illicit or something. And there's nothing quite as thrilling as the forbidden.

I'm standing alone by the bar, watching the various guys walk away with their respective drinks after jockeying for the attention of the bartender or a passing waiter. I'm in no rush - I'm just enjoying the view for now. It's almost 01:00am and my friends haven't arrived yet - which I suppose is typical. In my more "virginal" years I used to wait for them outside so that I wouldn't have to go in alone. Thankfully, I've grown up a lot since then.

I hate it when guys say that they don't go to gay clubs because they have no one to go with them. They bitch and moan about this on Twitter over and over again as they hope against hope that someone will take the time to say "I'll go with you" or something to that effect. I hate guys like that since I used to be one of those guys. And man, it hurts when you get passively rejected by the social media world. Millions and millions of social media users out there and not a single invite. Its a simple enough question and all you get is deafening digital silence. Burn.

But I've grown up in Metro Manila's club scene, and I'd like to think I've become a better gay man because of it. Sure it's a meat market at best and words fail to capture it at its worse, but the clubs are part of the gay life. Even when guys claim that they're not into the scene, you know that sooner or later, at least once in their proud gay lives, they're bound to visit out, even just out of curiosity. And I'll be right here, ready to welcome them with a drink and a toast in their honor.

Oh gods, I'm monologuing again. This is not Queer as Folk or some other trendy Western television show. My life is now an HBO series. No one is going to have some gorgeous actor pose as a naked version of me on Showtime. This is just me trying to kill time at the bar because I'm too chickenshit to introduce myself to anyone else around here and my fucking friends are being fashionably late. Again.

As much as I'm feeling pissed now as I come to the end of my first beer for the night, I know it'll all pass the moment they arrive and the drinks really start to flow. As much as they seem like crummy friends for making me wait like this (and even standing me up a few times), they're precisely the sort of friends you want to get drunk with at a wild smoky gay club like this one. They're generally happy while there, they rarely bother me with sob stories of their lives and they pretty much disappear once the night is over. Sure, I wouldn't necessarily trust them to bail me out of jail or anything serious like that. But they're good enough friends for right now, at this place, in this city.

Although they still weren't here. And I had just run out of beer.