Scott had thought long and hard about the evening ahead. This was something he had dreamed of for years, but could not overcome his fear of being seen by friends or family. Finally, his deep desire overcame his resistance.
He parked his car a few blocks away, and walked to the entrance. He looked up as he approached. The neon sign read "Twin Peaks" in blinking pink. This is one of the city's finest gay bars, one that has a reputation for classy clientele, excellent drinks, jazzy live music, and hot men in their 40's and 50's. Right where Scott wanted to be right now.
Before going in, he perused the men standing around, some smoking, some laughing, some perusing him back. It gave him a tiny tingle at the base of his spine, which worked its way up to his neck. He reached in back and rubbed his neck, and could feel the goosebumps. Hell, he wasn't even inside yet, and he was getting turned on.
Scott had dressed carefully for the occasion. He'd studied up on appropriate gay apparel. Of course, that made him think of "Deck the halls", and he smiled broadly. Thinking he was smiling at them, several men smiled back. He gave a sheepish wave and began to relax as he entered the club.
Inside, the music hit him first. A four-piece jazz ensemble, very Birth of the Cool. Lights were spinning, men were dancing with each other. Tables were full, but there were lots of spaces at the bar. Scott took a place, being careful not to sit close to anyone. Scott wanted the experience to move slowly so he wouldn't get too many butterflies.
The bartender came over, smiled, and Scott ordered a single malt scotch. It appeared that men were NOT drinking mimosas. They were drinking beer, scotch, martinis, etc. Just like any other men would be drinking. Scott didn't know why he thought gay men would stand out in some way. They didn't, at least not in this bar. The dress was tasteful, the men were almost all attractive, no one was slobbering over anyone else, there were no high squeals, and certainly no drag queens. Scott took a sip, and began to feel more relaxed. He nibbled on the mixed nuts on the bar (mixed nuts? He almost laughed out loud when he had that thought).
In a few minutes, after half his scotch was gone, he felt light and confident. He turned in his seat and began to really check out the men. There were several who lit his fire, but they appeared to be already taken. He sipped and looked, sipped and looked. He felt a tap on his shoulder, and almost jumped out of his seat. He turned to see a smiling man, about 45, tall, slender, cleanshaven, curly hair, beautiful blue eyes, wearing a blue cotton sweater and khaki chinos.
"Sorry to startle you. I haven't seen you here before and I thought I'd welcome you to Twin Peaks," the man said.
Scott reached out to shake the man's hand.
"My name is Scott, and you haven't seen me here before because I've never been here before. In fact, this is the first time I've ever been to a gay bar."
The man hesitated not at all. Still holding Scott's hand, he responded,
"People call me Spike, and I'd be happy to help you get the lay of the land, so to speak."
He smiled, and Scott actually laughed. Perhaps the scotch was going to his head faster than usual.
"So, why is this place called Twin Peaks? I would expect that to be a good name for a Lesbian bar."
"Point taken. In fact, this was a Lesbian bar for almost 10 years, but the owners split up and sold the bar about 5 years ago. It seemed a natural segue from lesbian to gay, and the new owners liked the name so they kept it. Would you care to sit at a table so we can be more comfortable?"
"Sure. And shall I assume that your parents did not actually name you Spike?"
"HA! You're very perceptive, Scott. My actual name is Miles, but I'm a big fan of Robert B. Parker, so when I am in this bar, I decided to call myself Spike, after a very cool gay character in his Sunny Randall series. I dearly miss Parker. He was one of the most entertaining writers of his generation."
They made their way to a corner booth that had just been vacated. Spike was drinking a martini. They placed their drinks down, and slid into the smooth leather seats.
"So, is it obvious that this is all new to me, and that I'm a little nervous?"
Spike smiled. He said nothing. He reached out his hand and touched Scott's hand gently.
"Scott, you're an attractive man, and you are here. That says it all. You don't have to explain a thing."
Scott felt dizzy with anticipation and anxiety. He reached out his other hand and covered Spike's. He smiled back. He had noticed Spike's blue eyes right from the moment he first looked at him, but now he had a chance to really absorb them. They were spectacular, the kind of eyes that make anyone, male or female, go weak in the knees. The kind of eyes that are iridescent, that you could dive into for a view of exquisite tropical fish, that look like they belong to one of the possessed children in the movie Village of the Damned. Okay, enough. Scott's mind was running wild.
He said, "I could use another scotch."
Spike got up, went to the bar, and came back with a scotch and another martini for himself.
"So, Scott, I'm not going to ask you what you think can happen when you make the commitment you've made by being here. I know what can happen. You can guess what can happen. And I suspect you'd like it to happen. So let me just say that I live about 2 blocks from here in a brownstone walk-up, and I'd be delighted to take you there, so we can have a more relaxed conversation, and maybe another drink, and see how the evening goes from there. What do you think?"
Scott was frozen in place. He was rarely speechless, but in this case he could not bring himself to say the words he wanted to say.
Spike smiled, "I'm sorry, perhaps I came on too strong. We can chat here as long as you want."
