Just a Friendly Drink
Millie Dynamite
Just a Friendly Drink
A Gay Erotic Short Story in
“Millie’s Vast Expanse”
Millie Dynamite
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© Copyright 2016 by Millie Dynamite
NOTE: This work contains material not suitable for anyone under eighteen. This is a story and contains descriptive scenes of a graphic sexual nature. This book is pure fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously—any resemblance to actual persons, whether living, deceased, real events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
You just crossed over into Millie’s Vast Expanse. A land of seductions filled with tender, loving ecstasy or affairs entered with reluctance and fear. An affair, begun in a hot, desperate flash from veiled cravings. Where a man discovered he wasn’t the person, he thought he was. Urges buried inside, denied, hidden from the world and himself.
Meet Brad, a twenty-ish college graduate working in the advertising field. He is a small man with small hands, tiny feet, short stature, and a timid soul. Blessed or cursed with a soft, elegant face more suited to a woman than a man. He has deep-seated fears; some he is aware of, while others he does not even know exist—not yet, that is.
Then there are the desires—he doesn’t know about those either or perhaps, more to the point, won’t own up to them.
He turned off from Ordinary Boulevard onto a winding avenue in the middle of the Expanse named Fate. Being lonely and thirsty, he spotted a bar and thought he’d have a few beers and relax. Unfortunately (or is it fortunately?), he wandered into Millie’s Vast Expanse, and his world is about to expand from the finite to the infinite. Beware—sharks, sometimes, swim near the shore.
Mark: … and then there was the time he walked up to this group of tourists and they were petrified because, A—they were obviously lost, and B—had probably never spoken to a drag queen before in their lives… and he… she just offered to escort them out of Alphabet City… and then she let them take a picture with her and then she said she’d help ‘em find the Circle Line…
Rent (2005)
(special note: the ‘he’ and the ‘she’ in the quote is the same person.)
Just a Friendly Drink
My name is Brad, and I’m not a lady’s man, anything but, to be honest. I have dedicated my life to celibacy. Not by my choice, you understand. I guess I need to explain myself.
I’m short. Five feet four inches tall. I’m thin. I weigh less than 110 pounds. I’m cursed with a pretty face. So many girls tell me, and even some guys say so. Despite being true, I take it as an insult because it is painful.
To be honest, you cannot imagine how disheartening it is to talk to a woman and have her rebuff you. You’re not that kind of man, are you? Nor can you understand when they say certain things.
Things like, “Damn, boy, you look like a girl.”
I have only had one lover in my life. Eventually, she broke off our relationship. Worst of all, she enjoyed devastating me with insults about the size of my penis.
“It’s like a ten-year-old boy’s prick on a grown man.” She laughed and added, “Well, almost a grown man.”
Straight from my heart, I couldn’t handle the insult. ‘I will never make love to a woman again,’ I told myself. ‘I’ll content myself with jerking off while looking at dirty pictures or videos.’
For me, during those days, the most satisfying manner of sex is me jerking off. I watched videos of fully clothed, sweet-looking women walking around or talking aimlessly on cams. You know ‘YouTube’ stuff about today’s outfit.
Or the trusty photographs from my high school yearbooks. The pictures of the girls I had longed to be with, way back then. Even so, I enjoy talking to women until they get mean or they talk about my lovely face or girlish figure.
Fuck those bitches. They want to hurt me. I won’t let them.
In so many ways, I’m more comfortable talking to women than men. Men, big men, gigantic men, frighten me. I sense their underlying aggression and anger in how they speak to me. Often, they just act mad at me, and I don’t have any comprehension of why.
One woman told me that men are mean to me because they feel I threaten their manhood. I’m attractive to them, and those feelings scare them. I have always thought that was just bullshit. Because they aren’t attracted to me. They can’t be attracted to me. I’m a man, not a gay man, only an ordinary man.
That day several months ago, I couldn’t get away from work fast enough. My boss, an angry man whose division recently slipped to the lowest rated in the company. The spoilsport blamed everyone but himself for our dismal performance. Taking great relish, he raked me over the coals. His tirade descended into insulting name-calling as he shouted me down in front of the entire staff.
Driving away from work, I did so as fast as possible, and I drove around the city with no goal or destination in mind. I needed to calm down before I went home. I wanted to relax and contemplate my future in advertising. Perhaps this wasn’t for me.
I don’t know how long I drove around. Eventually, as the sun dipped near the horizon, I saw this bar, which I had never noticed. Honest Injun, I wasn’t even sure where I was. The parking lot was half full or half empty, depending on your personal preference.
Parking and making my way inside, I sat at the bar and thought about what I should order. I decided I should just drink beer. After all, it was a man’s drink, and dozens of women were in the bar. One wanted to look manly in front of all those beauties.
That night I drank my beer sitting at the bar watching those remarkable women. I tried to talk to them, but as usual, I struck out with each woman I approached, every single one. Honestly, I just wanted to talk to them, be around them and get fuel for jerking off later that night. I wasn’t alone.
When I spoke to a man at the bar having the same luck, or indeed lack thereof, like me, my night took a turn. We sat together at the bar, bitching about the women and their stuck-up attitude. All night, both of us tried and failed to dance with a beautiful girl. A few of them let us buy drinks for them, but flitted off as soon as they had their prize. I think we both felt like the ultimate losers at that point.
I felt comfortable with him right off the bat. He had a calm way about him, a deep voice that resonated with authority and confidence. I couldn’t believe we had the same outcome from our efforts. A large handsome man, and these prima donnas laughed him off, same as they dismissed me.
We seemed to bond, and he purchased a round, then another. I tried to buy one here or there, but he would wave it off, telling me to save my money. I don’t know how many drinks I had. I wasn’t drunk. I can hold my booze, nevertheless, I’d had a lot of beer.
Let’s put our cards on the table here. I’m a small, geeky guy, quite experienced in rejection by good-looking women since well before I was a man or they were women. The girls made fun of me, beat me up, and humiliated me from first grade. Now I’m twenty-seven, and good-looking women, more often than not, seem offended by my existence.
Several women told me if I am honest and admit I’m gay, they can be my friend. But they want nothing to do with me if I’m hiding in the closet. Their presumptuous, condescending attitude stings.
The man I drank with seemed to be my exact opposite, at least, one would assume. He was handsome, tall, and well-built. This fellow was my polar opposite, muscled like a running back or quarterback. Why he struck out, I hadn’t a clue.