Bad Stereotypes - 27. Sunday 4th August 2013

They say shit always kicks off in the early hours of the morning, and while the club at the South Alaska was pretty respectable, couldn’t be anything but with Zoltan on the door (no one would argue with him for long, even if they were drunk) we still had our fair share of fights and scuffles.

Between one and two a whole host of the lesser clubs shut down, which leads on a Saturday night at least, to more late walk-ins of the sorts of people who mightn’t usually grace our doors. Often you’d get groups, already happy-high from drinking and dancing, one of whom knew anything about rock and metal, who decided to try their luck and ‘go goth’ for an evening. Back in June I’d looked down on these strangers with distain, now I just saw paying customers and the opportunity for trouble. Zoltan kept out the most obscenely drunk patrons, but Saturday night meant more girls in stupid stilettoes, more shoots and shots, more half-hearted brawls and arguments.

It was half two and already I couldn’t wait for the night to be over. Zupan had told me to meet him on the seafront near the café on the lawns at midday, and while I had no idea why, I was sure showing up eighty percent asleep wasn’t going to be so useful. I was out on the floor collecting glasses when I heard the fight start up. Raised voices in the lull of the music, the sound of drinks getting spilt. I shoved my tower of empty pints at Batty and went towards the booth in question.

The booths in the club were actually very small rooms, but with the dividing wall around the door knocked away so that they were at least open to the main club. Big curved bench seat and a small table so people could sit and talk. In this booth were a group of pretty regular very heavy metal guys with long hair who were into a lot of industrial black metal, and a couple of guys who were most decidedly not. Skinny, pretty, good hair, tight jeans and nice shirts. Ah, fuck…

While I stood there deciding what to do the biggest of the industrial metal-heads snarled at whichever of the boys he was picking a fight with and pushed him hard.

“Get out of here you fucking faggot. Go play in town where it’s safe.”

I’d said worse things. I’d said way worse things to people who didn’t deserve it as much as these guys didn’t, and suddenly that didn’t matter anymore. Metal-head’s words went into my chest like a full on punch and I found the shout in my throat before my head had time to wonder if this was going to get ugly.

“HEY!” I stepped forwards around the guy who’d been pushed and faced off to the big guy with all the hair, “What did you say to him?”

“We don’t want no fairies in our fucking bar.”

“Yeah,” his compatriot with a bandana and sunglasses joined in, “Fag bar’s down the street. They should stick to their own kind.”

“Well tough luck,” while I spoke I helped up the kid who’d been pushed over, “Cause I’m here and I ain’t going anywhere.” My hand recognised the texture of the arm I was holding and I turned to find the twin sets of frightened eyes of Billy and his scene-boi friend. The guys I’d nearly beaten on for… well, for many fucking reasons, none of which had been their fault, “It’s OK guys.” I smiled, did my best to make sure I looked friendly before I turned back to metal-hair-head, “And you better fuck off outta here. You never heard of tolerance?”

“Oh what? So I’m supposed to listen to you now am I? Who the fuck are you?” his clenched fist led to bunched muscles. I was never going to win an all-out fight with this guy.

“He’s the bar manager,” I had never been so relieved to hear Zoltan’s voice behind me, “It’s his bar. Now unless you want to pick on someone your own size I suggest you get the fuck outta here before I show ye all up to be fucking wimps.”

For a moment it looked like the metal-heads were going to argue, but one by one they filed past me and the boys, then Zoltan, towards the stairs. Zoltan gripped my shoulder hard for a second, and I saw him smile before he went to go and make sure they left. Shaking, I turned back to Billy and his scene-boi friend.

“Hi.”

“That was really cool dude,” Billy grinned, but he still had a hand on his friend, who looked a bit pale, “Was he right, is this really your place?”

“I manage it, sort of. My Godfather owns it.” I looked to the kid I had pushed, “Are you alright?”

“Y-y-yeah.”

“OK, not so much. Sit down.” I waited until he started to sit then nipped back to the bar and grabbed a couple of glasses of water and a sugary juice drink thing in a bottle. I handed the sugary drink to the pale shaking one.

“What’s your name?”

“Xander. I thought you’d come to join them and finish me off.” The newly named Xander sipped the fruit drink slowly, “Thank you for defending me. That guy could have turned us all into pulp.”

I sat in the vinyl seat opposite and realised that I was still shaking slightly. Fuck. I put my head between my knees and panted, my heart going a thousand miles an hour, feeling like it was going to explode.

“Oh god. Billy is he OK?”

Billy hand on my shoulder was cool through my shirt, I felt like I was full of fire. I had defended them, and Xander was right, I could’ve gotten creamed in the process. I looked across the booth at the two guys. It struck me that they were almost certainly older than me, and yet I had been thinking of them as ‘kids’ all along. They probably knew things about life I’d never imagined, and about sex and culture and music that I’d decided to be blind to for years.

“I’m OK.”

“Well that Issac is lucky to have you,” Billy was grinning at me, “You two make such a sweet couple.” Something must have shown on my face because he paled, “You’re not together anymore? What on earth happened?”

I took a deep breath. They were basically strangers, and it had been hard enough giving Zupan all my issues to sort through. But here were two guys who knew way more about gay culture than I did, and probably more about Issac than I did. I took another deep breath.

“About a week ago we had this fight…” And I told them everything, and they listened.

At kicking out time Billy and Xander both gave me hugs, and I hugged them back. We all swapped numbers and made plans to meet up at ‘their’ club on Tuesday night. Zoltan hugged my around my neck and told me I’d ‘done good’. I went upstairs, had a shower, and dissolved into bed.

Issac’s hands were on my chest, drifting up and down my sides, my shoulders, going lower. I kissed him, hard and soft all at once, the scrape of stubble I seemingly would never have. His breath was hot and wet in my ear, I shuddered, moaned. Hands roamed over my butt, squeezed and I moaned again. I was hard. I wrapped my legs around his waist, sitting in his lap, feeling the heat of him against me. His fingers paused at my entrance and I nodded.

“No more running away…” And it wasn’t Issac’s voice. It was Zupan’s. The dream paused, twisted and dissolved and I woke up hot and sweaty with the mid-morning summer sun making my little roof room into a greenhouse.

In the shower I thought about my dream. I hadn’t had one like that since before I’d come out and the fateful stupid day I’d spilled all my greatest secrets to my best friend and he hadn’t taken it well. I wanted Issac, and wanting Issac scared the hell out of me. I knew that the ideas in my head were wrong, that I might offer myself to Issac in the most intimate way and that he would laugh, or reject me. He could still reject me. I just hoped that whatever Zupan wanted me for worked. I’d said I wanted fixing, but the inside of my head looked more broken than before. At least now I knew what was wrong with me.

I donned a pair of khaki board shorts and a ribbed black wife-beater and my only pair of all-stars, which were bright red and white, and headed for the sea. I sat on the grass and picked at the seams on my shoes. Inside my head was made of sharp pieces of glass, a broken bottle on the pavement refracting light. The dancing shapes made up the things I didn’t want to think about: pushing Zander in the club, the way Issac’s eyes had gone hard; the judgemental look I’d given him when he told me he liked Pink; the look on his face when he’d left; the fact he’d gone and bought the ingredients from the first lunch he’d made for me, then told me that he didn’t care.

“That looks thoughtful.” Zupan’s wheels clicked to a halt in front of my toes, “You ready Bay?”

“Yeah… Zu?”

“Hmm?” Zupan rolled slowly with me as I walked.

“Why are you helping me?”

“Everyone had issues Bay. Issac has plenty. Neither of you deserve to be miserable just because he can’t talk about things and because you’re too young to know how to properly. Now c’mon running man, or we’ll be late.”

We half jogged and half walked along the sea front for a bit, then crossed the main road into town. Zupan slowed as we moved into the smaller lanes, and I smiled when I recognised the pretty, messy haired girl standing on the pavement.

“Hey Rose!” I waved as we got closer, “How are you?”

“Wiped,” Rose grinned at me, “We all set Zu?”

“Hell yeah. Let’s go.”

Ten minutes later I was shirtless on a black vinyl adjustable couch with my elbows on my knees while Zupan, Rose and her sketchbook and a lovely bearded guy named Sergi discussed the ‘blank canvas’ that was my skin.

“I recognise these flowers,” Sergi tapped the sketchbook with the back of his marker pen, “Those are the one I did for your one legged friend, right Zu?”

“Yep. Bay needs the same ones, but make ‘em really tough and dark yeah?” Rose patted my shoulder gently, “He’s gonna look great.”

“You’re a bit quite there kid,” I looked over my shoulder to find Sergi looking at me with concern, “You sure they didn’t bully you into this?”

“Nah, I’m good. Go ahead.”

Moments later I wished I hadn’t said it. The pain was immense. Like being stabbed with a needle a dozen times a second, lines of blood and ink following the patterns that Sergi had drawn on my skin. After about an hour I changed positions so that I was lying on my front, ate the chocolate bar Zupan handed me and cursed like a sailor for about an hour when the shading started.

“Looks good Bay.” Rose grinned at me, “See you when you’re all healed up yeah?” she waved us her goodbyes and left. After another hour, we were done.

Zupan had rolled out front to chat with some of the guys he knew, so I had Sergi to myself when I sat up feeling like I had been flayed alive.

“Can you do something else for me?”

“Sure.”

“Just black lettering,” I grabbed one of his pens and wrote up the side of my left leg on the outside, from ankle to knee, “Go over than for me?”

Sergi nodded as he read the words.

“Nice. I like it. OK kiddo, round two.”

I had no idea how much Zupan paid Sergi for my ink, and I was sort of too out of it to care much as the tattoos were wrapped and I was given very specific aftercare instructions. My shoulder and the right side of my back hurt like hell, and the hell made me wince every time I took a step. I thanked Zupan, walked into the bar, waved ‘hi’ to Dale who was behind the bar with Zoltan, and wandered upstairs. I collapsed on my front and passed out for the next ten hours.