The daily serial fictional based on Chicago's Boystown neighborhood: Boystown series by Danny Bernardo

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18. Column A, Column B

"To my Bitches!" said Tristan, raising his vodka cranberry high. "Especially Braden, you old, old dried up, crusty, withered old hag. Happy birthday!" Ephraim and Jaison cackled and slammed their drinks back as Braden's eyes narrowed at Tristan.

18. Column A, Column B
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"To my Bitches!" said Tristan, raising his vodka cranberry high. "Especially Braden, you old, old dried up, crusty, withered old hag. Happy birthday!" Ephraim and Jaison cackled and slammed their drinks back as Braden's eyes narrowed at Tristan.

"If I recall, Tristan," Braden said, sipping at his Long Island iced tea. "Your birthday is before mine."

"Yes Braden, but I'm only twenty-three. And some months."

"Yeah," said Jaison. "One hundred and fifty months!" That got an "ooh girl" and a snap from Ephraim, so they slapped five and did a quick "drop it like it's hot" bounce.

"Anyway," said Tristan. "The night is young. Unlike Braden. So let's dance this shit out!" The Bitches pranced their way to the dance floor. A strong grip on his shoulder forced Tristan to turn around.

"Oh. Hey."

"How is he? He's out of the hospital right?"

"Yeah. He's fine. Now if you'll excuse me... "

"Hey Tristan," said Diego, coming out of the bathroom and putting his arms around his boyfriend. "We missed you the other night at the gala."

"Yeah, it was... wait. What are you guys doing here? Shouldn't you be at MiniBar with... "

"Well, hello Tristan!" said Chadwick, martini in hand with Bryan close behind him. "Long time no see."

"Chadwick. Bryan. Hey. What are you guys doing here?"

"We felt like a little change of pace," Bryan said. "And this IS supposed to be the it spot at the moment, is it not?"

"Can we go?" Mason whined, coming in from the dance floor, followed by Josh.

"We've just gotten our drinks," said Chadwick. "And look who's joined us."

"Hey Tristan," said Josh.

"Hey," Tristan said, wondering how long before the Bitches realized he was still...

"Trick, there you is!" shouted Jaison, coming over from the dance floor. "We turned around and were all, where the fuck that bitch go?" Braden and Ephraim came up close behind. Looks were exchanged all around. It was Prada versus H&M, Cristal versus Alize, Paris Hilton versus Snookie. It was Tristan's worst nightmare: his worlds had collided.

"Well how quaint," said Chadwick, sizing up the Bitches with a passing glance. "Tristan, aren't you going to introduce us to your... friends?"

"Who the fuck is this bougie bitch?" asked Jaison. Chadwick and Bryan hid their offense behind a clenched jaw laugh.

"Tristan, your friends are so... colorful," Bryan said, his jaw still firmly clenched.

"Maybe we SHOULD go," Josh whispered to Mason.

"Are you kidding? The night JUST got interesting," Mason whispered back.

"¿Qué pasa con tus amigos?" Ephraim asked Diego.

"Um, whatever, I don't speak Mexican," replied Diego.

"I'm not Mexican!"

"Tristan!" said Braden incredulously, pulling his arm.

"Tristan," Chadwick chirped, pulling his other arm.

Caught both literally and figuratively in the middle, Tristan did the only thing he could: he bolted for the equalizer that was the dance floor. If they followed him, great everyone would be too busy dancing to be catty at each other. And here, he could escape into the bass, the music, the soaring vocals of...

"Hey Son," came a raspy voice as someone pulled him from behind and thrust their hard-on against his ass.

"Now's not the time, Bruce."

"Excuse me?" said Bruce.

"I'm with my friends and... "

"Oh, so you're too fucking good to be seen in public with an old man like me. Is that it?"

"No, it's just... "

"But you're not too good to suck my dick or fuck me when you need to make rent?"

"Bruce, you're blowing this out of... "

"This is the last straw, Tristan. First you blow me off at that event... "

"... my friend was DYING... "

"... now this? You're cut off. Don't call me for anything ever again." And Bruce disappeared into the crowd.


Jaison and Bryan stood in silence at the urinals. Their cliques had disbanded when Tristan left for the dance floor, so this meeting in the bathroom was purely happenstance. That's what Jaison thought, until he kept catching Bryan staring at him through the mirror in front.

"What?!" Jaison snapped.

"Nothing. I'll just have you know that Chadwick and I are very happy."

"Good for you. Now excuse me, I'm pissing."

"So don't try anything."

"Let me guess: he's slept with exactly one black guy, before you met, and it's his little party story that he likes to tell when you and yours share your ‘indiscretions' so he doesn't seem like an all out racist, that he can ‘get down,' and all your friends love the story because it pales in comparison to theirs by sheer virtue that it was with a (gasp) black man, and yet somehow, deep in your heart, you worry if there isn't truth to the adage ‘once you go black'... " Jaison shook his dick at the urinal, nearly mesmerizing Bryan.

"How did you... ?"

"If there's one thing you faggots are, it's unoriginal. And don't worry, I don't want your Martha Stewart wannabe boyfriend." Jaison flushed the urinal but remained unzipped. "You, on the other hand... "


"Hey," Bruce said, approaching Diego on the dance floor. "Remember me?"

"Yeah," Diego blushed, with maybe one too many rum and cokes in him.

"You're just looking fucking adorable tonight."

"I know," Diego said, but secretly was ecstatic inside. His boyfriend never told him that he looked adorable anymore. They danced for a bit, Bruce getting closer and closer. They grinded hard on each other, Adam Lambert's "Strut" playing out the cadence in which Bruce's cock rubbed against Diego's ass, pounding hard, trying to break through the denim barricade in time to the music. Diego turned around.

Maybe it was because he loved the constant attention or he was sick of worrying if his boyfriend was still in love with his ex. Maybe Bruce just looked extra handsome in the dim blue light of the dance floor. Maybe Diego just wanted to make out with Bruce, so he did. Bruce reciprocated, drinking Diego in, his hands sliding down the back of his pants, hoping that the other dancing bodies would hide the fact that he was fingering Diego out on the dance floor. Diego moaned, threw his head back, and let Bruce kiss all over his neck, nibble at his ear. Diego loved the attention, from the other people on the dance floor, from Bruce. He craved it. He didn't give a fuck who saw him.

Even his boyfriend who watched the whole thing unfold when he came back from the bar with their drinks.


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