Born This Way by Francis Gideon

Author:Francis Gideon [Gideon, Francis]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Published: 2014-04-30T23:00:00+00:00

Chapter 7

On Friday, Jacob braves the long lines of the club. He does up his hoodie to his neck and curses under his breath for not wearing something warmer. His jeans also don't help him in the sudden spring cold snap. Rain begins to spit down just before he reaches the bouncer.

“ID please,” the man with broad shoulders asks. He eyes Jacob up and down several times, scrutinizing every last bit of facial hair. Jacob kicks himself for not wearing something more than his hoodie and a plaid shirt. When Jacob dresses up, he knows he looks a little older than seventeen. Testosterone ages someone, but it still cannot replace the years of puberty that most men in their twenties have gone through. Jacob probably just barely looks twenty-one to the guy holding his ID, especially in the low lights outside.

“What’s your birthday?” the bouncer asks. When Jacob rattles it off without any issue at all, the bouncer nods with a satisfied smile.

“You should grow a beard,” the bouncer says, clapping his hand over his back. “It would make you look older.”

“Oh, trust me,” Jacob says with another smile. “I’ve thought it before.”

There are piles of pink scrunched-up drink tickets all around the lobby when Jacob gets inside. When he leans down to pick up a ticket that doesn’t have a footprint on it, he realizes that today he can cash in that free drink from the monthly music contest. He won’t get a good drink, he knows, but it’s a free perk nonetheless. He places the pink paper in the bottom of his pocket and makes his way confidently to the bar.

Boy Division is just as crowded as Jacob expected for a Friday night. The tall DJ with purple eye shadow is at his spot manning the table, but he does not engage in too many histrionics. He seems to not even engage with the crowd at all. He puts on one of the new top forty hits that Jacob hasn’t heard a million times yet as the men grind against one another on the dance floor.

Jacob has come early; it's barely ten o’clock at night. Most of the people here are the younger university kids, along with their tagalong lesbian den mothers. There are also a few groups of older gays, lining the back walls and sipping their free drinks ordered with their tickets. A few stools still remain empty at the bar and Jacob heads to those first. The bar is a few steps above the dance floor, which he figures will give him a better view of the crowd as they come and go. Jacob, of course, secretly hopes to see the mystery man again. This time, he promises himself he’ll get his number.

The bartender, an older leather daddy with gray curls in his hair, regards the ticket in Jacob’s hands with a weary sigh.

“You know,” he states. “You’re usually supposed to use those for other people. Not yourself.”

“Is that an invitation?” Jacob asks, leaning forward and smiling.

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