Picking up my drink, I admired how pretty and pink and sparkly it was. I went to take a sip to see if it tasted as fab as it looked and—
A guy shoved his way up to the bar, calling to the bartender, “Can I get a whiskey sour?” The area around the bar was super crowded and as he created space for himself where there was no space, he bumped into me, jostling my elbow and causing me to spill about half of my pretty drink on my shirt.
Yes, this shirt’s ugliness would probably be improved by the addition of pink and sparkles, but that didn’t mean I should have to put up with somebody wrecking another shirt I had on. Rotating on my stool to blast this jerk with the full fury of my irritation, I…didn’t.
I was pretty. My drink was pretty. This man was…beautiful.
About average height, with a thick, round, beefy body. His build, paired with short, medium brown hair and thick scruff on his chin the same medium brown, made him the absolute most perfect bear cub. A chubby, cuddly cub. Sort of like Boo-Boo Bear in the old Yogi Bear cartoons that used to be on, in the middle of the night, on that old person’s cartoon channel.
I wondered if he would mind if I called him Boo-Boo?
He also had stunning blue eyes. They were the blue of deep, mountain lakes. The kind of lakes we could see if we took a ski vacation together in the Rockys. Not that I ski. But for this man, I’d be willing to sit in a ski chalet, drinking hot chocolate whilehewent skiing.
Screw my sex sabbatical. For this man, I’d chuck all my sex toys in a box and throw them—Well, no, I wouldn’t throw them away. But I would tuck them under my bed because I wouldn’t need them anymore. Not if I could be having sex with him.
Ugh. I wanted to sex up this guy so hard.
I aimed my best sultry but sassy smile at my Boo-Boo…only to discover he was no longer next to me. Fuck. At some point, while I was fantasizing about mountain ski vacations and sex toys so bored from disuse they wept lube tears, Boo-Boo had been replaced by… Weird Turtleneck Dude?
What the fuck. Who the fuck wears a turtleneck to a gay club?
I couldn’t believe my cuddly cub was gone. And he…he hadn’t even noticed me. Fine, so I wasn’t looking—or smelling—my best, but was I really that unremarkable when I wasn’t wearing my usual attire?
If that was the case, then the next time I ran into my Boo-Boo—and there would be a next time. I refused to believe anything else—I would be all glammed up to my usual standards. I would make him notice me.
It shouldn’t be too hard. With Glitter being the newest gay club in Milwaukee, he’d probably come back here soon. I would just have to also be here, looking all pretty and sparkly to catch his eye, and then… My Boo-Boo would be mine. And I would sex him up so much.
For as long as it lasted.
I would just have to make sure that among all the hot fucking, I didn’t do anything stupid. Like allowing any pesky feelings to sneak up on me. I could likefuckingthe cuddly cub; I can’t let myselflikehim.
Feelings ruin fucking everything. They always do.
I wasn’t delusional enough to think that just because he looked like my perfect type that we would actually be perfect for each other. There was no way we would end up hand-in-hand, like some sort of boyfriends, getting a perfect, lovey-dovey, happily-ever-after.
That sort of thing wasn’t for me. Experience has taught me that.
