I wasn't looking for trouble. But it found me.
When I went into that bar, I was really only looking for a couple of beers and a quiet place to read a book, before going back to my motel.
But I had chosen the wrong bar.
I was on holiday in America. I'm not American. I'd been there for three weeks, first staying with friends.
I had had some good times. I'd been to a party where I'd got talking to a hot, smart girl with tattoos, and we'd made out, but it hadn't gone any further than that because she was being faithful to her boyfriend. Then, a couple of nights later, I had been in a bar and I'd been chatted up by a gorgeous guy, who took me back to his flat for sex.
I'm not telling those stories, because what happened to me at the bar was far more worth telling.
I'm twenty-eight, male and I'm bi.
I wouldn't say I'm a stud, exactly. I'm average height, slender and have short dark hair and very pale skin. I don't have a lot of muscle, but I've got stamina. I'm reasonably okay-looking, but everyone who's ever slept with me has said that my best features are my cock (which women have told me is a very good fit) and my ass (which both sexes have told me is a thing of beauty.)
That night, however, I wasn't looking for sex. Just some peace and a couple of beers and something to eat. I was dressed down, in trainers and black jeans and a blue t-shirt. It was a warm, wet night, south of the 36th parallel.
I sat in a booth and the waitress came over. She was about forty, warm and friendly. I ordered a beer and some fries. She went off.
I opened my book and began to read.
After a while I became aware of the conversation going on two booths away, between about six guys my age and older.
They were talking about the news they'd been watching, and how the liberals were wrecking America and had no concept of honour, and so on. One of them in particular was very aggrieved about this. He started ranting about 'the LGBTQ people' and how we were all... well, I won't tell you exactly what he said, but he was talking about people like me, and calling people like me criminals and a lot worse than that. One of the things I noticed was that he kept talking about 'buttfucking' and 'ass sex'; he couldn't get off the topic, as if it obsessed him.
I snuck a glance at the guys and noted that they were all tall, built like tanks, and half of them had lavish beards. Most of them were sagging a bit around the waist, but they still looked like they could crush me.
I went back to my book. If it weren't for their opinions, that was a body type in guys that actually gets me quite aroused. I like being tossed around in bed by guys who could snap me in half if they wanted to. Just as I'm attracted to women who are strong, not tiny fragile creatures.
I realised that the book I was reading wasn't the wisest choice around these guys. It was a dense book of queer theory, although you wouldn't necessarily know that from looking at it.
The waitress brought my beer. It was cold, which was the good thing about it. The fries were so-so. I picked at them. I could get something proper to eat later.
I casually sneaked glances at the other people in the bar.
They were mostly men, but there were a few women who appeared to be wives or girlfriends. Nobody seemed to be throwing annoyed glances at the Proud Boy wannabes in the corner.
At the bar, holding forth, was a big guy, about mid-fifties, with grey hair, a moustache and beard, deeply tanned and very muscular. He kept up a constant stream of banter with the waitress and other customers and any woman who passed by. He knew everyone and they all knew him.
I kept on reading.
After a while I had the odd feeling that I was being watched. I snuck another glance around the room and realised that the Big Guy had fallen silent, and was watching me from yards away. As soon as my glance intersected his, he didn't look away; he just kept watching, his expression unreadable beneath his beard.
I needed to piss. I got up, put my book into my bag and went to the Mens' room.
I was washing my hands after pissing when the door opened and the Big Guy came in.
'Howdy,' he rumbled.
'Hi,' I said.
'You're not from round here,' he said.
I dried my hands on the roller towel and turned to face him. I felt the slight hot flush I always get around much bigger, very masculine men.
'No,' I said.
'People from round here don't normally read books in bars,' he said with amusement.
'Well, I do.'
'Specially not books like that one,' he said.
I eyed him.
'It's a free country,' I said.
'Yeah, it is,' he said. 'Mighty free. But freedom has a price.'
'What's that, then.'
'The price we pay is that little foreign faggots like you come around and groom people,' he said.
'I'm not grooming anyone,' I said.
'That remains to be seen,' he said.
'I don't want any trouble,' I said.
'Can't always get what we want,' he said. 'I know you're a faggot. Admit it.'
'I'm queer,' I said, looking him in the eye.
'I know,' he said. 'I always know.'
He paused, and then he smiled.
'I could make you very happy,' he said.
That's when I realised that he wasn't about to beat the crap out of me.
At least... not in a malicious way. His gaze was roving up and down my body. He was drinking in the sight of me.
He wanted me.
'I bet you could,' I said.
'Thing is, though,' he said, 'I've got some pull around here. I can't have folks knowin' I'd fool around with a leftist soy boy like you.'
'You could meet me later,' I said.
