So there was this twenty-something twink, we’ll call him Ashley,
pretty as they come, just a little bit fem, but not too much,
and his parents threw him out when they found out he was queer,
and he probably would have ended up homeless
except that he was taken in by his rich old turned-gay uncle.
The catch was that the uncle had two daughters
from a failed marriage, butt-ugly bitches who treated Ashley like shit
and made him do all the work around the house. The uncle did make
sure there was a roof over his head, but he reminded
him of it about every thirty seconds and wouldn’t lend him any cash.
Sometimes he got work as a stripper, but it was sporadic
and didn’t pay all that much.
Anyway, there was this big rave that the butt-uglies
were going to, and Ashley wanted to go too,
partly for the drugs and music but mostly for the hot dudes likely to be there,
but he didn’t have any money. So in desperation, he tried to hook up
online and offer sex to the no-longer-young in exchange
for the “loan” of some cash, but he was surprised how few
of them were actually willing to pay, maybe thinking he ran
this scheme professionally and would probably steal their credit cards too.
He finally met an old queen who wasn’t wanting sex but felt sorry for him
and offered him a temporary rent-free room and enough cash for the rave,
but the condition was that he had to get a real job, and his benefactor
was going to set him up with an interview the morning after the rave,
and he had to get home by midnight so he wouldn’t oversleep.
So Ashley put on his tight white jeans and fishnet tank top
and danced the night away with some hot muscle stud, but when he
pulled out his cellphone to post his status on Facebook, he had
a panic attack when he noticed it was almost midnight
and ran out in such a hurry that he dropped the tank he had stripped off
while dancing and, more disastrously, forgotten to get the muscle stud’s number.
But he made it back to his benefactor’s on time and got up for the
interview the next morning and didn’t turn into a pumpkin or any of that shit.
He was pretty pissed with himself for not getting that phone number though.
But the little bastard was so fucking lucky that the muscle stud was really into him
and went around asking everybody who the twink was who lost the shirt,
and someone actually knew from one of his stripper gigs, and to make
a long tedious story short, tracked Ashley down, and it turns out—
this is where the story gets hard to believe—that the muscle
stud was both rich and wanting an actual boyfriend,
so they hooked up and lived more or less happily until they got
bored and decided to make it an open relationship and try some
threesomes, and that worked about as well as you would expect.
T. Allen Culpepper