I open my eyes.  The room is dark, except for a ray of light emanating from a picture tube.  Andy is kneeling in front of a glowing, mute, floor model TV, dressed in white pajamas, mesmerized by the flickering pictures like a glowing angel. We spent another night blurring our reality with vodka and dancing the night away to 90’s pop music, situated in the only dance club dive bar available in this smoggy mill town. I close my eyes and last night’s events float back. 

Lemon slice? You got to have a lemon slice; it’s the best thing to add to vodka and soda. Andy looks at me inquisitively, as if he even needed to ask me. He was the one that knew better, as I was fairly new to drinking and hell, even being gay. Looking into my eyes, he hands me a glass. I lean forward and give him a peck on the lips. He pats me on the ass, says “come on, let’s go to my room.” 

I’m dancing away, and somehow notice I’m not next to him. Looking through the crowd, I see him on a stage just above us. All of a sudden I look up to see a brown beer bottle whizzing over our heads. It explodes on the ground in front of Andy. He’s not even shaken; he continues to sway his curvy hips in sync to the tune of The Chemical Brothers, “Hey boy, hey girl.” 

Fueled by seventy-four cent whisky sours, and fed up with this town’s homophobic ways, I shove and squirm my way through the crowd. I reach Andy and grab his face, locking lips while holding the back of his neck. Through pulsating lips, I send him the message that I’m here to protect. Time stands still, everyone stops dancing. I can feel their shock course through my body, igniting my passion to love dangerously. 

Empowered by our bullies we were flamboyantly ruff redneck fairies who were out to fuck this town raw with our sexuality.


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