Alberto woke up in his dorm room near Sacramento State. He was now in his last semester of college (if he passed all his classes). Finally, he would be free to find a real job and quit his job as a dancing at the bar.
He’d taken the job last summer after being spotted by a manager dancing in a speedo near the pool at Faces. A crowd of gay men had gathered around him and offering to buy him drinks. The manager told him he could start dancing the following Thursday night as part of their Latin night promotion. If he worked out, they’d bring him back on Saturday nights. Now he danced three nights a week.
It was not too bad for Alberto: he never paid a cover to the bars, had most of his drinks paid for by his admirers, was paid a small wage, and got to keep the tips he made. He made more money from tips than he ever did as a restaurant bus boy.
He got himself together, trying not to wake up his roommate, and headed downstairs and toward campus. On his way, he shot a text message to Nicole, his favorite fag hag.
“Still on for tonight? I’m on at 9 and off at midnight. Drinks after?”
Nicole had already been at work for hours. Lately, she wasn’t quite sure why she even went home some nights. She knew the job was starting to take a toll on her. She’d been in town almost two years already but had only made a few friends—all of them gay men. The job strained her relationship with her now ex-boyfriend, eventually leading to a messy breakup. She had not had sex since that day a year ago.
A year without sex! Her gays, as she called them, made fun of her on that point. They joked that the last place a fish should be looking for sex is at a gay bar.
She resolved that she desperately needed some time with her gays tonight. If they couldn’t soften the hard week, the vodka would finish the job.
She responded to Alberto, “I’ll find some singles to shove in your crotch! See you tonight!”