Not Safe For Work

N O T

S A F E

F O R

W O R K

N S F W

M I C H A E L

S.

B O O K E R

Copyright © August 2012 by Michael S. Booker

1984 Press

E-Book Edition

Cover image by Michael S. Booker

All rights reserved. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, in any form or by any other means, without the written permission of the author.

Other Titles by Michael S. Booker

The Shadow Series

Shadow

Anomaly

Echo

Whisper

Lullaby

Freshman

Freshman: Fall Semester – Volume 1

Freshman: Fall Semester – Volume 2

Freshman: Spring Semester – Volume 3

NSFW

Not Safe for Work

Busy with Work

1

Eric Dennis circled around the pub four times, trying to decide if he wanted to go inside. The traffic light turned green and he drove forward, past the bar, for the fifth time, still very uncertain.

Go in and have one drink. If you don’t like the place, just leave.

It sounded easy but going through with it was frustratingly complex. Each time that Eric thought about setting foot in the place, his heart rate drastically accelerated, and his hands started sweating. He circled around the block for the sixth time, before finally making up his mind.

Just go in.

Eric parked his new Lexus, several blocks away from the bar. Even though there had been plenty of parking spots in front of the place, Eric did not want to risk the chance of someone recognizing his car and knowing where he was going. After parking, Eric remained in his car for another five minutes, calming his nerves. Finally, he took a deep breath, wiped his sweaty palms on his perfectly creased slacks, unlocked his door, and stepped out into a cool late August evening.

Am I really about to do this?

He started walking down the street, in the direction of the bar. All the while, Eric asked himself the same question over and over: What am I expecting to happen here?

One thing was for sure: Eric did not plan to meet any men. Although it might have seemed ironic, going into a gay bar, and not wanting to meet other men, Eric consoled himself with the notion that he was just coming to this place to have a drink, check the place out, and then go back home.

Nothing else, he thought.

Up ahead, Eric saw the bar. From the outside, The Male Room looked like any other bar that he frequented. There were no real indications that it was a gay bar: no rainbow flag, no group of flamboyant gay guys hanging out in front. Eric was partially relieved by that. It made it slightly easier for him to be inconspicuous.

Eric walked across the street, his legs growing stiffer as he approached the entrance.

Do I really want to do this? It’s not too late for me to turn around and go back home.

Eric seriously considered it, but Eric ultimately concluded that since he was already at the bar, he might as well just man-up and go inside.

If I hate it, then I never have to come back again.

Sadly, a part of Eric hoped that he did hate it, so that he would never have to come back.

Eric closed his hand around the doorknob, his heart beat still racing. He counted to three, opened the door, and went inside.

Even on the inside, the place reminded Eric of a typical straight bar. He expected to see shirtless men and dozens of drag queens, as soon as he opened the door. Everything looked relatively normal to him, except for the exclusively male clientele.

Eric sat on a stool, toward the far-left end of the bar, away from the other patrons. Despite the dim light, he could see the pairs of eyes watching him from afar. Two men, on the far-right side of the bar had stopped whatever conversation they had been having, when Eric initially walked in. Now, their attention seemed to be focused entirely on him. The men looked like were in their early to mid-thirties. The men were in good shape, too, with big, muscular arms and muscular chests. One of the guys nodded his head at Eric, and Eric nervously returned the gesture.

What can I get you, handsome?

The voice surprised Eric. He turned his eyes away from the men and looked at the bartender in front of him. Somehow, Eric had not seen him coming. It was like he appeared from nowhere. He looked like he might have been twenty-three or twenty-four, just a few years younger than Eric. The bartender was cute: maybe five-foot seven at most, thin, but with enough body definition, to give him a masculine look. He smiled and perhaps that was the thing that Eric found the cutest, because he had gorgeous teeth and it was the type of smile that made Eric’s heart flutter.

Greyhound, Eric finally responded.

The bartender winked and walked away to make the drink. Eric’s eyes were drawn to the bartender’s tight ass, encased in blue jeans. For a while, he could not look away, until the front entrance opened, and another person walked in. Because of the distance and the lighting, Eric was not able to see the man too clearly.

Here you go, the bartender said, placing the cocktail in front of Eric. He wore that same captivating smile.

Eric reached into his wallet and retrieved a ten-dollar bill. Thanks.

Stirring the drink with his straw, Eric watched, trying not to be too obvious, as the guy who walked in, said hello to the two men at the end of the bar, and began to make his way toward the end of the bar where Eric sat. As he got closer, Eric could see the man more clearly. He looked surprisingly like the bartender, with a few exceptions: he was about five-foot nine, with a comparable body structure, but with a little more muscle. He wore a simple white tank-top that clung to his toned chest and a pair of blue jeans that seemed like they should have been impossible to walk in, because they were so tight. His hair was shaved down low, almost to the scalp, like a military recruit. He had cute little ears that stuck out like open car doors, and finally, as he sat down, Eric saw the guy’s eyes. They were a dark-brown color. Yet, it was not the hue of the guy’s eyes that entranced Eric; it was the way the guy looked at Eric, as if he had known Eric for years, and knew all his hopes and fears.

Never seen you here before, the guy said.

Eric had not expected the guy’s voice to be as deep as it was. He expected it to be more high-pitched and much more… gay.

I was in the area, Eric responded, thought I’d stop by for a drink.

The guy studied Eric’s greenish-yellow concoction. What’s in that drink, anyway? Piss and lime juice?

Vodka and grapefruit.

Sounds like something my grandfather would drink.

Eric found himself smiling, despite not wanting to smile. I’ve heard that before.

The bartender returned to the end of the bar where Eric and the other guy sat. Usual, Mathew? he asked the guy.

Of course, Parker.

Eric watched Parker stroll off again, in preparation of Mathew’s drink.

He has a nice ass, right? Mathew asked.

Huh?

Mathew chuckled. Parker. You were staring at his ass.

I wasn’t…

It’s all good. No need to be embarrassed. That’s what we’re here for: guzzle and gawk.

Eric averted his eyes from Mathew’s hypnotic gaze and focused on his drink. He sipped a bit of the cocktail, letting the tart taste linger in his mouth, before he swallowed.

First time here? Mathew asked.

This guy really likes to ask a lot of questions, Eric thought. Yeah, it is.

Cool.

Parker returned a few minutes later with Mathew’s drink, a tall, lime-green colored cocktail. You got money today, Matty?

Mathew scoffed, reaching into the pocket of his super-tight jeans, and pulled a twenty-dollar bill. My last President Jackson.

Then maybe you should be careful how you spend it, Parker warned.

Taken into consideration.

Parker walked away with Mathew’s cash. While Parker was gone, Mathew refocused his attention onto Eric. For a few moments, he did not say anything, just blatantly stared at Eric. Finally, he spoke. So, does your girlfriend know you’re here?

Eric had been in the process of raising his glass to his mouth to drink, but he stopped before it reached his lips. Don’t have a girlfriend.

Not anymore, Eric thought.

It had been a month, since Eric had broken up with his girlfriend, Kimberly Price. Their relationship had lasted for three years. The break-up had been amicable and mutual. Neither one of them had ill-feelings toward the other. Sometimes, though, Eric did miss her. He missed her energy and presence. It had been so lonely in his apartment without her being there, but he knew that it was best for them both.

Boyfriend? Mathew asked.

Eric sipped his drink. No boyfriend. I wouldn’t be here, if I had a boyfriend.

Mathew scooted his seat a little bit closer to Eric, an action that made Eric feel simultaneously nervous and excited. Why not?

Because I would be at home with him.

Or, he would be here with you, Mathew countered.

Parker returned with Mathew’s cash. Mathew left him a two-dollar tip.

What’s your name? Mathew asked.

Eric.

Mathew smiled. You look like an ‘Eric’.

How does an Eric look like?

Hot, Mathew replied, sipping his green drink from his straw. I’m Mathew.

You look like a Mathew.

And how does a ‘Mathew’ look like?

Eric smiled. Maybe it was the drink that made him feel more at ease, even though he had only drunk half of the glass. Cute.

Just ‘cute’?

Nothing wrong with being cute, Eric responded. Cute goes a long way.

Maybe you’re right.

They went into a temporary silence, as they finished their drinks. By the end of his first cocktail, Eric was already starting to feel a buzz. He usually only drank a few weekends out of the month, so when he did drink, he got drunk easily. After he was finished, Eric thought about the promise that he made to himself before entering the bar. One drink and then you can go