Get Out! GAY Magazine – Issue 306 – March 8, 2017

stories / GET OUT! MAGAZINE >> GETOUTMAG.COM
PART TWO
The Lawyer
BY IAN-MICHAEL BERGERON
@ianmichaelinwonderland
After barely talking for
a year, J messaged me
and asked if he could take
me out for dinner for my
25th birthday. I was still
embarrassed, but accepted
the chance to start over.
I showed up at Koi on 40th
Street, wearing a sequin
t-shirt and leather shorts.
We caught up
and ate the
most
amazing sushi I’ve ever had,
not to mention a few lychee
martinis. By the end of the
meal, I was feeling good.
“Let’s go to Flannery’s,” he
suggested after paying the
bill. “It’s my favorite bar.”
We took a taxi to 14th
Street and went inside, the
skinny guy behind it smiling
wide. “Hey J! And you
must be Ian-Michael.”
I blushed. “Uhm.”
“I told him I’d be bringing
you around for a birthday
drink,” J explained.
So we had a birthday drink.
And a regular bought us
shots. And then we had
another drink. I went to the
bathroom to pee, and while
I was at the urinal I heard
someone come in. “Ian-
Michael,” the regular’s
feminine voice rang out. I
slowly turned my head to
the side, mid-pee. “Uh.
Hello.”
“He talks about you a
lot, you know,” she said,
standing in the doorway.
I finished peeing and
zipped. “He does?”
“Yes,” she went on as I
washed my hands. “Do you
like him?”
“Romantically? I don’t
know. We’re still getting to
know each other, I guess.”
Missed part
one? Read it on
getoutmag.com!
sure what to say, excited
but nervous. The regular
bought us another round
of shots, and J bought us
another round of drinks,
which I drank—quickly.
By the time we left, I
was wasted. “Want me
to get you an Uber?” he
asked. I shook my head
no, stumbling along.
“We can get you a taxi if
you prefer?” I shook my
head again. My head was
spinning: No way was I
getting on anything that
moved. “Do you want to
come back to my place?”
I nodded eagerly. He lived
just around the corner and
up three flights of stairs.
I ran into the bedroom,
stripped to my underwear
and collapsed onto the
bed. My stomach churned:
I knew if I moved, I’d throw
up.
J came into the room,
saw me in my underwear,
and curled up behind me.
I felt the vomit, right in
my throat. I pushed him
away. “Are you OK?” he
asked me. I couldn’t open
my mouth to speak: I
knew if I did, I’d throw up
all over his sheets. I just
shook my head. “Are you
uncomfortable? Should
I sleep on the couch?” I
shook my head no again,
still unable to speak. He
got up, and didn’t return
before I passed out.
PHOTO BY STEVE BRENNAN
“Well, he’s been talking
about you for a long time.”
I went back to the bar, not
I woke and rolled over to a
note: “Decided to spend
the weekend in Paris.” He
was gone. I blew it, again.