GENRE: Gay / Transgender Romance
LENGTH: 3,385 words
RATING:

Logan wonders why his relationships with women are so short and unsatisfying. Sex with women? He finds it unsettling, to say the least. More than once? No, thank you. So he decides to try The Grotto, a local gay bar. He hopes exposure to a gay crowd will lead him to a better understanding of himself.

The evening lengthens and the drinks multiply until the bar’s singer, a drag queen, realizes the cute young newbie she’s been eying isn’t going to be able to drive himself home. She knows she shouldn’t get involved with a younger man, but maybe something will work out between them?

EXCERPT:

Being vain, he hadn’t worn his glasses and his contacts weren’t much help in the dim light. Getting his gin martini, he looked round for a place to sit, preferably in a corner with his back to the wall, but he couldn’t see well enough to see if there were any, let alone any empty ones. With his luck, he thought, he’d end up piling onto someone’s lap. So he sat down at the bar, buried his face in his glass, forced himself to sip, not gulp, and turned around to watch the singer. His heart wasn’t pounding as hard as when he’d first come in, at least, but even so, he went through his first drink rather quickly. When he turned to order another one there was already another one sitting behind him. That was confusing; was the bartender psychic? Was it obvious that he wasn’t sure he belonged here? Logan raised his eyes to the barman, but he just pointed and smiled. Logan looked and saw an older man, portly but pleasant, wave at him from across the room. Logan was terrified but felt he was supposed to act grateful, so he smiled in return. It was more of a grimace actually, and maybe the terror he felt showed in his face, because the man just smiled and stayed where he was.

What else was obvious was that everyone could see it was his first time there, or any gay bar. It was as clear as if he had a neon sign flashing it over his head. The regulars at the Grotto were as leery of this newcomer as if he were twelve years old or a cop. His newness was obvious in the vulnerability his eager, but fearful, face showed, and in the relaxed-on-purpose position he had taken on the stool. It even showed in his crotch, when the occasional spot light lit that area up. Oh yeah, the light showed that the newbie was definitely in the right bar. And he was so pretty to look at, so shy and cute, that nobody wanted to be the one to scare him off. They sat in their corners and talked about him to each other. “I’d do him.”

“No way, I saw him first.”

“He can put his shoes and everything else under my bed.”

They did, however, have no qualms about sending him more drinks.