Opening Up in New Orleans

Comments, questions, gripes? Email brycemanningfiction@gmail.com

Author's Note: Bourbon Street might look a little different now than when I last visited New Orleans and lived elements of this story out as an undergrad, but the two gay bars I spent the night crossing between are apparently still there. Almost all of the action will be in the second chapter.

Opening Up in New Orleans

By Bryce Manning

Dakota felt his relationship with Trent fraying more with every second they spent trapped together in the car.

"Fuck, there's no way I can get over there now," Trent mumbled, glaring as he peered over to his boyfriend's face. "You realize you need to give me more time to merge, right?"

They were trying to stop for food almost five hours into their journey, and now it was the latest battle of half a dozen they'd already fought. "I told you it was exit 13 five minutes ago!" Dakota objected, rolling his eyes. Trent always wanted him to navigate and spit out directions like a GPS when they were in the car, but he never listened well. "You didn't even try to start getting over until I saw the ramp. And of course you didn't have enough time, because you insisted on staying in the left lane even though you knew we were close."

Trent's hands gripped the steering wheel harder. "You're supposed to be looking at the map," he said dismissively.

Dakota let out an annoyed sigh. "I'm supposed to be looking at the map constantly? No, you're supposed to start paying attention to the signs when I tell you the exit number!" He stared out the glass of his metal cage, appreciating the gorgeous blue of the cloudless sky stretching above, the healthy, brilliant green hues of the trees and grass lining the highway. Everything beyond the window was perfect and lively compared to the pronounced decay festering in the car.

"Let's get off at the next exit and we can trek back," Trent suggested, trying to sound conciliatory.

His boyfriend scoffed, not bothering to look over. "I'm not giving you any more directions. Use your own fucking phone if you want to know where to go." He was being petty right now, but he'd already endured enough. He knew Trent was glaring at him again.

"Really? Obviously we both need to eat. You're a bitch when you're hungry."

"You're being the fucking bitch right now," Dakota muttered, lowering his window all the way down and letting the humid outside air blow into the car.

"What the fuck are you doing?" Trent complained. "It's hot as fuck out there and I have the air conditioning on!"

"Whatever, I don't care." Dakota finally glanced over.

His boyfriend angrily shook his head, his eyes flaring. "How about we just turn around and go home then? I'm sick of being in this car with you."

Dakota seriously considered the offer as he stared down at his phone, scanning the maps app. "We're two hours away now. It's going to take five to drive back." He didn't want to spend that much time trapped in hell, even if he wasn't the least bit excited about visiting New Orleans anymore. "Let's just keep going."

"Then tell me where I'm supposed to fucking go!" Trent snapped.

The boys had been dating for the last two years, enduring plenty of rough patches before, but Dakota knew they were definitely hanging by a thread now. They'd been lodged in petty bickering for weeks, Dakota finally starting to mentally acknowledge that they were never going to work their problems out. Deciding what to make for dinner or what to watch on TV inevitably turned into a bitter argument, their vicious brawls not even yielding makeup sex anymore. They barely had sex at all. They barely kissed each other. Trent was never horny and never in the mood when Dakota tried, except for maybe one time every two or three weeks when they'd finally spend fifteen minutes fucking. It was never satisfying after the long wait. More recently, Trent had refused his boyfriend's advances for an entire month, even denying Dakota when he'd patiently waited for Trent to come home ass up in a jockstrap on their kitchen floor. After that disappointment, trying felt pointless. Dakota completely gave the effort up.

The drought was driving him insane, the mere sight of a hot guy sufficient to get his dick hard. He stared at random men everywhere: in class, on the bus, even when he was out with Trent eating at a restaurant or shopping in a store. Dakota was consuming more porn than he ever had in his life, jerking off at least three times a day, Trent enraged every time he barged into their bedroom and witnessed the event.

"You're looking at porn again?" he'd growled a week ago, folding his arms against his chest and appearing displeased. "You're always looking at porn. Am I not enough for you?"

"You never want to fuck!" Dakota shouted back incredulously, shocked that Trent was seriously suggesting he should be satisfied with absolutely nothing. Apparently his simple existence was supposed to be /enough./

"Well, you never ask!"

Dakota laughed hysterically at that bold claim, staring fiercely into his boyfriend's eyes. "I asked you all the time, Trent. I literally gave up after a month of constantly being told no. And you never come on to me. Never! Don't try to act like you do. You can't be mad at me for being horny! What else am I supposed to do about it?"

Instead of confronting their troubles, Trent rolled his eyes and stormed away. "Whatever," he called back, slamming the door shut.

That's what he always did. He seemed incapable of talking through their problems. Relationships weren't supposed to be like this. Dakota had found himself thinking that countless times in the two years they'd been dating, the first doubt creeping into his mind only a month after they'd met. Trent was his first boyfriend, though, Dakota having no other experience to draw on. He always overcame his hesitation and persevered, hoping the situation might eventually improve. He still felt like he loved Trent and he genuinely cared about the guy, but he wasn't happy. He barely remembered happiness, a state of mind that had gradually drained away within the first few months of moving into an apartment together. Sharing a place and spending more of their lives with each other, instead of bringing the couple closer, was forcing the boys even further apart. Love wasn't enough. Dakota had cried his eyes out an untold number of times trying to imagine how he might break up with Trent, even beginning to start the conversation on a few occasions, always faltering when he worried he might be making a mistake. He knew he was miserable staying with Trent, but he was afraid he'd be even more miserable without him.

Trent was certainly well aware of the discord. He'd pitched and meticulously planned the trip to New Orleans, a city neither of them had ever visited, explicitly saying they needed a fresh start. Dakota knew his boyfriend was a diehard romantic, a guy hopelessly attracted to the idea that getting away and exploring a new place together might reinvigorate their rocky relationship and make them fall in love all over again. The vicious clashes in the car that had dotted the last five hours made his optimistic dream seem like a stupid and totally forlorn fantasy. With every mile, with every biting snipe at each other, Dakota seriously wondered if they'd even last the drive, but maybe that was for the best. He was exhausted with settling for their constant dysfunction. In his heart, he knew he was ready for the relationship to end.

The guys had met on Tinder when Dakota was 19 and Trent was 20, their profiles both blatantly advertising that they were interested in more than just a sweaty fling. They were opposites in most ways: Dakota was 5'10", blond and blue eyed, smooth-faced, his thin body toned but nearly hairless, all his skin as pale as a ghost; Trent was 6'1", with brown hair and brown eyes, muscular and hairy, his flesh tinted with an olive Mediterranean complexion. Dakota definitely thought the guy was cute as he scrolled through his pictures, and evidently he felt the same way.

Trent invited Dakota to lunch on campus the next day, the younger guy gleefully accepting. He was too shy to ask anyone out himself, most of his interactions never moving beyond brief and stilted texting. The boys clicked instantly when they met, realizing they were both history majors and immediately starting to compare notes on professors they'd both had. Trent, a year ahead of Dakota since he was a junior, doled out advice on who and what the younger guy should avoid when he registered for his classes next semester. They discovered a shared passion for literature, having a deep conversation about the books they'd read taking the same non-history elective as freshmen.

Trent was still living in a dorm room despite being an upperclassmen, constantly suffering for privacy, but Dakota shared a spacious place off campus with a roommate. "Want to come over for a drink later?" he'd suggested. He wasn't old enough to buy booze himself at that point, but Dakota's roommate had scored him a bottle of tequila. He instantly wondered if he'd ever see Trent again when he saw hesitation on his face.

"I really would love to come over," Trent had said, "but I already made plans for tonight. Maybe some other time I can?"

"Oh yeah, sure," Dakota agreed. He'd heard that line a few times before in two years of attempting to date, any man who uttered it either never bothering to text him back or quickly blowing him off. He was disappointed walking out of the restaurant, shaking Trent's hand one last time, resigned to never spending another moment with the guy despite the chemistry they seemed to share.

After a couple hours spent feeling rejected, Dakota's phone chimed. /So I just canceled on my friend. You still willing to have me over tonight?/ They'd traded numbers when they set up their date the night before.

His face had lit up seeing the message. /Yeah,/ he texted back. /I'm free all night./

An hour later, Trent was walking into Dakota's apartment. "Wow," he mumbled, seeming taken aback by the amount of space. "This is a really nice place!"

"Thanks," Dakota answered, smiling as he led the guy through the living room to the kitchen, motioning for him to sit at one of the bar stools. "You want a margarita?"

"Yeah, sure!" he said eagerly.

Dakota fetched a pair of elegant margarita glasses out of one of the cabinets, setting them down on the counter in front of Trent.

"You even have the glasses!" Trent said like he was impressed.

He shrugged. "Well, my roommate does, but she won't mind us using them."

"You live with a girl? That's awesome. One of my roommates is obnoxiously homophobic." Trent rolled his beautiful brown eyes.

"You have more than one roommate?" Dakota asked with surprise as he pulled tequila and margarita mix out of the fridge.

"The dorm room is like a suite," Trent explained as Dakota eyeballed pours of liquor. "Basically an apartment on campus with three separate bedrooms, except we don't have a kitchen."

Dakota dumped the margarita mix in next, filling the glasses to the top. "Oh, nice! Saves you from having to ride the bus." He opened a drawer, pulling out a spoon and starting to mix, the metal clanking loudly against the glass.

Trent grinned. "Yeah, I love where my room is. It never takes me more than ten minutes to walk to class. I definitely miss having a kitchen, though." He scanned the huge space in front of him like he was genuinely sad.

"You can cook? All I ever do is burn stuff here," Dakota said, sliding one of the margaritas over. "I'm not kidding, I literally started a fire once."

He was laughing heartily. "I mean, who hasn't done that? Cooking is easy, though. You just need someone to teach you!"

Dakota was smiling, feeling like Trent was volunteering to be the one who would, lifting his drink up as Trent followed.

"Cheers!" Trent toasted, their glasses clinking together as the boys each took a sip. "That's pretty good," he complimented.

The statement was probably meaningless, but Dakota beamed anyway, assuming the 21-year-old knew more than he did about mixing drinks. "I hope so, because I definitely don't know how to make anything else with tequila." They both laughed and drank more.

"I'm really sorry I said I couldn't come earlier," Trent apologized. "I promised my best friend we were going to hang out, and she always gets really mad if I try to ditch her. But I couldn't stop thinking about how cute you were while I was sitting in class today. I decided it was worth it." He grinned sheepishly before lifting his glass to his lips again.

Dakota felt himself blushing hearing Trent call him cute. "You're really cute too," he whispered shyly.

A warm smile spread across the guy's face. "Don't you want to sit down too?"

Dakota walked around the counter, sitting in the stool next to Trent as they slowly drank their margaritas and started talking about books again. Hot jocks were always nice to look at, but this is what he'd always craved in a guy.

"You know, I was thinking about something else all day too," Trent said as he drained his glass and plunked it down on the counter. "Something I should have done when we left that restaurant." He looked seriously into Dakota's blue eyes, slowly leaning into him as their lips pressed together for the first time.

The kiss was magical, goosebumps sticking up all over Dakota's body as the boys almost immediately started to slide their tongues passionately together. Their hands were all over each other as the pair hungrily made out, Trent brave enough to grab the bulge that had sprung up in Dakota's shorts as he desperately tried to suck the life out of him with his mouth. When they finally breathlessly withdrew from each other, their faces both slicked with spit, Dakota knew he needed more. "Hey, you want to see my room?"

Trent's eyes were radiant hearing the invitation, his hand still on Dakota's bulge as he gripped it hard. "Yeah, I'd love to go take a look!"

The boys started to strip naked as soon as Dakota's door was shut, kissing excitedly and grinding their bodies together for two solid hours. Trent was intent on taking things slowly, unwilling to even venture into oral since they'd just met, but Dakota respected that, content just stroking the guy's seven inches. He was amazed that their penises were almost identical as they traded between jerking each other off and masturbating together. They finally came lying next to each other, their mouths locked together kissing, their warm flesh touching from their faces down to their feet. The boys didn't bother cleaning up, spending another thirty minutes ravenously making out. This time Trent was on top of Dakota, their cum-slicked torsos smashing together, their hands and cocks frequently brushing. They busted in unison again, splattering their loads all over each other as Trent collapsed panting into Dakota, all their warm jizz pooling together.

Dakota was already convinced he wanted to date Trent. He'd never spent that much time simply kissing and jerking off with guy, but the experience was so intensely intimate, easily better than some of the occasions he'd actually had sex. He fantasized constantly about how amazing the fucking would be. They crossed that plateau two weeks later, Trent throwing Dakota's legs up in the air after thirty minutes of making out, his hard dick pressed between Dakota's cheeks. "I want to fuck you tonight," he growled intensely, gazing hungrily into Dakota's eyes as precum eagerly seeped from the head of his dick.

"Fuck me, Trent," Dakota begged. He'd been dreaming of this moment since the night they'd first met.

Trent spit a few generous portions of saliva at his cock, rubbing the tip against Dakota's hole and sliding himself inside. He struggled with the first couple inches, but Dakota was so worked up and desperate for the fuck that his insides quickly and easily gave way, Trent burying his whole shaft. He fucked slowly at first, gently kissing Dakota as his pace accelerated, until he was plowing the younger guy like a beast, his hands all over him. After a solid hour of reaming Dakota in every possible position, Trent's whole body drenched in sweat, they were back in missionary, his hands on Dakota's hips as he finally started yelling loudly. His dick was planted to the hilt as he climaxed, Trent's face contorting wildly as he fired seemingly endless bursts of seed deep into Dakota's ass. Kissing again, Trent's sweat bountifully dripping down onto Dakota's body as their eyes bored into each other, they decided they were officially boyfriends.

That first time was everything Dakota had imagined it would be, but it proved one of the best times too. Trent was the outgoing one of the pair, a guy with tons of friends who always projected confidence and could easily have plans every night of the week. As the boys grew closer and Dakota spent more time with his new boyfriend, he realized it was all a facade. Trent was deeply insecure, intensely jealous whenever he believed he wasn't the best at something. The list had gotten long: Dakota had better grades, a supposedly more ideal body, an apparently slightly bigger dick even though Trent was taller. He'd read more books and always wrote better essays; his SAT scores were higher and the university had given him a bigger scholarship. Everything in their lives was suddenly a competition even though Dakota didn't care at all about supposedly being on top. He was always telling Trent that none of it mattered.

When the boys went places together, Trent was inevitably convinced that more people were staring at his boyfriend, never hesitating to complain about it. They stopped going to the gay bar because too many people were hitting on Dakota instead of Trent. They stopped going to parties as often because Trent worried his friends liked Dakota better than they liked him. The man was constantly threatened, no amount of reassurance ever sufficient to convince him that he was good enough. They'd fucked often in the beginning, even if the sex had rarely matched their first time, but as Trent's inadequacies mounted intimacy receded too, until the couple had reached the point where it completely stopped.

Sitting in the car thinking back on everything, Dakota felt like an idiot for staying this long. What the fuck had he been afraid of giving up? The cute boy who'd uttered sweet words, who'd kissed Dakota passionately and always touched him lovingly, who'd eagerly fucked his brains out, he was a deceptive veneer. The real Trent was the resentful, controlling, jealous man sitting in the driver's seat right now. He wasn't the person Dakota had fallen in love with. That charming boy was a ghost.

Looking over at Trent, his eyes fixed on the road ahead, Dakota finally admitted to himself that their relationship was doomed. He gazed back out the window, long since rolled up to meet his boyfriend's insistent demands, into the liberty stretching bountifully beyond the cage. That was where he belonged, out roaming the blissful freedom away from Trent, not imprisoned here mourning for and terrified to walk away from a long-dead husk.

The boys hiked from their hotel to Jackson Square on their first morning in New Orleans, eating beignets at a cafe before they wandered through the park up to the magnificent cathedral fronting the square. Trent was taking pictures of it for some obscure art project he'd mumbled about envisioning when the front doors were suddenly thrown open, a bride and groom stepping out with ornate black and white feathered umbrellas in hand, pumping them up and down as a whole jazz band proceeded to march out and play loudly behind them. Dozens of well-dressed people streamed out of the church, waving white cloths up into the air in unison.

"Wow!" Trent said like he'd struck gold. "This is amazing!" He was eagerly recording the whole procession, panning his phone back and forth as more people poured out from the church, the brassy notes of the band following behind the happy couple gradually growing quieter. "I already love this city!" He looked at Dakota as he holstered his phone. "If we ever get married, that's exactly how we should do it."

How delusional was the guy? Dakota struggled to hide that he was gritting his teeth. "Yeah, that was so cool!" he offered, feigning as much enthusiasm as he could. If he wasn't so worried about ruining the whole vacation, he would have announced right there that they definitely weren't ever getting married.

Trent had packed their schedule, presumably because having something to do would keep them from fighting. They ate shrimp po' boys for lunch, taking an architectural tour of the French Quarter and then immediately wandering somewhere else for a voodoo tour that ended at a temple. The strange place was filled with candles and stacked with offerings, cash and coins littered everywhere. The guide had warned them all that the priestess was eccentric, the woman launching into a meandering lecture as the varied group of people settled into chairs in the temple's courtyard. She cackled, telling everyone assembled that they'd all been products of the lustful meetings between men and women, perhaps with the assistance of Viagra or Cialis. The woman wandered into a speech about how God doesn't deign to interfere with any person's life. Spirits shape everything, she pronounced, interceding when people invoke them with music and dance.

Dakota didn't know anything about voodoo, barely following the disjointed words the priestess had spoken, but he liked the idea that God didn't care about his choices. He also found himself more excited than ever about their planned trek to a pair of neighboring gay bars on Bourbon Street that night. They hadn't been to a gay bar in more than a year, Dakota certain that Trent was only permitting the outing because the places would be filled with strangers they'd never see again. Maybe he'd commune with the spirits as music emphatically pulsed through the air, as dozens of gay men energetically danced together. Maybe the spirits would intercede on his behalf and grant him the courage to finally change his life forever.

The last tour Trent had scheduled before dinner took the couple to one of New Orleans' famous above-ground cemeteries, a fitting locale given the state of things between them. Walking through the gates, the place was surreal, a huge maze of stone and brick crypts that were packed tightly together. Some of the structures were obscenely elaborate and well-maintained, hewn from gleaming white marble, others appearing ancient and blackened, some of them literally crumbling. They were all graves, whatever they looked like now. Passing through the rows of monuments with Trent, Dakota felt like he was burying their relationship there. When they were back home and both single people again, deciding who was going to move out of the apartment, Dakota would remember that his two years with Trent were forever interred at St. Louis Cemetery No. 1.

Walking down Bourbon Street with a buzz was everything Dakota had dreamed of hearing stories about the place. They'd pregamed with a bottle of vodka, Trent's go-to liquor, in their hotel room, each taking a few shots before they donned their best outfits and headed out into the night. There were dozens of bars and restaurants as the boys trekked up the blocks exploring, even some strip clubs and adult stores dotting the stretch. All the businesses were set up in old two and three story buildings that were mostly lined with balconies, metal railing rising up from the sides, sometimes in ornate designs that stretched all the way to the roofs. The storefronts were bright and colorfully lit up, an endless sea of neon signs that promised food, alcohol, and even women. Countless drunken conversations all blurred together with the loud music that streamed out the open doors and windows, rowdy crowds thick with intoxicated people freely roaming the streets with cocktails in hand.

"We should get some drinks too!" Trent suggests, leading Dakota into the nearest straight bar. The boys walk in without anyone bothering to check their IDs, stepping straight up to a deserted counter.

A hot bartender wearing a tank top tilts his head toward Trent. "What can I get for you?"

"Two of whatever you're best known for," he orders. He'd always loved to do that when they visited a new place together, eager to sample the unique local fare.

The guy nods, grabbing two disposable cups and effortlessly pouring a few shots of liquor into a cocktail shaker. Dakota couldn't help but stare at his arms, bulging as the bartender reached for other ingredients and emptied them into the shaker, his bicep almost hypnotically quaking as he vigorously rocked the metal canister. Dakota's dick was hardening as he pulled the cap off and emptied the contents between the two glasses, pressing them over.

"What is it?" Trent asks over the thumping music, sticking out his credit card.

"Hurricanes!" the guy announces with a grin, turning around to the cash register.

Watching him slide the card, Dakota can see he has huge triceps too. He knows this gorgeous man's job is to flirt with horny women and keep them drinking. The gay bars were likely to be filled with even more intense temptations, beautiful lures that would actually be available. The bartender smiles at Dakota as he walks back over and pushes the receipt across the counter, clearly willing to flirt with anyone who might stay. He could already imagine Trent screaming at him for staring too long at a man who might actually be willing to take him home. Maybe venturing farther up the street is a terrible idea.

"Thanks!" Trent says as he signs the receipt, lifting a cup into Dakota's hand. "Come on, let's get back out there!"

"What's in it?" Dakota asks as they resume their journey, pressing back into the raucous scene on the street.

"I don't even know." Trent takes a sip. "It's good, though! Fruity! Try it, you'll like it!"

For a brief moment the evening looks promising, Trent having seemed genuinely cheerful all day. Dakota knows that won't last, still certain that their relationship was sealed forever in that cemetery.

As the boys finally approach the gay bars, they pass a detachment of New Orleans police officers stationed between bollards at one of the intersections, one of the men sitting up on a horse. Dakota couldn't believe he was walking right past them with a cup full of liquor like it was no big deal, innocently taking another sip.

"I think we're here!" Trent says excitedly, pointing up to gay pride flags hanging from a balcony. He smiles at Dakota. "Guess we better start chugging!"

They polish off their drinks, dropping the cups into a trash can outside the bar's entrance as they walk inside. The place is almost completely empty, the boys wandering through a series of abandoned dance floors. "I don't think anyone is drunk enough to be here yet," Dakota yells into Trent's ear over the blaring music. "Maybe we should try the other place?"

"Yeah," he agrees, sounding disappointed.

They exit the first bar, ambling across the street to the second, a few people lined up at the door. This place definitely seems more promising. "Look at you!" a thin older guy greets Dakota excitedly at the entrance without ever bothering to check his ID. The old man pats him down, his hands shamelessly gripping the globes of Dakota's ass. Trying to hand over the cover that was posted on the sign out front, the man shoves the bills away. "You're way too hot to pay, sweetheart," he pronounces, letting Dakota pass through the open door.

He stops and turns around to wait for Trent, watching the old man feel his boyfriend up in exactly the same way, running his hands over Trent's hips and digging them into Trent's ass. His boyfriend tries to step past like Dakota had, but the bouncer shoves his hands in front of Trent's chest. "It's ten bucks, son," he demands.

Dakota already knows he would be paying for that all night, as Trent presses the money into the old man's hands. He wishes he could have paid the cover. As soon as they're in the bar together, the mood shifts completely and Trent's bitching resumes.

"You get in for free but I don't?" Trent complains immediately, shouting irately over the music. "Seriously?"

"I didn't ask to get in for free!" Dakota yells back, grabbing Trent's hips to pull him close. "Let's just have fun!"

His boyfriend scoffs, prying Dakota's hands off. "Yeah, you never ask for anything, but you always fucking get it. And what does that make me? The ugly one? I'm the one who has to pay?"

Dakota tries to grab Trent again, but he flings his hands away. "I need attention from someone else right now," he insists. "I'm hot too, god damn it. And I don't want us looking like we're together."

Dakota had been waiting for the competitive, jealous Trent to resurface all day, and here he finally is, alive and well. "Then go flirt with some other guys," he dismisses, quickly stepping away from Trent and starting to press through the crowd to reach the stairs that lead up to the second floor of the bar. He attracts glances instantly as he works his way toward the stairs, though most of the attention in the room is focused on two beautiful twinks dancing seductively on top of one of the bars, one wearing a jock and the other a thong. Men are enthusiastically sliding bills beneath the skimpy straps of their underwear, grazing their hands against the dancers' hairless skin as strobe lights flash against their bodies, the boys smiling appreciatively and blowing kisses. Dakota halts his advance for a few moments, mesmerized by the sight, but then he remembers he's supposed to be storming away, finally stomping up the staircase.

The second floor is much less crowded, no barely clothed twinks there for the other patrons to ogle. Dakota easily walks up to the bar and orders a margarita, the same drink he'd made for Trent on the day they'd met. He slurps three of them down quickly, ignoring every guy who looks at him since he wasn't on the same obsessive quest as Trent. Seeing doors opened to the balconies they'd sighted on the street, he wanders toward the wall, stepping out into the humid night air.

The space is strangely deserted, as quiet as it could be with thumping music drifting out the balcony doors, maybe because it's 85 degrees outside right now. Dakota notices one guy eyeing him as he approaches the railing, not bothering to look over as he surveys the animated street below. Wondering if Trent is getting the attention he craved, Dakota gazes back at the stranger who'd checked him out, finding the guy staring again before he shifts his vision to the street. He repeats the gesture a few more times, their glances always catching. The guy smiles at Dakota during a final meeting, starting to walk away before he doubles back.

"You're really cute, you know," he offers, a gleam in his eyes.

"Thanks," Dakota mutters, resisting the urge to ignore him. He looks at the busy street again before he turns his head to examine the stranger, actually taking him in for the first time. The guy is Dakota's height, 5'10", but he's definitely better built, muscles sticking out from his shirt. His blond hair is neatly swept across his head, his green eyes peering into Dakota's. "So are you," he says back. Maybe the spirits the voodoo priestess mentioned earlier had finally descended on the bar and deigned to intercede in his life.

The guy smiles widely, flashing perfect white teeth. "You're not having any luck tonight either? I can't believe that's true."

Dakota huffs, scanning the drunk people wandering below before he looks back over. "I'm here with my boyfriend," he admits.

"Got it, sorry," the stranger mutters, turning away and starting to walk inside.

"He's being a fucking dick tonight," Dakota calls to his back.

He stops instantly and retraces his steps, positioning himself mere inches beside Dakota on the balcony. "Why's that? What's going on?"

Dakota stares back into the street. "The door guy let me in for free but made him pay," he explains, words freely flowing out of his mouth now that he's tipsy. "So that asshole insisted I leave him alone, because now he's desperate for other guys to hit on him and stroke his ego. I left him downstairs and came up here."

The stranger chuckles. "You guys must be visiting. Kenny is forever getting people into trouble. He probably did it on purpose when he saw you two together, you know."

Dakota knows the guy must be a local. "Does he feel everyone up like that when they walk in? His hands were all over my ass!"

"Only the hot ones," he says with a smirk.

Dakota had watched the bouncer touch Trent exactly the same way, but he knew his boyfriend wouldn't believe him. "He won't care even if I tell him that. I think he just wants the attention."

The guy clicks his tongue. "You guys aren't doing too well right now, are you?" he asks, seeming to instantly perceive everything about Dakota and Trent's fracturing relationship.

Dakota looks at his face and sighs. "Not really, no. Not for a long time now."

"What's your name?" the stranger asks. "I'm Evan."

"Dakota," he answers flatly.

"How old are you, Dakota?"

"22."

Evan nods his head. "Well, I'm 28, so I've been in that situation a few times now. Is he your first boyfriend?"

Dakota couldn't believe the guy was 28. He could still pass for an undergrad. "My only boyfriend so far."

"You scared you won't be able to do any better if you leave him?"

He nods his head meekly. That's exactly why he'd been holding back on letting go.

Evan gestures to all the gay men walking up to the bars on either side of the street. "There are so many other guys out there. Don't waste your time if you're unhappy. You'll regret it. I always did."

Dakota feels the stranger suddenly grab his hand, their eyes meeting, passion in his glance as the guy grips him tightly, reassuringly. Knowing that Trent could appear in the open doorway behind them at any moment is terrifying, but he still doesn't want to loose Evan's fingers and pull his palm away. Dakota feels genuinely wanted for the first time in months.

"Hey, can I kiss you right now?" Evan whispers.

"Um...uh," Dakota hesitates, picturing Trent walking up upon that sight at any second. But he wants the kiss more than anything.

The guy laughs, letting him go. "Sorry, I'd regret it all night if I didn't ask."

"No, I really want you to, actually," Dakota says like he's begging for it.

While both of them are looking out over Bourbon Street, Evan reaches a hand behind Dakota's head, slowly drawing their lips together until they gently unite. An ecstatic grin bursts across Dakota's eager face, the peck making his entire body tingle. The brief, simple touch is more stirring than anything Trent could have possibly mustered within him at that moment.

The stranger shakes his head with their faces still close, their noses scraping together. "He doesn't even kiss you, does he?" he breathes right against Dakota's lips. "But I will." Evan presses into Dakota again, their lips smacking together more and more loudly, softly sucking against each other as they hungrily kiss.

Feeling Evan on his skin is heaven, Dakota's heart pounding wildly as they frantically kiss. The risk of getting caught evaporates as wonderful sensations surge through him. This is what kissing a man is supposed to feel like! This is what he'd craved for months despite Trent's cruel and inexplicable denials. Dakota digs his tongue across Evan's lip, grunting as he feels the guy's tongue dart out and flex against his. He drives deeper into Evan, burying himself in the stranger's mouth, feeling his random partner's tongue ardently fluttering against his as they ravage each other lustfully. They make out intensely for only a minute, but Dakota could easily believe their tongues had blissfully danced together for ten.

"I don't want you getting in trouble because of me," Evan says as he breaks away, wiping their saliva off his lips with the back of his hand. "But I hope that helps you more than anything I could have said tonight."

Dakota looks at Evan pleadingly, desperate to feel that passion reverberating through his being again.

"You'll be so much happier if you let go and move on," the guy continues. "You just showed me that. And you deserve it!"

He can't hold himself back, lunging toward the stranger only to be stopped by Evan's hands pushing against his chest. Even that refusing touch is electric, the guy's fingers innocuously pressing against Dakota's nipples through the fabric of his shirt. "Please kiss me again," he begs thoughtlessly.

Evan smiles, rapping his fingers against Dakota's body before he draws them away. "You still have a boyfriend right now! I know he's going to come looking for you sooner or later. Go on, go find him! Maybe he's calmed down. Tell him Kenny's a jerk."

Dakota knew Evan wasn't going to relent. He'd only offered the kiss to help him realize the truth about the situation with Trent. The guy wasn't trying to take him home. "Thanks," he says shyly, reluctantly starting to walk away.

"You're an amazing kisser, by the way!" Evan shouts from behind. "You already made my night!"