Hey, you're straight, right?

By Derek Williams - derek.williams.comments@hotmail.com
published November 28, 2018
3408 words

Blake just came out. Straight bro’s Tucker and Jeff take him to his first gay bar.

When my buddy Blake finally came out of the closet, it’s not like anyone was surprised. He’d always been a little - y’know? Kinda a queer? Is that offensive to say?

I don’t mean nothing by it. Blake’s a stand up bro and that’s all that really matters to me. He’s always got your back, is always down for doing some stupid shit if it sounds fun. You need a buddy, you call Blake. But he also buys his polo shirts like two sizes too tight. And I’ve seen him zone out and check out our frat president at a kegger. And he’s got abs.

So when he finally sat the Frat down and said ‘Mom, Dad, I’m gay,” we broke the silence within like 30 seconds, 45 tops. And then it was all cheering and clapping and shaking hands with a safe distance.

And for like four days, nothing weird happened, even though we had this out gay dude around. Blake just kept being a total stand up bro.

So on Friday afternoon, when we were on our way back from the gym, it wasn’t like I could say no. “Jeff,” he said. “I want to go out and hook up… but I’m super scared to go to a gay bar alone. Like I don’t want to be some loser sitting alone at his table.”

A couple hours later, he roped Tucker into the gay field trip too. The three of us were going to head over to this bar called “Neverland” about ten. I was cool with that - I definitely needed time to pre-drink if I was gonna be there for Blake.


Look, you know where this is going, so I’m going to take a few minutes to describe the three of us. Let’s start with Blake, since he’s the dude who was supposed to be getting his sweet ass grabbed.

He’s a pretty good looking guy. Short curly brown hair and green eyes. Active. Likes the gym. Care a lot about his core lifts - dude squats pretty damn heavy, and til we went to that bar, I never even thought why. His ass was actually pushing pretty hard against his khakis, and I noticed that the pair he picked kinda made his junk stand out too. Add that to a white polo shirt that might have been cutting off his circulation and Blake was ready to go.

Tucker was sort of the other end of our frat. Smart. On the skinny side, and with a boring personality to match. But he got everyone through our academics, and he was always there for his brothers. When Blake asked me on this bar thing, I probably hesitated for a sec. Tucker wouldn’t have hesitated. He’d just thrown on some jeans and a hoodie and his good converse and he was there.

I don’t want to neg on my bros, but Tucker seriously needed to remember he was 22. His blond hair was shaggy and messy like he was still some froshie who never figured out that ladies like a man who showers.

Me? I shower. And I get haircuts. My red hair is buzzed short. I think it makes me look tougher. And since I’m only 5’5”, I need all the tougher I can get. That’s why I lift so heavy at the gym and why I’m always wearing fitted T’s. I want the guys to respect me, and the ladies to want me. Tonight I’d gone with a black T and stonewashed jeans. This chick I know told me that the combo makes my upper body look way jacked.


The bar looked… y’know, I don’t know what I expected. It was a bar. The lights were low. There was a stage that looked neglected. The drink prices were shockingly reasonable - at least for cocktails. Somehow ‘I’ll have a beer’ cost me ten bucks.

And the place was full. Guys. Girls. Everyone. Most of the guys were pretty clearly… they were like Blake. Looking for someone to take home. And the girls, they were looking too. I didn’t really see myself having luck with anyone.

Luckily there was this bridal party. Like four girls, one wearing a tiara, all of them wearing costume angel wings. They were laughing and having fun, and a couple of the ‘regulars’ had even sent them a drink or two, but they weren’t the centre of attention. Unless you had my radar for women who were dtf… I counted two, plus the bride.

Within ten minutes of arriving, I had a drink in my hand and was making smiles at the bridal party. Tucker was talking Blake up to some dude. And Blake was looking fucking terrified.


The lights flashed on and off, like it was the end of the night and they were clearing out the coatcheck. I pulled out my phone and checked the time - it was only like 10:30. No way this place was going to close down already. Do gay bars have to close early or something? I thought they got marriage and everything…

I might have been confused, but the crowd seemed to know what was going on. They quieted down. Stopped dancing. Oriented themselves towards the stage.

“Attention BEAUTIFUL PEOPLE,” called a Queen from the stage. “I have an ANNOUNCEMENT!”

“THIS,” she said, “IS A GAY BAR!”

I glanced over a Blake. Was this like singing the national anthem at a ball game or something? He just shrugged. Poor dude barely knew any more about this than me.


The room laughed. I saw a couple of dudes by the bar blush and put down their drinks. Those guys were just here to hit on girls with the guard down. Fuck ‘em, I was here for my buddy and I was gonna stick around. It’s not like you can just tell when someones straight.

After a few moments, the Queen pulled a magic wand out of nowhere.

“You were warned,” she said softly. And then she cast her spell.

Glitter flew out of her fucking want, aimed all over the audience. But instead of getting everywhere, her glitter was targeted like a smart bomb. It flew straight for me and Tucker, basically covering our heads and shoulders, like someone had dumped a whole bucket of the stuff on each of us. And that bridal shower in the back was totally drenched in it.

“THIS IS A SAFE SPACE,” shouted the Queen, twirling off the stage.

And then like it never happened, the lights dimmed back down and the music started back up. A half dozen people covered in rainbow glitter, but nothing that ten or twelve showers wouldn’t fix.

At least I didn’t have to worry about gay dudes hitting on me. It looked like I was marked as straight.


“Hey, you’re straight, right?” this guy floated into my field of view. He was young, kinda skinny, and totally primped. This dude didn’t need rainbow glitter showered on him - he looked like he’d probably sweat the stuff if he ever bothered to lift.

“What gave it away?” I asked, raising my beer glass to show it off. I was trying to be a good sport. Really.

He laughed, or maybe giggled, if you want to be a little less charitable.

“So, like, what kind of drink would you have gotten if you were gay?” he asked me.

Shit. I didn’t know. Gay dudes like those fruity cocktails, right?

“Uuuh… an apple…thingy?” I said.

“Mmmmmmm…” he said. “I love Appletini’s.” The guy reached out and touched my arm just below the elbow.

“Yeah,” I said, taking another sip of mine. “They’re goddamn delicious.”

We chatted another minute before the young guy moved on. The whole time I was sipping, trying to wash the weird taste of beer out of my mouth. Man, I hated that shit.


“Hey, you’re straight, right?” I heard again. Popular question tonight. This time it was coming from a pretty big guy. Hairy, wearing a half buttoned flannel shirt, the dude looked like he was trying to be a lumberjack for some gay calendar.

“Yeah,” I said. “It’s funny - that’s the second time I’ve been asked that tonight.”

The lumberjack gave a big smile. I liked the way he seemed so open and honest.

“So, I gotta ask man,” he said to me, “do you think you’d work out more if you were gay?”

Yeah, right. I worked out plenty. Four gym sessions a week, and sure, I wasn’t cut like Blake, but I could bench a full plate more than him. Gay dudes are fuckin’ obsessed with showing off their perfect muscles, no room for good old fashioned strength.

“No way bro,” I said, “I uh… I mean, like I guess I’d probably work out different. I’d be way less into powerlifting, and be all about getting cut muscles to show off. Like you’d be able to eat off my abs.”

“I love it when a guy takes care of himself,” the lumberjack said, leaning in close.

“Thanks bro,” I said. “I work hard for this shit.” I ran my hand down and pulled up my t-shirt so he could see my six-pack under a dusting of hair. It looked perfect, sitting under the overbuilt shelf of my pecs.

“It’s really too bad you’re straight,” he said.


While I was answering questions about my sexuality over and over again, it seemed like Tucker was doing the same. Despite being covered in the glitter marking him as straight, Tucker’s overstyled surfer hair and meticulous grooming was making him a hit with all the other guys in the room.

Blake, on the other hand, was being ignored. I felt bad for the guy. Here we were at his first gay bar, and his two straight buddies were getting all the attention. And worse, he was freaking out a bit. Telling me that Tucker and I were changing somehow. Fuckin’ ridiculous.


“Hey, you’re straight, right?”

This time it was a guy coming right off the dance floor. Tight jeans, expensive shoes, flowers printed on a muscle shirt that he wasn’t really qualified to wear. He had beads of sweat along his forehead, clearly enjoying the pounding pop music.

“That’s right,” I said. “How about you?”

He laughed. “What do you think?” he said, sweeping a hand up and down his body.

“I think you’re a better dancer than me,” I joked.

“Would you get out there and dance if you were gay?” he asked with a gleam in his eye.

I looked at the dance floor. The gay dudes out there seemed to have no trouble getting out of their comfort zone and throwing down some moves. And I don’t know why - probably because they were getting out there - but most of them were actually really good dancers.

“Haha, yeah, I guess I’d be tearing up the dance floor,” I said.

“It’s so much fun to dance,” said the guy in the flower printed shirt.

“Enough talking about it, I love this song,” I said, dragging him out onto the floor.

We dirty danced for a good half hour before I headed back to the bar for another cocktail. I’m not gay or nothin’, but Kevin turned out to be a really fun dance partner.


“Hey, you’re straight, right?” asked the bartender. He was this shirtless bro with really great pecs. Almost as good as mine. I was surprised he wanted to talk - his bar was fucking swarmed with dudes looking for their next drink.

“Do I look straight?” I asked. Rhetorical question, but you could see him thinking about the answer.

“In that outfit hon, yeah, you do,” the bartender replied. He was mixing my drink, and his triceps looked great doing it. I had to hit him up for his workout routine.

“Do you think you’d dress different if you were gay?” he asked, before I could get into gym talk.

No duh, right? Of course gay dudes dress different from straight dudes. They’re all into showing off and making themselves the centre of attention and everything. I mean, here I was in jeans and a T, just a typical straight dude, waiting for my Appletini to refresh myself after an epic dance session. Meanwhile, Blake was over at the side of the dance floor, uncomfortably sipping his beer in clothes that were obviously meant to show off his rockin’ bod.

“Hell yeah,” I said. “I’d be all about getting people to look at me. I mean, bro, have you seen my body? If I was gay, I’d want dudes to be all over it!”

“That’s sweet,” the bartender said, handing me my drink. “I love it when the guys in here dress to be seen. And you’re certainly…”

I looked down at my cut off jean shorts that barely covered my whaletail and the neon yellow tank top that hugged my torso and almost made it over my abs. I was so happy the bartender liked it - just cause I’m straight doesn’t mean I can’t dress up when I hit the bars.


I glanced back from the bar and made sure I was checking in on Tucker and Blake. Tucker was totally in his element - dancing up a storm and being the life of the party like usual. His tight tank top looked like it had been painted on over his thick pecs, and his rounded ass was clearly visible under a pair of shorts that didn’t leave much to the imagination.

Blake - I almost lost track of Blake. He was over by the stage, talking to the drag queen who had tossed sparkles on us. He’s such a good bro, and I was sure he was reading her the riot act.


“Hey, you’re straight, right?”

The words came from an older man sitting at the end of the bar. He looked to be somewhere in his fifties or sixties, but I got the feeling he got just as much gym time in as I did.

I indicated the glitter that was spilling down my tank top and onto my abs. I looked like fuckin’ butch Liberace with all the sparkles I had sticking to me. Though, thankfully, the rainbow glitter was starting to fade away. I looked way less ‘marked’ than I did before.

“You could say that,” I said.

“Would you say that?” he shot back.

“Yeah,” I chucked. “Yeah bro, I’m straight.”

“Do you think you’d talk different if you were gay?” he asked.

I thought about the gay dudes I knew. Blake didn’t really talk any different. And Jay in my Physics class didn’t. But all those queers on TV who seemed forced into every fucking movie and show…

“Oh hell yea girl,” I said. “I’d be all about that thang,” I said in my high pitched valley accent.

“That’s great,” said the old guy at the end of the bar. “I like it when a boy speaks our language.”

“Like oh my god,” I said, “It’d be so like… DISRESPECTFUL not to babe.”


“Hey, you’re straight, right?”

I turned and found myself facing a drag queen. She was done up like Brittany, and she was pulling it off.

“WORK IT GIRL!” was the first thing that popped out of my mouth. Then I followed up with “Yeah, I’m straight as they come!”

“Here’s a question,” she asked. “Do you think you’d groom your hair different if you were gay?”

Now, I’ve always been a buzzcut kinda guy, but she was right. If I was gay, I’d go all out. I’d always have a fresh cut. Probably a platinum blond fade - gay dudes loved to be blonds. Made them look like total airheads, but you gotta respect the choice.

“Mmmmm…” I said. “I’d totally want a platinum blond fade. I’d look fuckin’ fierce!”

“And your body hair?” she asked.

Oh man, I never even thought about my body hair. I guess…

“I guess I’d get it all waxed. Maybe lasered… like what do you think?” I heard myself say.

“I’d laser it,” she said. “I love a boy who’s ready to look good,”

“Thanks,” I said, rubbing my hand down my smooth abs.


Tucker was always such a slut when we went out to a gay bar. I mean, the dude’s straight, but he loves a good makeout session. My eyes went wide when I realized that he was making out with Blake of all people. It probably didn’t really count as Blake’s first gay kiss, Tucker being straight and all, but it was certainly good training from the looks of it.

If Tucker wasn’t straight, I expect he’d be letting Blake fuck him any second.


“Hey, you’re straight, right?”

I had gone up to the bar for another Appletini and a middle-aged guy with a beer had asked me the question.

“Haha, yeah girl,” I said. “What’s the score?”

“4-3,” he said. I liked this guy. I could see him hanging out with my Dad, watching the game in the basement with a couple of beers.

“Damn bitch, Philly needs to get their shit together,” I said.

“Do you think you’d care about the score if you were gay?” he asked.

Weird question. What was the point of watching if you didn’t care about the score? But then again… I mean, it was a TV showing tight shots of world class athletes wearing revealing clothing. If I was gay… yeah, I bet I’d still be a fan, but more of a fan of the players asses than anything.

“No way,” I said, running my hand over my hair and making sure it was still perfectly in place. “Why bother with the score? Check out that ass,” I motioned at the player on screen.

“Yeah, that’s right,” said the middle aged man. “I love when a guy really understands sports.”

“I’m like, in love with watching David Pocock run…” I said, lost in the game.


“Hey, you’re straight, right?”

The question came from this twenty-something dude who clearly knew where his gym was. He was wearing these tight jeans, a fitted muscle shirt, and a backwards ball cap, and just from looking at his arms I could tell that he played… something. Not like it mattered what. I could stare at him all day.

“I said hey, you’re straight, right?” he asked again.

“Huh? Yeah honey, I’m totally straight.”

I was thinking about how well built his chest was when he said the next thing.

“Huh?” I said.

“I said, do you think you’d want my dick if you were gay?”

What a stupid fucking question. Gay dudes love dick. They fuckin dream about it. There’s no way that a guy like me would be anything more than a dick obsessed whore… if I was gay.”

“Uh, like duh girl,” I said, reaching out and grabbing his package through those tight jeans. “I’d be a dick obsessed whore!”

I let myself be guided out to the dance floor, and we started feeling each others muscled bodies up.

We’d been dancing for a couple of minutes, and I was really enjoying the way that his hands were running across my pecs and down my abs. “Hey, you’re straight, right?” he shouted in my ear.

“Like, OH EM GEE honey, why would you even think that?” I squealed.

He grinned and moved in even closer. I could feel his thick dick rubbing me through his pants as he ground our junk together.

“I just thought I saw some rainbow glitter on you,” he said. “And you know what they do to straight guys here!”

“There aren’t any straight guys here,” I rolled my eyes and leaned in for a kiss. “This is a GAY BAR!”

Mind control
Wanking material
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