Brett (Boys & Toys Season 2 2)

And I’m right in the sweaty middle of it. If you zoom in really close, like a super gay Where’s Waldo illustration, you’ll see my plastered face as I laugh and bounce and sweat my ass off on the floor.

Just another Saturday night for Big Bro Brett.

Fast forward an hour of who-knows-what, and I’m pissing my brains out in a bathroom that has urinals that look like upside-down igloos.

I hope it’s actually the igloo I’m peeing into.

Also, everything I see, I’m seeing two of.

I have no idea how it happens, but before I can blink again, I’m strutting down the street among a group of at least twelve shirtless bears, twinks, and a fifty-something in a top hat. I don’t know any of them, even though they all seem to know me from my “epic parties”, and it doesn’t faze me. Anyone I pass on the street, I high five like a best friend. Isn’t this what my life’s all about? Look at how not-alone I am! Somehow, a hotdog ends up in my hand, which makes me laugh, and I’m chomping it down while one of the twinks I’m with cracks jokes to me, all of which apparently fly over my head.

Then I’m on a barstool at Aubergines, and I have no idea how I got back here, but Lex and Omar are on either side of me, and I have a feeling I just got a lecture about something I was supposed to be paying attention to.

And against all logic and reason, and despite my somewhat inebriated state of mind, I spot a suspicious figure by the dark curtain leading to the backstage. He isn’t anyone I recognize. And after a moment of uncertain peeping over his shoulder, the figure slips past the curtain.

All of my protective instincts are triggered.

“Uh, where you going?” Lex calls at my back.

I cut through the crowd, bump into a table (causing some dude to shout, “Hey! Watch it!”), and slip past the dark curtain.

It’s so dark back here, I almost walk straight into a black-painted brick wall. Squinting in the darkness, I feel my way toward the narrow hallway leading to the performers’ dressing room. “Where the hell are the damned bouncers or whoever?” I mutter at one of the dancers walking by, who gives a roll of his eyes as he moves along.

Before realizing it, I’ve pushed my way into the dancers’ dressing room. It’s surprisingly bright. A long mirror runs down one wall with lockers and rows of costumes lining the other wall. The room is empty, since most of the dancers are on the stage performing right now. Somehow, my eyes aren’t blurry and I’m not staggering anymore; some kind of superhuman focus has taken control of me, and my heart is racing with a fight-or-flight response.

Past the rows of costumes, I find a nook where the room bends, opening up to a small shower and bathroom area. It’s there that I find a strange guy with a backpack propped up on one of the sinks.

The backpack is open. He’s rummaging.

“Who the fuck are you?” I exclaim.

The man jumps out of his skin, then falls right back into it and stares at me, his eyes as big as his face. “I w-was just—” He drops the whole backpack, its balance on the sink lost, and all the contents spill to the tile. “Fuck! I, uh … I was …”

My eyes drop to his hands.

He’s holding two silvery thongs.

Yes, even in my state of mind, I am very well capable of deducing a few things. “Are you stalking Zak? Wait. Is that his backpack? Are you going through his things, you fucking weirdo?”

“No! I-I mean—” He gulps. The thongs—which look like Christmas ornaments—are visibly shaking in his hands, shimmering. “I’m a f-f-friend of his.”

“Yeah? You’re Zak’s friend, are you?” I come right up to him so fast, he literally yelps out like I just spanked him. “Prove it then. Tell me what his real name is, Mr. ‘Zak’s Friend’.”

He drops the thongs. “R-Real name??”

“What’s Zak’s real name??”

The man might have already shat his pants. I should be careful not to make that an unpleasant reality for us both.

Also, I hope the guy doesn’t call my bluff.

Because even I don’t know Zak’s real name.

“I’m sorry,” he quietly whimpers, giving up his whole Zak’s-friend charade. “I just … He just …”

“Well, c’mon, then. Tell me. What the hell are you hoping to achieve back here? Steal some of Zak’s used undies?”

“Maybe. N-No. Yes. No. Yes.”

“That’s it, huh?” I scoff at him, disgusted on behalf of Zak, whose actual name I suddenly very much want to know. “Fetch yourself a possession that belongs to the guy you’re obsessed with? Press it to your face and sniff it next time you wank off in your lonely little fifth-floor apartment? Recall the days you guys were in the same frat, and kick your own ass for every time you could’ve had fun with him, but instead let it all slip through your fingers?”