Date: Mon, 13 Sep 2004 01:15:15 EDT
From: TragicRabbit11@aol.com
Subject: Queer City

Michael stood at the bus stop, watching the gray city chickens gather up
the crumbs he threw down from his cold Big Mac.  They clustered, clucking,
around one large hunk of bread, fighting each other in their efforts to
tear off the largest piece.  Finally, one large bird, a dappled male with
bedraggled wings, simply picked up what was left and flew off to sit in the
rain gutter along the upper edge of a nearby doughnut shop; leaving the
rest to chitter their disappointment and wander the spot where it had
been. Michael gave the victor a thumbs-up of approval. Sometimes, the
direct approach was best.

He looked again at the bus schedule under the glass.  Definitely late.
He'd have to take another bus if this one didn't show soon.  He hesitated,
then closed his eyes and Pushed, gently.

**Bright yellow bus, cool seats covered in blue velour, the chatter of
voices, a forward motion; he was on it, seated, his newspaper folded across
his lap.**

Okay, fine.  It was nearly here, he could wait a little longer without
missing his connection.  He felt a twinge of guilt for using it like this
but he had places to go.  It wasn't as if he'd hurt anyone or taken
advantage; he hadn't, for instance, Pushed into the head of the cute guy
sitting two feet from him and listening to a CD player through fashionably
thin headphones.  Not that it wouldn't be nice to know where he was going,
Michael thought, he could even be headed home and then Michael might see
the address.  The guy might even think of his phone number, stranger things
had happened.

But Michael wasn't in the mood; he didn't have time.  He had to be at the
church by five to set up for evening worship.  And the bus would be here
any second.  He knew because he'd just Pushed ten minutes into time to see
himself on that bus and headed into the District.

He knew because he was one of them.  One of the different ones, the ones
you didn't want your son to grow up to become, the ones you didn't really
want to have move into your neighborhood, despite your claims to
acceptance.  He was part of that ten-percent of the population who had to
be careful, had to keep so much of their lives secreted away from the great
majority.

Michael was Queer.  And some days, that really sucked the big one.

There was disagreement about how things had come to be this way, how the
ten-percent had become more visible and, some said, more numerous.  Back in
the mid-twentieth century, there hadn't been so many or, if they were
there, they'd kept to the shadows.  Gradually, over the decades, their
images had shown up more in films, in books and finally on television.
There were now hit shows that featured some of them and every American
seemed to know at least one.  That didn't mean it was accepted or that it
was something you'd want for your kids.  After all, it was still possible
to lose your job if the boss found out or to be denied service in a nice
restaurant.  Or even a lousy one.  So they were careful, most living lives
with two distinct sides, one where they were normal and blended with the
rest, and living the other only when they could be with others like
themselves and relax.

Michael's church was such a place.  It was the Big Queer Church although
that wasn't what was written on the outside of the building.  And Michael
was looking forward to a relaxing night lost in a crowd of people like
himself.  He fucking needed the break, he told himself.

Teaching high school English wasn't what Michael had thought it would be.
Oh, it wasn't the kids, he could handle the kids.  It was the
self-righteous administrators and thoughtless parents that he'd come to
despise.  And having to hide who he was for eight hours a day drained it
out of him in ways he couldn't always put into words.  He just knew that it
felt good to go to a place where he didn't have to worry about what other
people thought.  A place where he was accepted without question and without
any need for pretense.  Even so, some of the others were a little much at
times.  A little out there.  A little obvious.  Not that he was sure he had
any right to feel that way, for all he knew, he was obvious, too.

He tried not to be, tried not to live such that anyone could tell what he
was, but you just never knew for sure.  All those silly sitcoms and light
magazine articles had their drawbacks.  Other people had more of a clue
what to look for these days, how to recognize when someone was different.
And that wasn't always a good thing in Michael's opinion.  The dangers of
exposure seemed to increase so much faster than the general public
acceptance.  And the new conservative upswing wasn't helping matters any.
That this new American mood claimed to be faith based just made it more
annoying.  He was religious himself and resented other people using God to
justify hate.  His God wasn't like that.

The bus arrived and Michael boarded, flashing his laminated monthly pass.
The bus took off with a belch of exhaust and headed up out of downtown and
into the District.

Michael hated not driving but it just wasn't possible for him.  He had
tried to drive his own car, had done it for years.  But he'd often Push
without meaning to and confuse his senses, his reflexes kicking in for
events on the road that hadn't happened yet, causing accidents.  His ticket
two years ago had been his last in every sense of the word; he just wasn't
going to drive anymore.  The city had a transit system and he wasn't too
proud to use it.  He liked meeting people at the stops, he'd always been a
talker, but he hated the loss of control.  If he wasn't on time, he wanted
it to be his own fault, not because some bus driver was running late.
Still, the alternative was much worse so he endured it, selling his car and
buying the passes every month.  There were worse fates.

The bus was drawing close to the church, street names flashing on the
overhead strip in neon red.  They were now deep in the District, the one
part of the city where you could find a lot more than ten-percent who were
different.  And a lot more bars than elsewhere and a lot more people
wandering the streets with no means of support visible.  Bums did well in
the District and populated its major streets, alongside those street people
who lived in a fantasy world, people no doubt released from some facility
in the conservative-backed funding cuts of the last fifteen years.
Everyone seemed to suffer in this weather, everyone he knew, everyone in
the District, and Michael couldn't wait for the wind to change.

He walked through the glass doors of the cathedral, nodding to the Angels
answering phones in the reception area.  He detoured through the bookstore,
picking up a copy of the local newspaper, the Vox, that carried photos and
articles about people like him, people who didn't always make the regular
paper, people who were different.  After kissing the bookstore attendant, a
tall guy named Scott with a ponytail down his back, Michael entered the
narthex of the church and looked around for the other ushers.

The church was huge on the inside, high arched ceilings with colorful
stained glass windows depicting flowers and butterflies and a few fairies
in attitudes of prayer; and an enormous cross inlaid in the stones behind
the altar.  Singers stood grouped just in front of it, taking a break from
rehearsal, and four musicians lounged around them, wearing black and
fiddling with packs of unfiltered cigarettes.

A tall, slender man with ice blonde highlights in his brown hair sat on the
usher pew along the back wall of the narthex, leaning casually against the
padded seat, his long legs stretched out in front of him.  He looked up and
saw Michael.

"Hey, Mikey, what's up?" he asked.

Michael sat down beside him, tossing the newspaper onto the bench and
taking a deep breath.

"Not much, Flash, the usual." Michael said as he leaned in to kiss the
other man on lightly on the lips. "Bus was late, my job sucks and I don't
have a boyfriend." He smiled as he spoke, watching his friend.

Flash laughed, causing sparks to light up the slim fingertips now touching
Michael's leg.  Michael drew his leg back in consternation.

"Hey, watch that shit! These pants are new." He brushed Flash's hand away,
trying to look annoyed.

"Sorry, I'm a little stressed out, long day; I could use a little, ah,
relaxation." Flash snickered, leaning in for another kiss.

Michael turned his head, avoiding the kiss, and noticed the St. Elmo's fire
playing around Flash's lap.  He grimaced. Michael was always cautious when
Flash was horny.

"No, thanks, I'm not grounded; I'm wearing loafers." protested Michael.
Flash leaned in again, a playful look in his eyes.

Michael evaded the lips, shaking his head with a grin.  Flash laughed and
leaned back, rolling tiny balls of blue fire between his fingertips in mild
frustration.  Michael watched fascinated, as always, by his friend's
unselfconscious displays.

Flash was such a flamer.

"Ready to do setup or you wanna grab some coffee first?" he asked Flash.

Flash made a noncommittal sound; the blue fire dancing in his lap dying
down and disappearing.

"I already had coffee but I'll go with you, Mike. Keep you company."

He nodded and they both stood, Michael looking out across the lobby as he
did so.

Jack was walking in the doors, waving a greeting into the bookstore as he
passed.  Everyone liked Scott, the longhaired bookstore volunteer.  Jack
came towards them, smiling and bouncing lightly as he walked.  As he drew
closer to the usher bench, his shoes started to leave the stone floor just
slightly, he was rising up and coming gently back down onto the balls of
his feet with each step.

Jack was a little light in his loafers, he couldn't help it.  He always
said he felt more at ease at the church, said he didn't worry so much about
acting normal when he got there. So he didn't.  They all felt that way,
really, and Michael fought the urge to Push.  He didn't really need to, he
knew what they would all be doing for the next two hours, before and during
the evening service.  He didn't need to look ahead or in.

Which was good, looking into his friends sometimes gave him a lot more
information than he needed, or even wanted.  Most of them had a lot more
fun than he did, tied to school and papers to grade as he was, and their
timelines could get a little tricky to navigate.  Not that this didn't
offer some perks, now and then, when he Pushed back or forward into some
racy moments but he always felt guilty about it afterwards.  So he tried
not to do it, he really did.  They were his friends, after all.

Michael smiled at Jack as he approached.  Jack wore a gray business suit,
jacket folded over an arm, and his brown eyes sparkled.

"Hi, stud, how're they hangin'?" asked Flash, standing at Michael's
shoulder and batting his green eyes at the newcomer.  Michael rolled his
eyes.  Such a flamer.

Jack grinned at them.

"Low and heavy, same as always." Jack said with a smirk.  Flash put his
arms around Jack and planted a kiss on his lips, sending a flurry of sparks
up between them.  Jack giggled and pushed him away.

"Cut it out, Flash, my insurance isn't paid up." he protested.

Flash pulled back and pretended to pout while Michael kissed Jack without
any attendant electricity.  The fireworks Michael had shared with Jack in
the past were never the visible kind.  Nothing was ever fire damaged after
Jack spent the night, something he couldn't say about sleepovers with
Flash.  Still, now and then it had been worth it, he admitted to himself.
Flash was a dynamo in bed.  The occasional scorched sheet was a small price
to pay, he felt.

Michael pulled back, reluctantly, from the warmth of Jack's embrace.  He
had a sudden clear memory of Jacks' own bedroom skills and tried to ignore
the reaction of his body. It had been a while.  He wondered what Jack was
doing after tonight's service.

"We were just gonna grab a coffee." he told Jack, who nodded and laid his
jacket down on the bench.  The three of them walked to the Visitor Center,
next to the bookstore, where coffee brewed whenever the church was open.
The four musicians passed them, headed to the doors and pulling out
lighters in their hurry to get started on their break.  Michael could hear
the singers arguing about today's arrangement in the front of the church.
He tuned them out; he knew nothing about music except that its
practitioners were always temperamental.  Their argument meant nothing, he
felt sure.

Jack reached the coffeepot first and made a face.

"The damn things turned off." he complained. "Coffee's cold."

Michael sighed as Flash smiled mischievously.  Michael knew what was
coming; he'd seen this trick before.  Flash, with a theatrical flourish,
touched the side of the coffeepot and closed his eyes.  Jack saw the coffee
begin to roil in the pot, heating up and approaching boiling point, and
blushed furiously.  He remembered something similar from a night last year
with Flash and felt momentary embarrassment.  Flash looked over at him with
a knowing smile and took his hand from the coffeepot.  Jack swallowed and
reached for a white styrofoam cup.

As they poured their coffee, Michael watched Jack struggle to keep his cup
flat on the surface of the counter.  Nervousness always effected Jack like
that; he lost some of his careful control.  Hell, it effected all of them
like that, Michael supposed.  Jack's cup kept lifting from the counter,
floating lightly just above the laminated surface as he filled it with
coffee.  The weight of the liquid seemed to help, though, and the cup
settled slowly, finally touching down solidly onto the counter, full of the
steaming coffee.  Jack looked relieved.

Michael knew just how he felt.  Last week, low on sleep and exhausted, he'd
inadvertently Pushed into the handsome young Latino checker scanning his
groceries at the store.  The results had sent blood to Michael's face in
hot flush of embarrassment.  The boy had caught his expression and looked
at him lasciviously from under thick lashes, dark eyes flashing as he
handed Michael the receipt.  Michael was sure he'd felt something as the
boy's fingers brushed his, some kind of cold contact energy that made his
cock twitch.

Damn, he had thought, this kid was way too young and he hadn't meant to
initiate anything, he was just tired.  The images from the boy stayed with
him into the night, though, fueling some pretty steamy dreams.

Michael had never found it particularly easy to hide what he was, and any
distraction was liable to out him.  He needed to be more careful, he knew,
but sometimes things just happened.  At least it wasn't illegal anymore, to
be the way he was, though if the conservatives in congress had their way it
fucking would be.  Michael frowned, remembering one of his duties from the
recent meeting of the local Justice League.  He looked at his friends as he
waited for his coffee to cool.

"Hey, either of you guys up for some voter registration stuff in the
District this week?" Michael asked cautiously.  He hated asking them to do
more but it really was for a good cause.  Flash groaned and made a face;
Jack studied Michael thoughtfully.

"This for the Justice thing?" he asked.

Michael nodded, ignoring the faint sparks that were starting to melt the
foam edges of the cup in Flash's hand.  Everyone knew that Flash hated
politics.  That didn't mean he wouldn't help, just that he would eke all
possible drama out his acquiescence.  Flash set his cup down half-finished
on the countertop beside the flyers for various church activities and
glared at Michael.

"Does this involve walking door to door like last time?" he asked with a
sniff.  Such a priss, Michael thought to himself.

"No, Flash, nothing like that.  We'll have a table outside the bookstore is
all, with a banner.  Nothing major, no big effort, you just have to be
there and look pretty, smile at the nice men walking along the Strip and
get them to register to vote." Michael said with a grin.

Flash raised his eyebrows.

"And I can dress how I want?" he asked, a sly look on his face.

The last time Michael had asked for their help, they'd had to wear suits
and ties on their day off and he had yet to hear the end of it.  Michael
sighed.

"Hell, yes, wear a tiara and ball gown if you feel like it.  It is the
District, it's not as if anyone will care.  For all I know, that'd get more
guys to sign up to vote.  You do look stunning when you want to, hon."
Michael answered, patting Flash firmly on the ass as he spoke.

Jack laughed as Flash feigned a swoon in response.

"Don't start anything you don't plan to finish, Mikey." Flash warned.

"You've got my number and my schedule, Flash, I don't wanna hear any
complaints." Michael reminded his friend. "Feel free to come by anytime
that I'm not grading papers." he added, grinning.

Flash rolled his eyes.

"Honey, I don't plan that far in advance, you'll be grading papers until
Christmas break if I know you." Flash said with a pout.

Michael nodded, suddenly remembering how tired he was of his school.

"Yeah.  I know." Michael said, tossing his empty coffee cup into the trash.
He noticed Jack studying his face.

Jack leaned close and kissed him softly on the lips again, the full body
contact causing Michael to smile as they pulled apart.

Jack slid his arm around Michael's waist and pulled him close as all three
men walked back to the usher bench to start setting up for the service.
Michael couldn't help noticing that Jack's feet were firmly planted on the
floor as they did so.  It was amazing to him, the things that brought Jack
down to earth like that. Concern for a friend was always heavy enough to
keep him grounded.

Michael pulled Jack's arm closer around him and smiled to himself. He knew
he could use the concern; he'd spent far too much time alone lately.  He
could almost feel Jack's affection in the air; it was as palpable as the
light cologne that tickled his nostrils.  Nice, thought Michael, feeling
his, ah, interest grow in the heat of Jack's body, so close to his.  He
looked over at Jack's handsome face, taking in the dark eyes and the
dimples showing faintly.

Jack smiled at Michael's scrutiny, his eyelashes slowly touching his cheeks
and raising dreamily.  Jack's hand moved downward to stroke across
Michael's jean-clad bottom as they walked side by side.  He leaned over and
kissed Michael on the neck, just above his collar.  Flash, walking ahead,
didn't seem to notice.  Michael blushed.

Michael had a feeling he wasn't going home alone tonight.  And sex with
Jack was always an uplifting experience.

He just hoped he wouldn't have to pull Jack off the ceiling again
afterwards.

Queer sex never was boring, though, Michael had to admit.  He was glad he'd
come to church tonight despite being tired.  He loved their part of the
city, loved all the people in it.

One of these days, they'd all vote the conservatives out of office and life
would be perfect.  Until then, he'd catch whatever happiness he could.

Life in the Big Queer City... Michael wouldn't trade it for anything.



[End of Part One]

Queer City is a work of fiction and all characters are imaginary.  The
story involves sex between queer men so if that's illegal or offensive for
you to read, don't.  Author retains all rights. DO NOT download, copy,
post/link to any site or otherwise reproduce this story without written
permission from the author.

If you enjoyed the story, let me know, I'm trying to decide whether to
continue this story.  QC WILL contain sex scenes in later chapters; this
was a feeler.  If you like my writing, check out Drama Club in the
Nifty/Gay/HS section.  Drama Club and other fiction by Tragic Rabbit can be
found at:

			http://www.awesomedude.com/