Dirty Nights(2)
When I quit school earlier this year, it became apparent that going to any professional school was no longer attainable. Mom made sure of that. Whoring for her nights made keeping up with my school work impossible. And then there were those rumors flying around. I’d hang my head in shame everyday as the girls whispered about me and treated me like I was diseased. But not the boys. Oh no, they flocked to me like ants on honey. They even cornered me in the stairwell several times and if someone hadn’t come by, I’m sure it would have ended up in rape. So I decided it was time to bow out gracefully and withdraw from high school.
It would be nice if I had someone to talk to about all of this, but that’s never going to happen. Not with my current situation anyway. I burrow down into my hard nest of a bed and do my best to try and sleep. But all I can think of is a set of big beefy paws as they painfully pinch and squeeze me, and the tears finally gush out, while my aching body is wracked with sobs.
TWO
Ryder
Eighteen Months Ago
Even though my father’s face holds a smile, his eyes tell a different story. Disappointment, regret, and even scorn weigh me down as I look into them. It doesn’t matter that it’s closing night for the six month run of Blast, the Metropolitan Ballet Company’s production that has blown New York City away. It makes no difference that the critics have been raving about me as the Premiere Danseur since opening night. All that matters is that my chosen career isn’t the one he planned since the day I was born … I’m not the leading goal scorer at Madison Square Gardens.
But my mom … well, she turns on the high voltage and says, “Congratulations, darling! You were astounding!” Then she leans into me and whispers, “You were the best out there, dear.”
While I’d like to stand here and soak up their praise, my quads, hamstrings and calves scream for my attention. There’s not enough ice in all of Manhattan to calm them down.
Blast has been running for six months now and my body is bruised, battered and worn from the six-day-a-week punishing performances I’ve been putting in and I am ready for a badly needed break.
Unfortunately, I can’t help myself and I snap under the heavy ache of my limbs. “Really Mother?”
Her eyes admonish me. “Of course, Ryder. You know I think you’re the best.”
Before I can even say anything, my dad pipes in and says, “Son, excellent work. You were great.”
It’s easy to see by the evasion of his eyes that he’s not sincere. I’m no fool, but too bad. This is my love and I’m going to continue to dance for as long as my body will hold up.
“Ryder, please,” my mom says. “I couldn’t be more proud of you than I am now.”
“Thanks, Mom. But I wonder if it’s only because I’m the premiere danseur. Would you have been this proud of me if I had only made it to that guy in the background?”
“Of course I would have. You’re my son and I love you.”
After locking eyes with her and staring into them for a few moments, I nod and say, “I love you too, Mom.” Then I turn to my dad and give him a nod and head to my dressing room to change and scrape the tons of goop off my face.
Tonight the troupe is going to kick it and hard! It has been so long since any of us have been out, none of us can even remember the last club we entered.
The party is on and it’s as if we’ve taken the stage to the club. The only difference is our style is edgier than the classical one we recently performed. What would anyone expect though? We’re professionals. The club’s crowd is enjoying the spectacle as we do our lifts and spins that aren’t usually found on the average dance floor. Some of the other patrons are even joining in with us and creating a sort of controlled mayhem. For the few of us males that aren’t gay, like myself, the women are all over us. And admittedly, I’m loving the hell out of it.
Selene, the prima donna, glares at me as I dance with another woman. She and I have been sleeping together ever since Blast opened. We’re not committed but we’re sort of an item, I suppose. Her jealous side peeks out tonight, but I choose to ignore it. I’m all about having a good time, and I don’t want to deal with her neediness right now.
Alcohol flows and I know that come tomorrow, I’m going to have one helluva a hangover. But right now, I don’t give a fuck because I am letting it hang loose and loving every minute of it.
“Selene,” I call out. She’s standing close to me, but she ignores me. “Selene, let’s dance.” Again, no response. To hell with her. Her constant desire to be the center of attention annoys me. I’m positive my night of hot sweaty sex just went down the drain, but I’m high on alcohol and adrenaline, so I don’t give a fuck. Grabbing another shot of tequila, I down it and head back out to the dance floor. The night speeds on and soon it’s last call.