As the fashion-conscious homosexual that I am, in my head I have a matching set of clothing for every man I've ever been with. And yes, "been with" is a euphemism for sex. Before recalling the men in my life, dragging them out of my closet and airing them on the line for all to see, I thought it would only be fair to have one of my past lovers describe me in clothing. What follows is his response, unedited and unapologetic, much like him: "In the closet of my love life, you would be a pair of fitted, designer blue jeans – expensive and engineered to accentuate the bits you're proud of while hiding the bits that you're not. Below the jeans would be a saucy pair of modern, black, Italian leather shoes, well-worn and perfect for dancing. Under the jeans is a pair of forty dollar Calvins. Above is a tailored pin-striped shirt that you bought to make yourself look taller. P.S. You're not short, you only think you are. The only accessory is a wristwatch that looks expensive but wasn't. You hate being late. You think the idea of Queer Standard Time is appalling and reinforces a bad stereotype. In fact, you insist on being early for everything and bounce around like a little waist-coated white rabbit when others make you late."
That's not how I would introduce myself, but that's the point. Before I start unabashedly gossiping about the men who have been in my life, in clothes and out, I thought it only fair to give myself the same treatment. Now comes the fun part. Without further delay, I present to you, in chronological order, the men in Randy Talbot's closet.
Se7en was an underground club and it sounded like the party was well underway by the time we got there. We grabbed each others' hands and went down the steamy, dark rabbit hole together.
"Cover is twenty dollars," the goth door attendant barked at us as he checked our IDs.
"Evan, didn't you say it shouldn't be more than ten?"
"Oh, tonight's our special anniversary," said the attendant, a crooked smile curling on his blackened lips. "Seven years at this location. It's quite the party in there."
We briefly discussed going somewhere else, but we were already there, so we bit the bullet, paid, got our hands stamped, and crossed into the unknown. The thick, inky satin curtain dividing coat check from the rest of the club may as well have been a wormhole into another universe. We froze before taking three steps inside and surveyed the landscape: black leather harnesses, vinyl clothing, rubber gloves, glow sticks, back hair, chains, and gasmasks paraded before us under a shifting net of green laser lights that zapped through a fog of dry ice and perspiration. Then there was us. I wore my standard "little black dress" – a black spandex t-shirt and fitted black slacks. Evan wore a skin-tight metallic gold t-shirt and jeans, and Andy's outfit was something like mine.
"Oh!" Evan exclaimed, clasping his hands together like some kid on Christmas morning. "This is going to be sooooo much fun!" He bounced into the room and introduced himself to a rather hirsute man in ass-less chaps. The remaining three of us huddled together, looking at each other with our mouths agape.
The night didn't go badly at all. Evan and I stuck together for pretty much the entire night and he eventually poured enough liquor down my throat to get me dancing to the hellish trance music. By midnight, hunky Kevin was wearing a dog collar and getting led around by an enormous muscular man who might have been around thirty, and he seemed to be enjoying it. Andy had his face covered with neon war paint and was chatting with a svelte young man whose nipples were pierced and chained together. Another chain ran down his torso and disappeared behind the waist of his black leather pants where I imagine it was attached to something else.
Evan only left my side once to go to the washroom. By that time we had already shared many kisses, but when he got back he seemed a little too energized. I could tell he was into me before, but whatever he had downed in the washroom shattered what was left of his inhibitions. It was all I could do to keep him out of my pants while we were on the dance floor. And don't misunderstand. The attraction was by no means one-way. Evan was one hot little number. But what I found most attractive about him that night was his voice. He had a resonant, youthful voice with a bit of a rasp to it.
Last call came and went. Andy had already left on the arm of an exotic-looking creature with a green mohawk. Kevin had lost his "owner" but retained his collar and a phone number. The three of us split a cab back to campus. Evan was all over me in the back seat and I can't say I was doing much to stop him.
"Geez, get a room, you two," said Kevin.
"That's the plaaaaaaan," said Evan, taking a break from tonguing my ear. "Besides," he said, sliding his hand under my shirt. "You don't know where my dorm is. And, right now, neither do I." Then he laughed like he had just cracked the funniest joke ever.
"So I guess if I don't want you sleeping in the bushes, you're coming home with me."
"That's riiiiiiight," he cooed in my ear.
“Randy Talbot’s Closet,” humorous m/m erotic romance by Randy Talbot, is available from Apple, Barnes & Noble, Amazon, Bookstrand, All Romance ebooks, Kobo, Google, and Coffeetime Romance. Paperback available from Amazon. Our website is http://www.beautobeau.com.