“I’m not sure this is the right place.”

“What?”

Tom leaned closer and raised his voice almost to a yell. “I said, I don’t think this is the right place!”

Mark scowled, peering into the club’s dark interior. “Why not?”

Jason shook his head. “Because, you idiot, that’s industrial playing, not eighties. And the club is called Corruption.”

Tom nodded, agreeing with his more observant friend. “Exactly! You sure this is the right place?”

Mark shrugged. “It’s the right address, I checked. It all sounds the same to me.”

“Fuck,” Tom muttered as his eyesight adjusted. This was definitely not eighties music. The club Mark had dragged them to was supposed to have two rooms: one playing electro, the other eighties. The music pumping out of the speakers was neither.

A look around also revealed people mostly in black—girls with long dresses, and some with brightly colored fake dreads. “It’s a Goth club.”

“Shit,” muttered Jason. “Fucking Goths.”

“It is?” Mark peered at the people. “Shit. I guess I did get the wrong place. Well, you wanna go then?”

“I just paid twenty bucks to get in here!” Tom protested. “I don’t have enough with me to pay another cover charge and still get drinks.”

“Sorry.” Mark had the decency to look ashamed. At least, Tom thought he looked ashamed. It was too dark to be sure. “Hey, they have dollar drinks ‘til midnight!”

Jason shrugged and headed for the bar. Tom knew Jason didn’t care that much. He’d come along to get wasted. Mark wanted to dance and pick up girls. Tom just wanted to get out. It had been a long week and he was ready to relax.

“A couple of drinks.” Tom sighed and followed Jason, and Mark stayed right by his side. It was early yet, so the bar wasn’t too crowded, and they slipped into an empty spot. They ordered beers and got carded again.

“I’m twenty-three. When am I gonna stop getting carded?” grumbled Tom, slipping his wallet back into his pants.

“When you can actually grow a full face of hair,” Mark countered, smirking.

“Not gonna happen,” Tom declared, rubbing his smooth jaw. He didn’t like facial hair, and sometimes he shaved twice a day. Not that he considered himself hirsute; Mark was actually right. He couldn’t grow a full beard if he’d wanted to. But, he didn’t want to. He’d tried the three-day-stubble look once, but Jason told him he just looked like he was homeless.

They got their beers and turned around to face the large dance floor. The club was obviously designed for a big crowd. Indeed, the place was beginning to fill up. People filed past them, and Tom realized that for the first time in a few years he felt short. At six feet tall, he rarely looked up to people, especially girls, but industrial music seemed to attract tall people for some reason. Then he looked down and saw that everyone, men and women, wore huge platform boots.

He didn’t mind the music. He preferred alternative rock or electro, but the driving beat of this music was definitely appealing.

He turned his attention to the dance floor. It was about half full now, and the style of dancing seemed freeform in style. People moved in jerky, random movements, or slinked around the stage like animals. People danced together in groups but not together as couples. The dance floor was surrounded by big screens with images of bodies in leather and fishnets. The name of the club alternated with the images.

At one end of the dance floor there was an elevated platform, sort of like a stage, and a few of the more adventurous dancers strutted their stuff up there. At the other end, there were two smaller raised platforms, and each one held a cage. Both were empty at the moment. Tom turned back to the bar and ordered another beer.

Jason and Mark switched to mixed drinks—the better to get drunk, he supposed. He looked down as the bartender, a giant bald man, set a shot of tequila in front of him. “I didn’t order—”

“Shut up, I did,” Mark yelled, leaning across Jason, who also had a shot. “You’re depressing us. Drink up!”

Tom shrugged and picked up the shot glass, draining it.

“Fool, you forgot the lime and salt!” Jason chided.

“Now you have to do another one.” Mark nodded.

So he did, and then another. The tequila burned on the way down but felt good. By the time he turned around again, the club was considerably more crowded.

“Gotta hit the john,” Jason said, and wandered off, staggering slightly.

Mark moved closer. “This kinda sucks,” he finally admitted. “You wanna go?” At that moment, a girl with very short, spiky black hair slinked past. She was slender and her dress was composed of little more than strategically placed strips of cloth. Mark’s gaze followed her and he set his empty glass on the bar. “On second thought…” He waved vaguely in Tom’s direction and said, “Be right back.”

“Great,” Tom sighed to himself. “I’ve been ditched at a Goth club.” He ordered another beer and turned back to the dance floor. The bar was getting a bit too crowded so he moved to a small table near the dance floor. There were no chairs so he just leaned on the table. He could amuse himself by watching the dancers. He loved to people watch.

The floor was packed now, and people were getting into it. They seemed completely uninhibited, not caring if they looked like idiots flailing around. Of course, some of the dancers were more graceful than others.

As he looked around he noticed both cages were occupied now. The one closer to him contained a petite, curvy girl with shoulder length orange hair wearing an outfit made entirely of foil. She was pretty, but nothing compared to the girl in the other cage. Tom found himself staring.

She was slender, and wore very little. She turned, her body moving like a cat’s, hips undulating in a way that made Tom’s mouth dry. Her back was to him now; she wore tiny black briefs, almost like men’s underwear, and attached to them were suspenders made of silvery chains. Tom didn’t know how she could dance like that on the knee-high, high-heeled boots she wore, but they made her already long legs even better. Her ass was perfect, firm and round, and her black, silky straight hair fell to mid-back. She didn’t seem to be wearing a shirt.

Tom drifted closer. The club was hazy from the smoke machines and he wanted to see the girl more closely. No, he needed to. He was still a ways away when she turned to face him, still writhing seductively. Tom stopped in his tracks, cursing the haze and the dim lights. It really looked like she wasn’t wearing a shirt; only black x’s made from tape over her nipples. She seemed nearly flat, but then again she was very slim, and Tom had never been into big breasts. She was the sexiest thing he’d ever seen.

His gaze finally made it to her face, and his breath caught. She was beautiful, with dark eyes ringed with heavy black eyeliner, perfect nose, and full red lips.

As he watched her, she looked directly at him.

“Fuck,” he moaned. He was thirty feet away, yet he knew she was looking right at him. He could feel it. He just stood there, hoping he didn’t look like too much of an idiot, watching her. She smiled, and danced some more, gripping the cage as if longing to escape. Tom wanted her to escape.

Suddenly Tom’s cock wanted to escape, too. He could feel it hardening, and he hoped his pants were baggy enough to hide it. Though the girl was supposed to be sexy, he didn’t think having an obvious hard-on while watching her was cool.

A sexy smirk graced her lips and she backed up, leaning against the pole in the center of the cage. She reached back over her head to grab the pole, arching her back, and Tom whimpered aloud. She spun around, rolling her lithe body against the pole, and Tom made his way closer. He’d never seen anyone so seductive. He had to meet her.

The crowd was thickest near the cage, and it wasn’t easy to get closer, but Tom was determined. He didn’t know what he would do when he got there, but he had to see her up close.

Finally, he made it. He stood within a few feet of the cage. Her back was to him, and his mouth watered as he watched her dance. Her ass was perfect, so amazing that he ached to touch it. Her legs were long and smooth, and the way she moved made Tom’s cock pulse. As if she knew he was there, she bent over deeply, legs spread, and Tom nearly came in his pants. No one had ever affected him this strongly. She was sex personified.

Then she turned around.

This time, he looked at her face first. She was even prettier up close, movie star pretty. Her eyes sparkled and she was clearly having a great time. She looked down at him and smiled, then licked her lips. Tom moaned. He tried to smile but wasn’t sure if he succeeded. Then, because he was male and he absolutely couldn’t help it, he looked down.

His first thought was that the girl had really, really small breasts. He didn’t mind. Then he looked lower.

Then he looked back up again. Not just really flat. Not there at all. He swallowed hard, and he knew his face turned a deep scarlet. He wanted to look at her face again, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it.

Her face. No, his face. Fuck. How could he have been so blind? It wasn’t as if her…his clothes could possibly hide that much. But now, close up, he could see that the tape hid nipples but no breasts, and the briefs hid, well… Tom didn’t want to think too much about that. He backed away, and on impulse looked up…right into those dark eyes.

The boy raised an eyebrow, and his mouth twisted into a half smile that didn’t look happy at all. He knew. He knew that Tom had thought he was a girl, and now freaked out. He also looked disappointed. Tom felt guilty as hell. He wasn’t sure why.

He couldn’t think about this anymore. He turned and pushed his way quickly through the crowd. He looked around for Mark or Jason but saw no sign of them. His heart beat fast and suddenly he needed to get some air. He headed for the exit, ignoring the signs that said, ‘No re-entry.’ He pushed through them, then stumbled out onto the sidewalk. A few black-clad smokers on the balcony peered at him before going back to their addiction, and he breathed in the cool air and the relative silence of Hollywood Boulevard gratefully.

He’d been aroused by a man.

Fuck it. He’d ridden here with Mark but didn’t feel like waiting. He knew the bus system well. He needed to get home. He texted his friends and told them he felt sick, and hopped on a bus.

He barely remembered getting home. His mind raced, and he engaged in a lot of attempted self-justification. He’d been drunk. The club was dark. He hadn’t gotten laid for a while. Anything to deny the fact that he’d never been quite so hot for anyone in his entire life.

He had the urge to take a shower, as if he could wash away the illicit urges. He ran the water colder than usual and stood under the spray, eyes closed. But, he couldn’t shut out the memories. The images of the lithe body dancing, arching, showing off for him...His cock hardened once again and he groaned. Even reminding himself forcefully that that beautiful face and body hid an unwelcome surprise didn’t make his arousal go away completely. He refused to jerk off to the image of a man, however androgynous. The more he ignored it, the harder his cock got, until he turned the shower all the way to cold. He shivered, but his cock subsided.

Unfortunately, as soon as he was dry and in bed, it began to harden once more. He resolutely ignored it. He finally fell asleep, aching.

He woke up the next morning sticky, though. It seemed his cock had a mind of its own.