THE VOICE OF CHICAGO'S GAY, LESBIAN, BI, TRANS AND QUEER COMMUNITY SINCE 1985

Arriving alone, Brandon saw the guy with the blue shirt and blue hat as soon as he stepped into the club. He soon lost him in the shuffle of money and tickets and the piecing together of one's person and pockets upon entry. Brandon swaggered in and said hello to a few necessary acquaintances and chatted quickly to a few friends, but excused himself to check things out. The dance floor was dark and crowded and sweaty. Perfect. After some squinting and pushing, he found his target with a group on the dance floor. Though now he was just Blue Hat, the blue shirt out of sight, leaving muscles exposed and shining where hair used to be. Brandon positioned himself close by on the edge of the dance floor, next to a path to the bar, so he was easy to access if anyone took interest. He began with his best, controlled moves, keeping his gaze on Blue Hat, but never catching his eye. Blue Hat was too distracted by the music, or lights, or friends, or drugs, or dancing. The music picked up speed and Brandon followed, desperate for just one look from Blue Hat. He began to sweat. With one broad, single motion he pulled his shirt up over his head and tucked it into his back pocket. That did it. Blue Hat took notice. And so did half of the dance floor. With eye contact established, Brandon gave Blue Hat his practiced, perfect three-quarter smile. Blue Hat responded with a suggestive nod. The kind that says "hey" with a deep voice without making a sound. The music kept building and the diva singing along kept telling the floor to put their hands in the air. Not wanting to disobey the music, Brandon began to lift his left arm triumphantly to show the undersides of his muscles, the masculinity of his armpits and his absolute mastery of the rhythm. Instead he got his arm halfway up and dumped a full, plastic glass of some kind of drink all over the man walking behind him. He jerked around just as the cup hit the ground between them and splashed the remainder of whatever it was all over their legs and the floor. Blue Hat smiled, charmed by the humility of the action and the look on Brandon's face. Embarrassed, but not without manners, Brandon faced his failed-fierce-move victim and got out an "I'm sorry, can I buy you ... ," but was cut off by a smile. A smile with one dimple on the left side and a slight gap between the canine and first premolar on the right. Dimple-Gap looked down at his soaked shirt and responded by taking it off and starting to dance. Helpless to everything about this, Brandon danced back, accidentally letting loose the final fourth of his own smile. The two of them continued splashing in the puddle underneath them as Blue Hat got distracted by the music, or lights, or friends, or drugs, or dancing.