Rodney The Bear
The night was young. Rodney was already on the move with intensified, sexual anticipation. The athletic-toned, tall gray bear walked around the city in his zipped-up leather jacket, leather chaps with blue jeans underneath. He walked around the nightclubs, looking for a place to call his own. Finally, he decided to walk -- with his laced, black boots -- into Twin Cities, a local gay hotspot. The fetishist was hoping to knock boots with people who have common interests.
Rodney walked up to the club bouncer outside. He asked the tiger to let him in. The feline studied Rodney, looking at him from front to back. He rubbed his chin. "Let me think about it for a moment," said the tiger.
"What are you thinking about?" Rodney inquired. "I know what I'm thinking about." The bear casually strolled to the bouncer's side, looking at his backside.
"I know what you're thinking, but I got a boy waiting for me at home. Now get your ass inside before I start second-guessing myself." The bouncer let Rodney into the club.
Inside, trance music was blaring. The bass shook the dance floor and many of the club's patrons were dancing to the music's infectious beats. Rodney didn't care for it. He wanted to sit at the bar and have few drinks. His drink of choice: Jack on the rocks. He wasn't in it for the martinis and the champagne. "That's what women drink," he thought. He wanted a man, a burly type; someone who matched his sexual chemistry and adrenaline. To Rodney, long-term relationships were unnecessary, a waste of time and a wasted opportunity to play the rest of the field. Monogamy was his Kryptonite.
He sat down at the bar, ordered his favorite drink and he looked around the club. He watched people dancing, bumping, grinding, channeling their sexual fervor into pure ecstacy. The bear was admittedly not a very good dancer, but he didn't mind watching others do it. He liked the energy. Rodney set his sights on those who were the most energetic and the most promiscuous. But tonight was different. He was simply watching everyone from his seat. The bear was thirsty, and he needed to wet his whistle. That took higher priority over scouting.
Rodney turned back to the bar and looked at the bartender, a fox, occasionally. As he fixed the bear a drink, the bartender made eye contact with the bear and smiled.
"How's it going, Rodney?" the bartender asked.
"Not too bad, not too bad. Can't complain."
"Looking for love or looking for tail tonight?"
"Some tail would be nice. Got an itch that needs to be scratched."
"Don't we all? Hey, I saw a brown ursine come in. He's new to this place. Looks cute. I think I saw him over by the lounge. He's got a blue tanker, black pants and short, blonde hair on top."
"You don't see guys like us around here often, do ya?"
"No, not really. You should go say, 'Hi!' to the guy and hope he's a fan of leather."
Rodney slapped some money on the bar counter and pushed it toward the bartender, who gave him his drink in return. The manly bear took a swig of his drink, thanked his friend behind the counter and walked over to the lounge area. He rubbed his trimmed, black beard as he walked to a series of table booths. After briefly searching, Rodney found the bear that matched the fox bartender's description. Once he got closer to the table, Rodney recognized the bear and took a few steps back. Looking surprised, the bear took a deep breath and calmly walked to the table, sniffling. The air was stifling in the room, Rodney observed. Perhaps it was because he was nervous, which was out of character for him.
Rodney approached the table with the bear, who was siting comfortably with his friends.
"Sammy, I didn't recognize you at first," said Rodney, who had difficult making eye contact with the other ursine.
The blonde-haired bear looked at Rodney, smiled and leaned his head against his paw. "Well, look who it is," said Sammy. His friends at the table giggled and looked up at Rodney.
"Why are they laughing?" Rodney asked.
"Because telling stories about your ex is always amusing."
Rodney wasn't putting up with any of it. He left the table and was walking back to the bar before Sammy told him, "Hey, wait a minute. I was joking." Rodney turned around and stood quietly with his arms folded, disapproving of the so-called "joke."
"Baby, you know I'm a tease," said Sammy, who tilted his eyeglasses and pushed them further up his muzzle.
"Don't call me 'baby,'" Rodney protested. "I'm not your 'baby.'"
Sammy switched the subject. "So what's a stud like you doing in a place like this tonight?"
"Not your business."
"You can't go clubhopping, looking for a good fuck, you know. Don't you have standards?"
"Course I have standards. If I didn't, I'd still be with you."
"Ouch. That stings. Look, you should consider getting in a relationship. I know, commitment: oh my God, it's so scary!"
"Later, Sammy," said Rodney as he turned away from the table. He didn't ask for any advice. He felt offended that his ex-boyfriend would offer advice. "I'm not taking advice from that son of a bitch," Rodney thought. "He's not good for me." Once Rodney thought about it, he started to form an idea that he could do better. The word and the idea of having a "relationship" was still a problem to him, but Rodney felt a spark. When he walked back to the bar, he thought about starting something, but he didn't know how to go about it. After having his heart broken several times by a myriad of short-term, dysfunctional relationships, he was dismal. However, Rodney took Sammy's words like a challenge, but it would be a daunting task to create long-lasting appeal. His appearance and the way he conducts himself has revolved around his sexuality -- almost to the extent of a one-dimensional protagonist in a 1970s softcore porn movie.
"Any luck?" asked the bartender as soon as Rodney sat down at the bar.
"That was my ex," said Rodney begrudgingly.
"Say no more. Are you up for another drink then? It would be on the house."
"No thanks, Marcus." Rodney rubbed his forehead. "I just need to think."
"Ha, a man who thinks with his brain and not with his dick. At my bar? Gosh," the fox laughed while he wiped the bar counter. "Who would have ever thought? Wait, I thought you were looking to score tonight."
"Plans changed."
"You come here, confident, struttin' your stuff. Then you go to your ex, come back, looking down. Did he say something to you that bothered you, that is, if you don't mind me asking?"
"Ah, well. Sammy can go fuck himself for all I care. No, but he said I should consider having a relationship."
"Relationships aren't bad. You just have to find the right guy."
"Yeah, well, when you get shot down seven times, nobody seems right for me."
"Aw, don't say that. Sure, you dress like someone who lives in bondage store, but I'm sure someone will find a good soul under that leather jacket."
"You think so, huh? Hey, question: what time do you get off work?"
Marcus cleaned some pint glasses and looked underneath the bar for a moment. "I'm off at two in the morning, but I don't mix business with pleasure. You should know that," said the fox.
"Not even for a cup of coffee at Starbucks in the morning?"
"You're not going to seduce me with a cup of coffee, Rodney. Nice try, I appreciate it --"
"Let's raise the stakes. How about decaf, a cinnamon roll and a walk in the park?"
"Why do I get the feeling that you're going to fuck me behind the bushes when we're there?"
"Because that's probably what you want, but that's not my intent."
"Okay, fine, but no kissing. No funny business. See you at nine. And it's not a date."
"Not a date. Nine o'clock. Alright, Marcus." Rodney gave Marcus a nice tip before leaving the club. He stretched his arms and yawned, feeling tired, but accomplished. The moment he started conversing with Marcus and honestly explaining what happened to him and Sammy, he felt comfortable. Around Marcus, he was relaxed. Rodney was a frequent barfly at Twin Cities, and he's had plenty of conversations with the older fox, but this time, he felt like he could trust the fox enough to confide to him. "What the fuck am I doing, hitting on the bartender?" Rodney thought for a moment, but he answered the question with a shrug as he walked out the club's front door.
His motives were purely selfish. Rodney wanted to show Sammy that he was capable of having a relationship -- at least, having one that lasted more than two months. Ten hours later, Rodney would have to leave a good first impression for Marcus, who was already skeptical of the bear's motives. Somehow, he had to show Marcus that he's looking for love while at the same time, showing his ex-boyfriend that he capable of defying the stereotype he cast for himself.