Suber: The Uber of Sex (Queer Erotica Short Stories)

Part 46: Conner & Varick Continued

It felt just like a regular date. Almost.

They exchanged the typical introductions first—what do you do for fun? What do you do for a living?—though all the answers seemed to have an awkward tilt. When Conner explained he was apprenticing to be an electrician, he felt an unspoken question, as obvious as if it were sitting on the sticky bar table between them; Did you think I was a professional sex-worker?

"So how did you start working on Suber?" Varick asked, sipping his rum and coke.

Conner tried not to wince. He glanced around the bar, hoping no one heard. Electronic music thumped through the space over laughter and a hundred conversations. "Well, um," Conner took a drink too. "My friend Rachelle was doing it for a while. She kept telling me about the meet-ups she had and it seemed okay. How about you?" Conner studied the handsome man. "Not working, but—you know."

"This is my first time, so..." Varick gave a nervous smile.

You and me both. Conner took a drink.

"But I guess I got a little tired of dating apps. It was just..." Varick tilted his head, thinking. "It already felt so transactional, you know? But everyone was pretending it wasn't. And then there's a lot of weird pressure and awkwardness." He looked into his drink. "Some of the guys were really cool, don't get me wrong. But it just got to be... I dunno."

"What do you mean? Did you have a bad hook-up?"

"Sure, we've all had bad hook-ups." He chuckled. "I'm not exactly Don Juan either. But it wasn't even that. When I wanna, you know, unwind, I don't want to answer a million emails. That's what online dating started to feel like, answering emails." He took a drink and shook his head. "Sorry, that sounded really mean."

"No, I know what you mean," Conner replied. "I'm a gamer, and online dating started to feel like a game. Like, swiping and liking, trying to get the right line or the right picture, trying to get likes..." He shook his head. "It started to feel like a mission, like a level in a game. And that was weird. I didn't want to do that."

"I totally get it."

Conner swirled the thin red straw in his drink, looking into the bronze bubbles. "Although, I guess making it a business isn't much better."

Varick laughed quietly. "I certainly don't have a problem with it." He looked up at Conner through his lashes.

Conner bit his lip. "Really?"

"Of course." Varick gave an easy smile. "What kind of hypocrite would I be? I mean, I dunno, maybe we'd all be better off if money was never invented at all. But, since it is—and I don't see it going anywhere anytime soon—you should do what you want to do." He tilted his head thoughtfully again. It was a look that already brought a smile to Conner's face. "You're like... a therapist. You're doing a good thing, making people feel good." He shrugged and sipped his drink, bringing the bronze cola down to the ice. "That's not easy to do. Why not get paid for it?"

Conner took a drink to hide his smile. The ice tipped back on his lips as he finished it. He wasn't sure if it was the alcohol or Varick's words, but he felt lighter.

"Should I grab some more drinks?" Varick asked.

Setting the glass down, Conner looked into his eyes. "Or we could go back to your place."

Looking down at the table, a wry smile spread over Varick's lips. "Yeah. Sure. I'll be right back." He went to the bar to pay the tab and Conner watched him. What began as an attraction had turned to lust. He wanted to see the body underneath that t-shirt and those jeans. He wanted to pull his fingers through Varick's hair and kiss his lips. He wanted to feel Varick's heart beating against his own, feel his arms around his back.