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The flashing neon made her face look pale and flat, but even through his vaguely focussed eyes Doug recognised Niamh's sublime smile. He watched her through the crowd as her body gyrated to the seductive, penetrating beat. His wandering eyes drifted downwards, tracing her enticing feminine curves. He paused, then lifted his glass to his lips and sucked some more vile alcohol down his burning throat.
Ed and Niamh had bought him the drink - a potent cocktail to celebrate his nineteenth birthday. He had previously downed a couple of beers, so this mix was really starting to make his head spin. There wasn't much left; soon he would go and join the others on the dance floor.
Doug noticed Ed squirming through the crowd in the distance. He watched fuzzily as Ed danced up to Niamh and shouted something to her. Doug could tell that she didn't hear. Doug stared intently through his glaze of intoxication as Ed leaned forward, touching his cheek with hers, and spoke into her ear. Doug felt a pang in his stomach. Was that jealousy, he wondered? Or was it the alcohol? Ed danced away from Niamh again. Doug decided that he was thinking too much, and took another sip of his lethal drink.
Automatically, his increasingly disobedient eyes rested on Niamh's soft figure, flowing despite the jarring lights. His addled mind wandered again: Was this love he felt for Niamh? Or lust? He had known her for a year now - he had met her on his first day at Brighton University. She wasn't the first girl that he'd been attracted to, but he wished that she would be the first to reciprocate. She was certainly one of the few girls that ever paid him any attention. She was a good friend. Doug doubted that she would ever be more than just a friend, but it didn't stop him wishing.
He shamelessly studied her fluid hair... her carefree smile... her firm breasts... her strong nimble legs. He pictured the deep blue colour of her eyes. For a moment he was lost in the pulse of the music. Then her rhythmic movements abruptly ceased. Her smile turned into a gape of surprise. Through the crowd Doug could see that a drunken stranger had chosen to dance with her whether she liked it or not. Niamh laughed uneasily as the stranger held her waist and awkwardly tried to push himself against her back as he swayed back and forth to the beat. Doug laughed to himself, admiring Niamh's irresistible vulnerability.
His smile fell when Ed appeared from the crowd and smoothly wrapped his arm around Niamh, rescuing her from the stranger's unsubtle advances. The stranger melted back into the crowd and Ed let go of Niamh, resuming an appropriate distance. Niamh smiled at him in thanks. Doug waited for the pang in his stomach to return... but it didn't.
Maybe it was silly to be jealous, thought Doug. Maybe this adolescent infatuation with Niamh was holding him back from finding other girls and having a normal, healthy, nymphomaniac lifestyle like all of his friends were surely having. His clouded eyes hardened slightly. He made a decision. He would abandon his clumsy attempts at seducing Niamh and find someone else. He would lower his standards and finally find someone willing to have him. He thought for a moment. Maybe if he found a girlfriend - any girl - Niamh would be jealous and come to desire him. Or maybe if he did stop flirting with Niamh and just treated her as a friend; maybe if he was just himself around her instead of always trying to impress her - she might for some reason find him more appealing.
Doug looked down at the beer-stained floor for a second, then downed his drink and headed for the dance floor with uncertain determination. The music invaded his mind as he moved in front of the speakers. He could feel his chest compress with every apocalyptic drumbeat. He briefly lost himself, revelling in the breathtaking, addictive rhythm. Then he reopened his eyes, for fear of losing his balance as the alcohol floated his brain. His eye was caught by a wave from Niamh. He waved back to her and his stomach was shot by the cupid's arrow of her smile. His attention was momentarily captivated as she closed her eyes and lost herself to the beat.
He felt sweat start to tingle through his skin. His face flushed red. He turned around, facing his back to Niamh - and with a deep breath, began the hunt. His inebriated brain felt particularly daring, and he decided to opt for the rather blatant techniques attempted by the drunken stranger on Niamh a few minutes ago. He danced across the floor until he found a group of likely girls. He carefully observed each potential target until he had chosen a suitable victim. He smiled grimly, bracing himself for a million possible outcomes, and in a fit of imagined invincibility - he pinched her rear.
Shame immediately penetrated his saturated brain as the girl turned around and screamed at him, "Did you touch me? Did you touch me?" Doug tried to deny it to her, pretending to have been facing the other direction. His heart beat hard inside his chest as he sustained the brief but intense abuse that was hurled at him, and then she turned away and he was lost in the crowd once more. His heartbeat submitted to the rhythm again.
After that, until the club closed, Doug wandered around convincing himself that he had not been discouraged by his desperate failure and yet somehow not managing to find any other suitable targets.
A rugged, rounded face, framed by long greasy-looking blondish hair, stared at Doug through pale blue, slightly piggy eyes. Doug grimaced and stepped back from the mirror. No wonder girls found him unattractive, he thought. He tensed his arm muscles the way a bodybuilder would. He poked his rock-solid biceps. He was proud of his strength. He relaxed his arm, paused, then gathered a clump of fat from his stomach and looked down at it. Time for a visit the gym, he thought, sighing deeply.
Gym sessions usually made Doug feel better about himself. There he could concentrate on further improving his considerable muscle power, with the vague hope that he might eventually work off his chubbiness. He didn't have to worry for one moment about girls. However, on this particular outing, his concentration was distracted by a remarkably attractive woman doing sit-ups on the floor next to him while he was on the rowing machine. He admired the way she didn't sweat, but glowed. He salivated over the way her impressive strength only showed up as subtle ripples of power beneath her tanned skin. From back here, thought Doug, where he couldn't see her face, she reminded him of Niamh.
And yet Doug knew that he would never speak with that woman. She was totally inaccessible to him. She was beautiful, fit, and obviously self-confident - he was a podgy, awkward teenager. He could just imagine Ed trying to persuade him to go up and talk to her. Ed would say, "If you just go for it, maybe nine times out of ten nothing will happen - but every now and then you'll get somewhere! And what's the worst that could happen?" Rejection. That's the worst that could happen. Yet another reconfirmation that Doug was completely hopeless when dealing with the opposite sex.
Doug couldn't understand what women found appealing about men anyway. Men were ugly, lumpy, hairy and insensitive, thought Doug, whereas the female body was a work of art. Maybe they're all lesbians. He gave up rowing and picked up a bodybuilding magazine from the floor of the gym. Still exhausted from his exercise, he flicked through its pages trying to look for something attractive in the Adonis bodies. His face twisted in disgust. He put the magazine into his bag and leant back for a while to catch his breath.
Soon it was time for Ed to pick him up from the gym and take him back to the University. The two of them chatted cheerily in the car about nothing in particular, until Doug slumped back in his chair and announced that he was going to rest. The magazine from the gym fell halfway out of Doug's bag, and before he tucked it in again, Ed glanced at it briefly. An inexplicable expression flashed across Ed's face for just a split second. He drove pensively the rest of the way, and the two of them didn't exchange another word that day.
"You told her it was a gay mag?" yelled Doug in disbelief.
"It looked like one!" retorted Ed. "I only saw the cover. What are you doing with a muscle mag in your bag anyway?"
"What's wrong with a fucking muscle mag?" screamed Doug desperately. "Niamh thinks I'm a fucking poof!"
"She doesn't care!" Ed said defensively. "It's not as if you had a hope in hell of pulling her anyway."
Doug seethed. He pictured himself punching Ed with all his force, right in the middle of his face. He pictured the explosion of blood, the cracking sound, the feel of bones caving in under his unstoppable knuckles. He inhaled sharply and chose to hit the refrigerator instead. The milk bottles inside it rattled, and it buzzed loudly in complaint. Ed's eyes flicked for an instant to the dent Doug's fist had left.
"Well, if it's not true then don't worry about it," Ed whined.
Doug's temper reached a level that surprised even himself. "Of course it's not fucking true. I am not an arse-kissing shit-stabbing fucked-up lunatic homo! I'm not the fucking freak around here!"
Ed was ready with a snappy comeback, but it never passed the tip of his tongue as they both realised simultaneously that Niamh was standing watching them from the doorway of the kitchen. She looked Doug up and down coldly, possibly slightly exaggerating her expression of disgust. "You bigoted pig." Niamh paused for a moment, totally in control of the tense silence. She then continued, slowly and purposefully. "You know what I think? I think you are gay, but you're just ashamed to admit it. The truth hurts, doesn't it?"
With that, she turned and walked out. Only the harsh sound of Niamh slamming a door in the next room interrupted the silence. Ed looked at Doug, looked at the floor, and then departed as well. Doug sat down. The pang in his stomach was accompanied this time by a lump in his throat.
The truth hurts. He could just as well be gay, thought Doug. He had never had a proper relationship with a woman before, and now the girl that he most desired thought he was gay - so he might just as well be. Perhaps that was why he had become so angry. He couldn't deny to himself that he had resorted to looking for attraction in other men before, and so when someone pointed out to him that he might actually be gay, he feared it might be true.
That thought incensed him. He lashed out at a nearby chair with a roar and sent it cannoning across the room. It broke in two upon impact with the oven unit and clattered noisily to rest in the corner of the kitchen. He looked at it guiltily for a moment, and then got up and left the room.
He didn't quite know why, but that evening Doug found himself in a reputedly gay nightclub in downtown Brighton. As he sipped from his third pint of beer, he went over the events of the day in his mind to try and work out why he had come here. He remembered how angry he had been at Ed. He remembered how he had felt as Niamh walked out of that room - as if she was walking out of his life. As if he himself was walking out of his life. He remembered spending hours in his room ripping the magazine that had caused all this confusion into as many small pieces as possible. He remembered ignoring Ed when he came to check up on him after he missed his lecture.
Maybe he had wanted to get revenge on Ed and Niamh by making them think he actually was gay. Was that logical? Perhaps he had wanted to try out being gay. Surely not. It could be that he had wanted solace, away from the worries of dealing with the opposite sex. Coming to a gay club seemed like an unnecessarily drastic measure. Anyway, he was here now. Nobody knew he was here. It wasn't so bad.
The place was not what he had expected of a gay club. It looked like any other club - with the same jarring lights, the same alcohol and smoke-laden atmosphere, even the same music; although the music sounded curiously discordant to him, as if he didn't want to relax and lose himself in it. As if he didn't want to get too comfortable in this diseased place. Another thing that had surprised him was the number of girls around. The men did outnumber them, but there were still a significant number of females wandering around. Doug witnessed some suspected lesbian advances, but he couldn't shake off the conviction that there were actually some heterosexual activities occurring as well.
He couldn't bring himself to look when the occasional couple of men started getting over-friendly. It disgusted him. He was amused to discover that watching two women kiss in real life made him uneasy as well.
He sat at the bar, drinking in no hurry at all, just watching all these people. He slowly realised that nearly every one of them was unsure of his or herself. They were all concerned with doing the right thing, making the right moves. Is she gay? Is he looking at me? Does my breath smell bad? Am I dancing right? Doug could read the questions flashing through people's consciousness. It was a mindless pattern of petty worries, unimportant emotions and social traps. And what did it all add up to? Nothing. The whole thing was so pointless.
Doug felt himself move outside of that restrictive social bubble. He felt above all of the trivial concerns that so often bewitched the modern human mind. He felt as if nothing mattered. As if he could do anything, and none of it would really matter. He felt invincible...
He smiled broadly. He took a deep breath and leapt from his barstool onto the dance floor. He danced with complete abandon, closing his eyes, matching his heartbeat to the rhythm. He watched the light play through his eyelids; swirling, colourful designs like brainwaves. He became fluid, his body compressing and rippling with each beat. He opened his mouth as if he wanted to breathe in the atmosphere of the place, in order to make it a part of him.
The beat grew faster and a strobe light came on. Doug danced with an energy he didn't know he had. He danced as he had never danced before - he danced free of any worries. He compared himself to no-one. He was not lusting, hunting, self-pitying, trying, pretending, wanting or seeing. He was just being. Being himself. There was no-one to impress. He was on top of the world. He felt as if he was moving in slow motion, the constant throbbing of the beat building him up to a climax of energy. He lived. Just as the music, the lights, his dancing reached a peak - something happened that seemed from another world. Someone kissed him.
He kissed back.
With his eyes still closed, he wrapped his arms around this being and kissed back with unbridled passion. The two of them became entwined - as if all that existed was them and the music. For the few seconds of that kiss, Doug knew nothing else. Then, fearlessly, he opened his eyes.
Doug awoke the next morning with only the faintest ghost of a hangover, although his muscles felt slightly stiff, as if they had been well exercised. He also found himself unable to shake off a wide grin and a curious feeling of well-being. He took a deep breath, and inhaled a smell he was unfamiliar with. The smell of sex. He rolled in his bed to face the woman lying next to him - still sleeping like an innocent baby. His mind's eye instantly recalled a thousand pictures. Pictures of himself dancing as if it were his last night on earth; pictures of himself opening his eyes and absorbing the image of the strange beautiful girl who had been the first to kiss him; pictures of passion and fulfilment of the manhood that had been so severely tested.
Doug sighed contentedly and put an arm around his far from innocent sleeping beauty. He closed his eyes again and relaxed completely, when suddenly a loud knock sounded on his door. His eyes snapped open and he sat up rapidly, ensuring that the bedcovers were concealing his stirring groin.
"Who is it?" enquired Doug.
"It's me," replied Niamh through the door.
Doug paused for a moment, for dramatic effect, then said in a kind of stage whisper; "Hang on." He slipped out of bed, quickly checked that his girl was still wrapped up warmly and stepped into some of the clothes that were strewn across his floor.
He hesitated briefly at the door, picked up a bra from the handle and threw it to the other side of the room, then quietly opened the door just enough to poke his head through. Niamh was greeted with a big smile.
"I'm so sorry about what happened yesterday," Niamh apologised agitatedly, "I didn't mean to call you gay. I mean - I know you're not... I guess I just wanted to hurt you. To put you in your place. But I was cruel. I'm sorry. I -"
"Don't worry about it," soothed Doug. There was a pause before Niamh spoke again, as if she had only now become aware that he was there.
"You're looking... radiant today, Doug," said Niamh, puzzled. "Something about you..." She started, as if realising something. Without thinking, she cocked her head to one side, as if listening for something. Her brow furrowed and her head shook almost imperceptibly. She looked Doug straight in the eyes and smiled back at him.
"Lunch, then?" asked Niamh. "One o'clock?"
Doug gave a subtle nod and a wryer smile. The eye contact between them lingered for just a second longer than normal. Niamh smiled again as she turned away. Doug stood motionless for a while, his entire being living for that smile. Then, gently, he closed the door between them - with Niamh on the other side for the last time.
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