When I was growing in the Nazarene church, not only was alcohol forbidden, we couldn't even go into a venue that served or sold alcohol, for any reason. My Sunday school teacher said, "If a maniac with an axe is chasing you, and the only way to escape is to run into a bar, choose the maniac."
Alan grew up hardcore Pentecostal, with similar restrictions.
So we were never around anyone drinking. We didn't really understand that people who are drunk behave differently than when they are sober.
Until one night at Mugi.
It was about 10:00 pm, still early. Alan was chatting up a cute twink from Taiwan, and I had flirted with a few guys, but nothing definite yet.
Then I saw Zack, sitting at the bar, drinking a green, toxic-looking drink. I later discovered that it was a Flying Grasshopper, creme-de-menthe, creme-de-cacao, vodka, and mint leaves. Stunningly out of place amid the coca-colas and beers.
He was a tall, blond twink, wearing a blue suit with a hot pink, frilled shirt unbuttoned half way down Very tan, smooth chest beneath. Stunningly out of place amid the t-shirts and jeans.
We talked. No slurred speech or erratic movements, not obviously drunk. Zack was from Idaho, came to L.A. three years ago to become an actor. He had done some modeling, yelled on a roller coaster in a commercial for Knotts Berry Farm, and played a racist high school bully on an episode of Diff'rent Strokes. I pretended that I had seen it..
I reached inside his shirt to feel his chest. It was remarkably ripped. The boy knew his way around a gym.
Zack ordered another Flying Grasshopper, then grabbed my hand and squeezed it hard. "Can I come back to your place tonight?"
"I'm....um....with my roommate right now," I said, shocked.
The full post, with nude photos and sexual situations, is on Tales of West Hollywood.