The Power of Advertising (Patreon)

I leaned on the polished wood of the bar, wiping a glass in an automatic rhythm. The hum of conversation and clinking pints surrounded me, just another part of the background noise in my life. New York City was supposed to be an adventure: glamour, excitement, endless opportunities.

Back in high school, things were simple. I was the golden boy of small town Iowa — quarterback of the football team, dated the head cheerleaders, and threw touchdowns every Friday night. Girls craved my attention, guys begged for my respect. The world seemed laid out in front of me, shining and clear.

Moving to New York to study advertising felt like the natural next step, a leap from local hero to big-city success story. But I’d landed here, working as a bartender, pouring pint after pint for the regulars who kept this place in business.

Ninety thousand bucks of college debt.  Not an adventure, and not so simple either.

When I first started studying advertising, I was thrilled. It felt creative and exciting—a way to tell stories, influence people, make an impact. But somewhere along the way, the sheen wore off. It felt like a scam. Marketing wasn’t about connecting with people or creating something meaningful; it was about manipulation, finding clever ways to sell things that people didn't need. That truth had settled in my stomach like a weight.

So what, I picked a loser major?  At least New York was awesome, right?  Not for a nice boy from Iowa – A guy who got stabbed outside my building last month.  Sirens kept me up at night.  One time I got robbed on the subway.

Mom always asked if I had met a nice girl. The city was full of them, each more gorgeous than the last, but most seemed to see me as some kind of novelty. “You’re from Iowa?” they asked, smirking. “Is it all farms?” I laughed it off, but the sting lingered. Nobody here cared about my high school football stories.

Still, at least I had the job. Bartending suited me—the fast pace, the banter with regulars, the satisfaction of the perfect pour. It wasn’t what I dreamed of, but for then, at least it was something.

---

The bar was busy that night, with conversations bouncing off the walls and laughter punctuating the steady hum. Peter, one of my regulars, sat at his usual spot near the TV. He was a boomer and he’d never learned how to use a phone for news like the rest of us. He’d been sipping his beer quietly, staring at the screen with that glazed expression that meant he was waiting for some outrage.

“What’s that?” he muttered, half to himself, leaning forward to squint at the scrolling text under the anchor. A flash of bright colors on the screen drew my attention—a breaking news banner. I glanced up just as the headline rolled by: “Berkeley Scientists Announce Shocking Discovery.”

Peter raised his voice to cut through the noise. “Hey, Cory, turn up the TV,” he said, pointing his pint toward the screen. I grabbed the remote and turned up the volume, the anchor’s voice cutting through the chatter.

“Stunning new findings today,” the anchor announced, his tone both serious and intrigued. “In attempting to isolate the genetic causes of homosexuality, scientists at the University of California, Berkeley, have discovered a simple chemical regimen that can induce homosexuality in an otherwise heterosexual male. This discovery has shocked the academic community and faith groups across the country.”

I froze, the empty glass still in my hand. The camera cut to a southern pastor, his face red with indignation. “This is an abomination!” he thundered. “No God-fearing man could ever be forced into a sinful life of sodomy and same-sex attraction! It’s the devil’s work!”

The anchor came back on screen, his expression calm and calculated. “The scientists have already formed a new company, 'Go Gay', which holds the exclusive license for commercial use. We expect more on this story as it unfolds. Meanwhile, in Montana, a park ranger has been found after a three-day search in Glacier National Park.”

I turned the volume down, setting the remote back behind the counter.

“Aw man, what’s the world coming to?” Peter muttered, shaking his head as he took another swig of beer. I shrugged, not sure how to respond, the surreal news still playing in my head.

The chatter around the bar turned toward the TV segment almost immediately. “I’d never take it,” Peter said firmly, slamming his mug on the counter for emphasis. A few other heads nodded in agreement.

“Yeah, but what if you don’t have to take it?” another regular, Matt, chimed in. “What if someone sets off a bomb or something? You could get infected without even knowing.”

The tension in the room ticked up a notch, but I wasn’t having it. I slapped the bar top lightly to get their attention. “Relax, guys. Trust me on this one,” I said. “I did my degree in marketing. This is an obvious PR plant.”

Matt raised an eyebrow. “Whaddaya mean?”

I gestured toward the TV. “Come on. Big scientific breakthrough? Shocking discovery? It’s classic setup. The next step is a huge marketing blitz. Give it a week and you won’t be able to leave your apartment without seeing ads for this shit.”

“Great,” Matt said, rolling his eyes. “Just what I want — constant ads to turn myself gay.”

My barback, Ryan, snorted with laughter.

“Relax,” I said with a scoff. “It won’t actually work. And if it does, it’s probably, like… temporary. Maybe it works for like... an hour.”

Hunter, a younger guy at the far end of the bar, grinned.  “I've been gay for an hour. That’s called tequila.”

Peter shot him a disgusted look, his lips curling in disapproval. Hunter laughed nervously, holding up his hands. “Kidding, kidding,” he said, shrinking back into his seat. The awkward tension hung in the air for a moment before the hum of conversation picked back up.

Pretty soon the guys were sitting on the Mets again.  Crisis averted.

And you know what… I was right.  None of their fears ever came to pass. No gay gas in Times Square, no gay guys trying to roofie the straights.

Just ads. Lots and lots of ads. You couldn’t walk down the street without seeing a hundred ads for Go Gay. Billboards, subway posters, every third post on your socials. A million different slogans: “Go Gay — Find Your True Self”, “Go Gay – It’s Time”, “Go Gay – Adventure Starts at Home”.  It was everywhere, paired with photos of smiling, happy men living their best lives.

It was almost impressive in its sheer omnipresence.

------

The bar was quieter than usual that evening, the soft hum of a few scattered conversations blending with the faint clinking of glasses. I was wiping down the counter when Matt stormed in, his face twisted in annoyance, a magazine clenched tightly in his hand. He slammed the magazine down on the bar.

“Can you believe this shit?” he barked, sliding onto a stool and jabbing a finger at the glossy pages. “Caught my girl looking at this garbage.” The magazine fell open to a full-page spread.

My eyes went to the headline first: “Let him Go Gay – More Freedom for You!” Below it was a sleekly styled photo of a woman in a tailored business suit, lounging on the edge of a penthouse sofa. She held a glass of champagne, her expression relaxed and confident. The tagline at the bottom read: “Encourage him. Empower yourself.”

I raised an eyebrow and let out a low whistle. “I think my Mom used to own that suit in the 80's,” I teased, trying to lighten his mood.

Matt wasn’t having it. “It’s bullshit,” he snapped. “What the hell kind of message is this? Like she wants me to just… switch teams and suddenly she’ll be sipping champagne in a penthouse? What kind of scam is this?”

“Just the garden variety,” I shrugged. “Like I told you. They’ll rake in a bunch of money from suckers. Probably gay guys who get off on trying to convert straight dudes. Then they’ll go bankrupt with the first lawsuit.”

“Aw, fuck it,” Matt groaned.  “I hate when she tries to control my life.”

Hunter, perched on the far side of the bar, leaned forward. “They seem pretty legit, though,” he said. “They’ve got a store over on 5th Ave. I walked past it the other day—on my way to the Apple Store, not like I was checking out the gay stuff—and… I saw a dude go inside.”

“Closet case, I bet," Peter chuckled, nursing a whiskey.

“I dunno. He looked pretty normal,” Hunter shrugged.

“What’d he look like after?” Peter’s grin widened.

Hunter rolled his eyes. “What, like I stuck around to watch?”

The laughter that followed rippled across the room. Matt, muttering under his breath, grabbed the magazine and tossed it towards the trash. I picked it up off the floor and finished the job, shaking my head as it hit the bin. The less I saw those ads, the better.

But as the evening wore on, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. Who would actually buy into something like this? The ad’s glossy image of wealth and independence wasn’t aimed at gay men looking for a thrill—it was targeting women like Matt’s girlfriend, making them believe they could benefit from ditching their boyfriends. Did they really think it would work? Were they counting on some deep dissatisfaction in straight relationships to push this? Or was it just clickbait and controversy?

The tagline echoed in my head: “Encourage him. Empower yourself.” My eyes drifted to the trash bin more than once, the glossy image shimmering in my memory. Capitalism, I thought, shaking my head, is the biggest scam of all.

-----

A couple of days later, the bar was quiet, the kind of lull that made the minutes drag. I was leaning against the counter, trawling for a conversation. Matt was nursing a beer at his usual spot, scrolling aimlessly on his phone.

“Hey, did the missus drop that gay shit?” I asked him, smirking as I wiped a clean glass for the third time.

Matt groaned and set his phone down. “Worse. She’s doubled down. Keeps telling me about this guy she follows on Instagram. Lost a bet, went through with it, and now he’s posting nonstop about his new boyfriend.”

“Boyfriend?” I laughed. “I bet they’re both getting paid. All those influencers, it’s just advertising with a different name.”

Matt shrugged, clearly unconvinced. “I dunno. He seems pretty sincere.”

“Yeah, but… a new relationship already?” I said, raising an eyebrow. “I thought gay guys are s’posed to be sluts.”

“That’s what I thought!” Matt shrugged, pulling out his phone. “She keeps sending me this shit.” He tapped at the screen and pulled up a video, turning the phone so I could see.

On the screen, a twenty-something farm boy type, dressed in jeans and a chest-hugging T-shirt, walked along a fence line. “Hey guys,” he said with a wink. “Jon Chopper here with another update from the field. This is a big one.”

The camera followed him as he kept walking. “Cassie left the farm today. I really thought we’d committed to this trad lifestyle together, but she told me for the last few months, she’s been yearning for the city again. So my tradwife’s gone, but my tradlife’s still here.”

The influencer stopped and leaned against the fence, the camera focussing more on his body than his face.  Typical online bullshit.  I grew up on a farm, and let me tell you – there’s too much work to film every stray thought that pops through your head.

“I know it’s only been a few dates,” he said.  “But I feel closer to Jesse than anyone I’ve ever met, so… I asked him to move in with me! Check it out!”

The camera swung around to frame a muscular young man in a flannel shirt with the sleeves cut off. He had sun-bleached blond hair and an easy grin, the kind of guy who’d look more at home in California than Montana. “S’up y’all,” Jesse said, flashing a ‘hang ten’ sign.

He looked like a surfer who’d been cast in a community play about farming.

The camera swung back to Jon, his face lighting up as he continued. “I’m like… the luckiest guy alive. Look, if you’re still straight, I get it. I wasn’t sure when Cassie dropped me off at Go Gay, but… I wouldn’t trade this for the world.” He smiled at the camera, but it was obvious his real attention was on Jesse.

The video looped back to the start. “Hey guys,” Jon winked again, “Jon Chopper here—” Matt swiped down and closed the video with a sigh.

“See what I’m dealing with?” he fumed, tossing his phone onto the bar. “I know she likes my dick, and I keep the bills paid. I don’t get why she’s suddenly bitching at me to go queer.”

I shrugged, polishing a glass. “Why does anyone want anything?” I said. “Because someone told her that happiness is the smell of a new car.”

Matt gave me a puzzled look. “What?”

“Mad Men,” I cited, setting the glass down and leaning on the counter. I could feel my frustration rise. “It’s microtargeting,” I said, my voice sharper than I intended. “The most manipulative, soul-destroying thing advertising’s ever come up with. They’ve got algorithms running on everything she’s clicked, liked, or watched. They know what she’s insecure about, what she wants to change about herself, what keeps her awake at night. And they’re not just showing her ads — they’re showing very specific ads that will play on those fears. All to sell her some bullshit fantasy that’ll never make her happy.”

Matt blinked at me, his beer halfway to his lips. “Uh, okay, dude.”

“No, seriously,” I pressed. “These ads don’t just tell you to buy something. They plant ideas in your head, make you think you need it. They’re designed to exploit your deepest fears and desires. They make you think, ‘If I just buy this one thing, everything will fall into place.’ And then what? You’re stuck in the same cycle, but now you’ve got less money and a bunch of crap that didn’t fix anything.”

Matt lowered his beer. “I mean, it’s just an ad, man.”

“It’s not just an ad,” I said, shaking my head. “It’s a system. It’s everywhere. Social media, streaming platforms, even your damn fridge if it’s smart enough. They’re selling us lies one perfectly targeted click at a time. And it works, Matt. That’s the worst part. It fucking works.”

Matt grunted and took a swig of his beer. He frowned as his phone buzzed again, a new notification lighting up the screen. He flipped the phone face down without looking. With a frustrated sigh, he gripped his drink tighter.

“Women,” he muttered. “Maybe they’ve got her convinced, but not me,” Matt said, setting his beer down harder than necessary. “Even if my girl keeps pushing it, a man’s got his own mind.”

I almost laughed, but stopped myself. One time, my mom started hinting we should get a hot tub — just casual comments at first, then pamphlets on the kitchen table. A month later, we had one in the backyard, and my dad swore it was his idea. I desperately wanted to tell the story, but I didn’t. The last thing Matt needed was to feel like it was inevitable.

Hunter, sitting off to the side, chimed in.

“I dunno,” he said, scratching his neck. “Maybe nobody wants this, but... I got a couple gay buddies, and… they get laid a lot easier than I do.”

The whole bar turned to stare at him. Hunter raised his hands defensively. “What? I’m not gonna do it!” he said quickly, his cheeks flushing.

The awkward silence dissolved into laughter, and even Matt cracked a smile as he lifted his beer again. “Yeah, well, you better not,” Matt said, shaking his head. “Don’t need anyone else trying to sell me on this bullshit.  Nobody tells me what to do!”

After work that night, I walked home through the cool city streets, the sounds of traffic and distant conversations filling the air. As I rounded a corner, I spotted a brightly lit bus stop ad.

It was for Go Gay. The headline read: “Adventure Starts at Home,” printed above an image of a pair twenty-something guys. They were packing gear for a hiking trip, all smiles and exchanging affectionate looks that left no doubt – those guys were in love. The scene was like something out of a travel magazine.

“Oh, fuck off,” I muttered, pulling my jacket tighter as I stormed past.

-----

The next evening, Hunter strutted into the bar, practically vibrating with energy. There was a spring in his step, a self-satisfied grin on his face that immediately drew attention.

He leaned casually against the bar, clearly waiting for someone to ask. I obliged, raising an eyebrow as I wiped down the counter. “Alright, out with it. You win the lottery or something?”

“Better,” Hunter gloated, his grin widening. “I stopped in at Go Gay.”

The bar erupted with reactions—laughter, disbelief, a few low whistles. Matt nearly spit out his drink.

“No fucking way,” Ryan said, eyes wide. “You… you actually went in?”

“What can I say?” Hunter shrugged, basking in the attention. “They gave me 50% off. Couldn’t resist.”

Peter let out a harsh laugh, leaning back in his seat. “Shit, Hunter. I didn’t know you wanted to suck a dick so bad.”

The room went silent for a moment, the mean-spirited edge of Peter’s comment hanging in the air. Hunter’s grin faltered, but he recovered quickly.

“You don’t get it, do you?” Hunter said self-rightoutly. “It’s not about sucking dick. It’s about freedom. Women? They’re a liability, man. You spend all your time trying to impress them, spend all your money taking them out, and what do you get? A headache. Guys?” He snapped his fingers. “No games, no bullshit. You want something, you just go for it.”

“Oh, come on,” Peter sneered. “You’re telling me being gay is some kind of shortcut to happiness?”

“Damn right it is,” Hunter shot back. “Think about it. You’re not stuck chasing approval from some chick who’s only gonna judge you on your wallet and your job. With guys, it’s simple. You’re either down to fuck, or you’re not. And the best part? No alimony, no custody battles, no nagging about putting the seat down. It’s pure efficiency.”

“Sounds like you’ve been watching too much YouTube,” Matt muttered, shaking his head.

“Damn right I have,” Hunter said, undeterred. “You ever hear of ‘redefining success’? These guys I follow, they’ve figured it out. There’s this one dude, Rob Tucker—he used to talk about how he spent his whole life grinding for women. Fancy dinners, luxury vacations, trying to keep them happy. But now? He’s gay, and he’s happier than ever. His words, not mine: ‘It’s not about losing something; it’s about finding yourself.’”

Peter rolled his eyes and slammed his beer down on the counter. “I’m gonna piss,” he muttered, standing up. As he passed me, he jabbed a finger in my direction. “And you—shut down this gay shit. I don’t wanna drink at a fag bar.”

“Not cool dude,” I called after him.  “We play 21st century rules!”

As Peter stalked off, Ryan waved dismissively. “Forget him,” he said. “What’s it like in there?”

Hunter chuckled, settling in for story time. “The store? Dude, it’s retail. You walk in, there’s some fag working the counter — I’m allowed to say that — and these mannequins everywhere, all dressed up like different types of gay guys. Bears, twinks, himbos… I picked the gaybro option. Nothing too fabulous. Just a bro who fucks bros, get it?”

“Whoa,” Mark said, leaning forward. “They screw with your personality too?”

“Not exactly,” Hunter shrugged. “It’s not magic or anything. They give you some headphones, sit you in front of a TV, and show you a couple hours of… stuff. It’s just to get you up to speed, you know? Teach you the ropes. The videos are honestly kinda cool. It’s like… a highlight reel of what it means to be gay. The culture, the vibe, the confidence. It’s like they’re saying, ‘You don’t have to play by anyone else’s rules.’”

“So what made you, uh...?” Ryan asked, genuinely curious.

Hunter’s expression softened, almost nostalgic. “I was watching this one ad… It was this dude at a Pride parade, just standing on a float, owning it. Confetti everywhere, music blasting, and he’s just… beaming. Like he’s the happiest guy on Earth. And I thought, ‘Why isn’t that me?’ I realized I was done pretending. I walked out of there knowing exactly who I wanted to be.”

“But… you haven’t actually hooked up with a guy yet?” I asked, skeptical.

“Well, no,” Hunter admitted, scratching the back of his neck. “But I know I’m gay.  You just know, right?”

“Uh-huh,” I said, grabbing a pint glass from the rack. “You want a beer?”

Hunter hesitated. “Make it a vodka tonic,” he said quietly. “Less calories. Gotta watch the abs.”

He lifted the hem of his t-shirt to reveal his toned stomach, flashing a sheepish grin. Guys around the bar pretended not to look and I could tell he was enjoying it. Then the bathroom door swung open, and Peter’s heavy steps echoed back into the room. Hunter quickly dropped his shirt.

“Anyway,” he said, clearing his throat and pitching his voice down a half octave. “Yeah. Is the game on yet?”

I turned on the TV and mixed his cocktail, shaking my head. There was no way this was going to stick. Hunter would wake up tomorrow with buyer’s remorse and no refund. At least, that’s what I told myself as I slid his drink across the counter and turned my attention back to the TV.

That night, when I locked up the bar and stepped out onto the quiet street, my eyes were immediately drawn to a new bus stop ad just outside. “Find Your Freedom, Live Your Truth,” it read in bold letters. The poster showed two men, both muscular and clean-cut, with their arms draped casually around each other’s shoulders. Their smiles were wide, their eyes full of affection. In the background, they were packing gear into a rugged SUV, clearly about to set off on some outdoor adventure. At the bottom of the poster was a QR code with the Go Gay logo printed neatly beneath it.

I paused for a moment, staring at the ad. How many people were falling for this scam? The thought made me sigh. Hunter had bought into it hook, line, and sinker. Then again, he’d always been a bit of a ‘red pill’ guy, constantly ranting about self-improvement and escaping the system. If those masculinity influencers were pushing this… well, it was no wonder he took the bait.

“Some people are so easily swayed,” I muttered under my breath.

-----

Roommates in your twenties are a mixed bag—you’re basically rolling dice on Craigslist and hoping for the best. That’s how I ended up with Christian, Amir, and Jason. We’re not friends, exactly, but we coexist.

Christian’s the quiet one, nerdy as hell, working IT for some Wall Street firm. He’s got a knack for disappearing into his room for hours, probably coding or gaming or doing whatever IT guys do. Amir’s the polished one, always dressed like he’s heading to a corporate boardroom. He works in management, climbing the ladder, and he’s got this air of quiet ambition. Then there’s Jason—the wildcard. He’s older, somewhere in his thirties, but acts like he’s still in college. When he’s not cooking, he’s drinking, gaming, or breaking up with his latest girlfriend.  He’s a chef at a bar in Midtown, which means we talk more than the others – that same late-night schedule.

Tonight, Jason was slouched on the couch with a controller in hand. The faint sound of explosions and gunfire filled the room as he mashed buttons. “Yo,” he called without looking up. “How was the shift?”

I dropped my bag by the door and sank into the armchair opposite him. “Fine. Same as always.”

Jason glanced over, narrowing his eyes. “You good? You look like someone ran over your dog or something.”

I hesitated. “It’s not that. It’s just...” I paused, trying to find the words. “Something weird happened at the bar tonight.”

“You okay bro?” Jason asked, pausing his game. “Someone need their stomach pumped?”

"No... it's... one of my regulars, Hunter... he went to that 'Go Gay' store and went through the looking glass."

"No offence bro, but those ads are bullshit," Jason grinned as he reached for a fresh beer.  He didn't bother to offer me one.

“Yeah, well... he’s... different now,” I said, struggling to explain. “Like, he’s gone gay. But like, he hasn't slept with guys or anything. He’s just doing it for attention. I mean — he’s always been one of those guys who has to be the centre of everything.”

Jason snorted. “Let me guess—he’s suddenly into glitter and Pride parades?”

“No, not exactly,” I said, my voice trailing off. “But he’s wearing tight shirts, flirting with guys... It’s just weird.”

Jason leaned back, tossing his controller onto the couch. “Cory, listen. People waste money on dumb shit all the time. They make choices that don’t make sense. You can’t let that get in your head. Let him do his thing. You just focus on you.”

“Yeah, but...” I started, but Jason cut me off.

“No ‘buts,’” he said firmly. “Hunter’s life is his business. Don’t waste energy trying to figure out what’s going on with him. You do you, man.  Welcome to New York.”

I nodded, even though it didn’t feel that simple. Jason, ever the perpetual frat boy, grabbed his controller and unpaused his game, already lost in his digital battlefield. I sat there for a moment longer, still trying to make sense of what I’d seen. Jason was right—I had to focus on myself.

But the image of Hunter lingered in my mind – an itch I couldn’t scratch.

-----

About a week later, Peter walked into the bar, and I almost dropped a glass. I had to do a double-take. This wasn’t the same grumpy old man who used to sit at the counter complaining about CNN.

Nope, this Peter was walking tall, chest out, and shoulders back like he owned the damn place. It hit me like a truck: for years, Peter had been hiding a powerhouse under those baggy flannels and old jackets.

He’d always been quick to brag about playing rugby in college, but until now, it had seemed like one of those “glory days” stories every bitter boomer tells.  But here he was, showing us all what that wide frame and long-forgotten muscle could do when dressed right. His dark button-down shirt hugged his chest and arms, making the most of what he’d held onto.

And those slacks? Snug enough to hint at strong legs, the kind that haven’t forgotten years of scrumming on the field, while still looking modest and mature.

His salt-and-pepper beard was trimmed to perfection, adding a kind of rugged sophistication.

“Hey, Peter… what’s shaking?” I asked, still trying to wrap my head around his transformation.

“Ass and cock, boy, ass and cock,” Peter chuckled, sliding onto his usual stool with a swagger that made Hunter spit out his drink.

“You guys can probably tell, can’tcha?”

“Looks like someone took a trip to the store,” Hunter teased, his voice sing-song. He’d clearly embraced the gaybro vibe over the past week. Tonight, he was wearing a fitted tee, ass-hugging sweats, and a backwards ball cap — I'd stopped mocking it after the second day.

Peter’s grin widened. “God, you’re such a little faggot,” he flirted with a wink. “And you’re not the only one. It’s just a matter of time until you’re all lining up for my cock, right boys?”

Matt signaled for another beer, even though he had a half-pint left. Whatever – between this and his girl pushing the gay stuff... he clearly needed it.

“Beer?” I asked Peter, hesitating for a moment as I remembered Hunter’s shift in drink preferences.

“Yeah,” Peter said with a nod. “But just one. I got wasted last night… can’t do that too much at my age.”

He turned to Hunter and took a thirsty look. “I bet you’re out at the clubs every night.”

“Get real,” Hunter snorted. “It’s not the '90s… all I need is Grindr.”

“Wait,” I interrupted, my disbelief getting the better of me. “You’re actually hooking up with dudes now?”

Hunter rolled his eyes. “Yeah, bro. I told you. I went gay.”

“So, Peter,” Matt said, his tone exasperated, “what’s the story? You got wasted and stumbled into the gay store? They held you down and zapped you with the gay ray?”

Peter laughed, a deep, hearty sound. “Hot, but no. My college buddy Rod is in town, crashing in my guest room. Just finalized his divorce, and I guess the wife suggested the trip.”

“She wanted him to go gay, huh?” I asked, jumping to the conclusion. “Another chick trying to escape a bad relationship.”

Matt shot me a dirty look, and I immediately regretted the quip. I didn’t mean to imply anything about his situation.

“No, actually,” Peter admitted, his expression softening. “Turns out Rod’s always been gay. Married to Marie for thirty-five years, but I guess he was holding a flame for me all that time. I was an asshole back then, and…”

“Back then?” Hunter interrupted with a shitdisturbing grin.

“Shuddap, kid,” Peter said, giving Hunter an affectionate squeeze around the shoulders.  “So last night, Rod and I get drunk, like… haven’t-been-that-drunk-in-twenty-years drunk. He confesses the whole thing to me, and… well, fuck… I haven’t been with a girl since my ex-wife, so I suggested…”

“You suggested?” Matt’s eyes practically bugged out.

“Yeah,” Peter said, his voice tinged with sentimentality. “I mean… I wasn’t gonna, but we were out for a beer and I saw that ad on TV. It was this one line: ‘He’s already your best friend.’ They showed two guys laughing and working on a car together, just being… comfortable. It wasn’t a parade full buttplugs or whatever. It was simple. And I just thought… why not?  I mean, I never loved Rod like this before, but… I still loved him. So I said, ‘Let’s go downtown and hit up Go Gay.’”

He shrugged, looking around the bar with a mixture of pride and vulnerability. “Anyway, here I am… happier than I’ve been in a long time. Rod’s just down the block buying cigars, but I want y’all to meet him.”

Matt shakily got up from his seat and mumbled something about the bathroom. His face was pale, and he looked like he’d seen a ghost. I nudged Ryan. “Watch the bar for a sec,” I said, and went after Matt.

I found him in the hallway outside the bathroom, leaning against the wall with his head resting on the cool brick. He looked like he was trying to keep himself from falling apart.

“Hey, bud,” I asked, keeping my voice low. “You doing okay?”

He didn’t answer right away. His eyes were closed, and his breathing was shallow. Finally, he let out a shaky laugh. “It’s just… it’s like you can’t avoid it, y’know?”

“Avoid what?” I asked, even though I already knew the answer.

“This gay shit,” Matt groaned. “I figured, so what, Hunter went gay. Maybe he was just hanging out in the closet, and this was the perfect excuse, y’know? Fine. Whatever. But I had lunch with my buddy Josh yesterday. Josh, man. I know Josh is straight. We were roommates in college. Dude definitely wasn’t gay before.”

“And now?” I asked.

Matt let out a bitter laugh. “Now he’s telling me I gotta call him a ‘cub.’ Whatever the fuck that means. And Peter?” He looked up at me, his eyes wide with panic. “Dude, if Peter’s going gay, the rest of us are FUCKED. Boomer was the biggest homophobe I know. Now we’re gonna meet his boyfriend?”

“Look, I know you think this is all some marketing delusion,” he continued, “but there’s no ad good enough to make a man…” He trailed off and reached into his pocket, pulling out a crumpled magazine page. “And Melissa won’t stop showing me these ads.”

He handed me the page. The ad was brightly colored, showing two young guys on top of a rugged mountain, both smiling and carefree, wearing next to nothing. “Brains are overrated. Live Large, Laugh Hard. Go Himbo.”

“What’s that even mean?” I asked, my eyes lingering on the word ‘Himbo.’

“I dunno, bro,” Matt moaned. “It’s something about being a guy who’s so dumb he doesn’t worry about nothin’… which sounds fucked, but… I wanna find out more, y’know? Fuck, dude… maybe they got me already. I’ve been staring at this ad for like a week.”

He rubbed his face with both hands. “I’m taking off for a work trip tomorrow—a week in Nashville—so if I’m wearing rhinestones and high heeled boots when I get back… well, bud, it’s been nice knowing you.”

“Relax,” I said, trying to sound more confident than I felt. “Nobody can make you do it, not if you don’t want to. This stuff… it’s just a fad. Like when everyone was doing the same TikTok dances, but with way more money behind it. I’m straight, you’re straight… nothin’s gonna change that, okay?”

“Yeah, okay,” Matt said, sounding almost dejected. He went to stuff the paper back into his pocket, but I stopped him.

“Let me take that,” I offered. “No reason for you to carry it around. Why don’t you come sit down, have a drink, and… just let other people make their choices.”

“Yeah,” Matt said, nodding slowly. “Okay.” He hesitated, then added, “For real though… I gotta piss.”

“Alright,” I said with a laugh. “I’m gonna get back out there. Let’s talk more later… I got you, bro.”

But we didn’t get a chance to chat again that night.

Rod showed up not long after, and it was like the entire vibe of the bar flipped on its head. He was loud, charming, and had this magnetic energy that drew everyone in. Within minutes, he was buying drinks for the regulars and dancing with Peter like they were the stars of some rom-com.

Every time Rod laughed, it filled the room, and I couldn’t help but notice how he managed to make everyone feel like they were in on the joke — he’d make a great bartender. He turned his attention my way a few times, flirting just enough to make me his target but not enough to make it weird.

“C’mon, Cory,” he grinned, leaning on the bar. “You’re not gonna let me drink alone, are ya?”

“I’m working,” I apologized, keeping my tone light but firm.

“Fair enough,” he said with a wink, turning his attention back to Peter, who was laughing so hard he had to wipe tears from his eyes.

Meanwhile, Matt had parked himself at the far end of the bar, nursing his beer. He didn’t say much, just stared into his glass while the noise and energy swirled around him. After a few more rounds, he got up and stumbled out the door without a word.

I watched him go, a knot forming in my stomach. There was something about the way he carried himself, like the weight of everything we’d talked about was pressing down on him. I made a mental note to check in with him tomorrow, but for now, I had a bar full of people to handle—and a party that wasn’t slowing down anytime soon.

---

I locked up the bar late again that night. The streets were quiet, except for the hum of the occasional car passing by. The Find Your Freedom ad at the bus stop had faded into the background, blending in with the endless stream of posters, billboards, and digital screens that surrounded me every day. But there was no ignoring all of them. Everywhere I looked, there was another bright, cheerful message hammering home the same point: Go Gay.

“Sharing is Sweeter,” one ad proclaimed, showing two guys making cookies together, flour dusting their hands and smiles lighting up their faces. Another one, “Set Him Free,” featured a woman walking away from a cafe table, her shoulders light with relief, while two men flirted over coffee in the background.

“Catch the Moment.”

“Discover Something New.”

“Adventure Begins at Home.”

A thousand slogans, all whispering the same thing: you’ll find love, you’ll find sex, you’ll find whatever it is you’re missing.

I couldn’t help but scoff at the ridiculous promises. It was all so obviously manufactured, just another empty marketing ploy designed to sell people an expensive fantasy. That’s what I’d told myself from the beginning. But as I walked past another brightly lit bus stop ad, doubt started to creep in.

Peter and Rod flashed through my mind. Two old guys, sitting at the bar until last call, laughing like kids and sharing a quiet moment over a nightcap. Peter had looked lighter.  Happier. And then there was Hunter, strutting around in his too tight shirts and ass-hugging sweats, more confident than I’d ever seen him.

It wasn’t just them. Every day, I saw more YouTubers, influencers, even mainstream celebrities joining in. They all seemed… better, somehow. Lighter. Freer. Like they’d found some kind of secret the rest of us were missing.

Matt was right. Peter was the last guy I would have expected to go gay.  Maybe it was only a matter of time for everyone. The thought sent a shiver down my spine. Where was the world going to be if this kept up? Totally fucked, that’s where.

By the time I got to my apartment, my thoughts were swirling. I said a quick “hi” to my drunk roommates and headed straight for my room. Closing the door behind me, I reached into my pocket and pulled out the Himbo ad Matt handed me earlier.

The image on the page was simple, almost too perfect. Two guys standing at the top of a mountain, the sunset casting a golden glow over their carefree smiles. Their arms were around each other’s shoulders, their bodies relaxed, their faces lit with joy. “Brains are overrated. Live Large, Laugh Hard. Go Himbo.”

I sat down on the edge of my bed, staring at the ad. It looked good. Better than good. The two men were so happy, so free, so… simple. For a moment, I could almost feel what they felt, standing on that mountaintop without a care in the world.

“Brains are overrated,” I whispered to myself, the words tasting strange in my mouth. “Maybe it’s not just a fad.”

I placed the ad on my bedside table and stood up, my mind still buzzing. It was late, and I needed to shake off whatever weird spell this whole thing was casting on me. Grabbing my toothbrush, I headed to the bathroom, determined to forget about it.

But as I brushed my teeth, my reflection in the mirror caught me off guard. For the first time in a long time, I really looked at myself. The lines of my jaw, the shape of my shoulders, the bulging muscle in my arms—it was all there, but I’d never noticed it before.

I’d always thought of myself as average, but staring at my reflection, I realized I wasn’t just average. I was good-looking. Gorgeous, even. The kind of guy who might actually turn heads if I carried myself differently. It was like seeing a stranger in the mirror, one who looked calm, confident, and… happy.

That night, I dreamed about tending bar. My same build, my same face, but I was different somehow. I wasn’t trying too hard, and I wasn’t weighed down by stress. I was wearing jean shorts and a loosely fitted tank, moving easily through the crowd, laughing and mixing drinks.

Peter and Hunter were there, both laughing and clinking glasses at a table with Rod. And then there was Matt. He was sitting at the end of the bar, watching me with a look that was hard to read.

I wasn’t thinking about anything but the moment. No worries, no stress, just a constant stream of good vibes and… well, connection. I was laughing, happy, and totally at ease. Life couldn’t have been better.

When I woke up, it was still hours before my alarm.  My sheets were soaked in sweat. I sat up, trying to shake the images from my head, but they clung to me. The laughter, the freedom, the sheer joy—it felt so real.  It felt... inevitable.

I stared at the Himbo ad on my bedside table, the words blurring slightly in the dim light. “Brains are overrated,” I murmured, the phrase echoing in my head. Maybe it wasn’t just a dream. Maybe it wasn’t just a fad.

I didn’t need to be afraid anymore. For the first time since this started...

I was sold.

-----

The subway ride downtown felt surreal. I kept my head down, headphones in, pretending to be engrossed in some random playlist, but my mind was racing. What the hell was I doing?

When I stepped off the train and climbed the stairs to street level, the bright lights of the Go Gay storefront glared back at me. It looked sleek and modern, like an Apple Store or one of those high-end shoe boutiques from Sex and the City. Polished glass windows, minimalist displays, and that unmistakable logo—clean, bold letters that seemed to beckon and dare me all at once.

I hesitated, staring at the door. My reflection stared back at me in the morning light, looking unsure and clearly sleep-deprived.

“Fuck it,” I muttered under my breath and pushed the door open.

A soft bell chimed as I stepped inside. The space was pristine, all white walls and strategically placed lights that made everything look expensive. A swishy-looking guy stood behind the counter, chatting animatedly with a customer as he typed something into a sleek tablet. He was dressed impeccably, like he’d just walked off a runway, and his voice carried that singsong tone that was almost too stereotypical to believe.

“Name and email?” he asked the man in front of him, not even glancing up as he typed. “Great! And don’t worry, hun, we’ll take amazing care of you.”

The customer nodded, looking nervous but intrigued, and the two of them disappeared into a back room.

I took a few hesitant steps deeper into the store. The mannequins were arranged like statues in a museum, each one dressed to represent a different “gay archetype.” There was a twink in tiny shorts and a crop top, a bear in flannel and suspenders, a leather daddy, and, of course, a himbo in a tank top and gym shorts that didn’t hide anything.

I was so busy gawking at the displays that I almost didn’t notice the man leaning casually against the counter. He looked older, probably in his fifties, but built like a truck. Wide shoulders, thick arms, and a trimmed salt-and-pepper beard that reminded me of Peter.

“Evening,” he said with a nod, his voice deep and warm. It wasn’t flirtatious, just friendly—like he knew exactly why I was here but wasn’t going to make me say it out loud.

“Uh, hey,” I mumbled, trying not to look as nervous as I felt.

“Take your time,” he said, gesturing toward the mannequins. “Plenty to see.”

I nodded and wandered further into the store, my heart pounding in my chest. The air smelled faintly of something expensive—a mix of cologne and freshly polished surfaces. Everywhere I turned, there was something to look at, something to consider. And no matter how hard I tried to brush it off, the same thought kept creeping into my mind.

Was there any going back?

---

The first mannequin that caught my eye was the twink. It was labeled with a little sign, like a blender at a department store:

TWINK – Young, slim, and hairless. The Twink is sweet and filled with creme, but doesn’t contain much substance. If you want to take ecstasy and dance, this one’s for you!

I blinked at the description, then looked over the mannequin. It was dressed in skinny jeans that clung to nonexistent thighs, a bright yellow crop top, white sneakers, and a crossbody bag slung across its flat chest. The shirt was just short enough to show off a set of abs carved like they were on display at a fitness expo.

Compared to my corn-fed physique, the Twink looked like it could blow away in the wind. Its arms were thin, its frame impossibly narrow.

I couldn’t help but snort. Dancing all night sounded fun—hell, I hadn’t been to a real party in years—but there was no way I could pull off skinny jeans like that. My thighs would probably rip the seams, and the thought of squeezing into that crop top? Not a chance.

“Pass,” I muttered under my breath, moving on to the next display.

The next mannequin stood with an entirely different vibe. The sign beneath it read:

DADDY – Mature, confident, and polished. The Daddy radiates style and authority, often attracting younger men with his powerful protective vibe. Become a Daddy and let lesser men scream your name.

This one was built more thickly, dressed in tailored blue slacks that hugged its strong thighs and a black button-up shirt with subtle pinstripes that matched the pants. The sleeves were rolled halfway up its forearms, showing off muscular, sculpted arms.  An expensive watch gleamed on its wrist. A pair of polished chelsea boots completed the look, giving the mannequin an aura of effortless class.

I stared at it for a moment, taking in the confidence and authority it exuded. The idea of radiating that kind of energy—always being in control, always being admired—was pretty damn appealing. There was something undeniably cool about the whole thing.

But I shook my head. That was for guys like Peter and Rod, the older crowd who’d earned their place in the world. Me? I wasn’t there yet. I didn’t have the years or the experience to pull off something like that. Not yet, anyway.

“Maybe someday,” I murmured, almost wistfully, before moving on.

The next mannequin stopped me dead in my tracks.

It was a young man with a powerfully built body, the kind of physique you only see on athletes or in fitness magazines. He was wearing a tank top, but not just any tank. It was cut low on the sides, showcasing wide lats and the curve of his pecs, which peeked teasingly through the fabric. His colorful athletic shorts clung snugly to his hips, hugging his ass and outlining his dick. The pattern looked more like a swimsuit than gym wear, and I couldn’t help but imagine how slutty I’d feel wearing that to the gym.

Or working at the bar in that tank. Dancing in just a jockstrap and white high-top sneakers. The thought sent a jolt through me, and I quickly snapped out of it, my face warming.

“Like what you see?” a voice asked, startling me. The Daddy from the counter had appeared beside me, his warm, deep tone pulling me back to reality.

“From the second you walked in, I said, ‘that boy’s a himbo.’”

I looked down at the sign beneath the mannequin, my eyes catching on the bold lettering:

HIMBO – Big heart, bigger muscles, and a mind that stays chill. The Himbo is charmingly simple, effortlessly hot, and always ready to lift your spirits—or your furniture. Become a Himbo and let the world adore your sunny vibes and swoon-worthy physique. Who needs smarts when you’ve got heart?

I stared up at the mannequin again. It was impossible, but it looked like me. Or maybe, a better version of me. One with the confidence and charm I always wished I had.

“I saw an ad,” I said quietly, still staring. “I thought this was all bullshit.”

“Well there’s your problem,” the salesman said smoothly. “Your brain is lying to you, and like every himbo knows… brains are overrated. You played football, right?”

“Uh, yeah…” I said, caught off guard. “How’d you know?”

“In my job, you recognize a quarterback,” he said with a grin. “Needless to say, your physique is perfectly suited for this archetype. And as for the uncertainty… how about a money-back guarantee? Sign up now, and if you’re not a confident gay himbo before last call, I’ll pay you back double.”

“Sooner than that,” I sighed. “I’m a bartender. My shift starts at seven.”

“No problem,” the salesman said. “It's not even noon yet.  The process only takes a couple hours.”

“How much?” I asked.

“$1,000,” he said, without missing a beat. “But if that’s outside your budget, a man with your looks... we have plenty of options to help you pay.”

That was a lot of money. More than I’d ever spent on anything outside of rent. My mind screamed at me to walk away, but my heart was louder. My heart was imagining a different life, one where I didn’t feel like I was constantly falling short.

“I’ll take it,” I said, the words tumbling out before I could stop.

The Daddy looked at me with a knowing smile, his eyes twinkling like he was in on some grand secret.

"Alright champ," he said, his deep voice warm and friendly. "Looks like you’ve found your type." He glanced at the mannequin and then back at me. "You’d rock that outfit, by the way. But first, let’s fix up your orientation. Follow me."

He placed a hand on my shoulder, guiding me across the showroom. There were even more mannequins as we headed for the back of the space – Otter, Circuit Queen, Jock, Nerd, Pup... I barely glanced at them. The Daddy was right, I'd already found my style.

Stepping into the back of the store felt surreal as the vibrant showroom gave way into something far more clinical. A corridor lit my fluorescents stretched ahead, a sharp contrast to the display out front.

"This is where the magic happens," the Daddy said, his tone reassuring. "We take care of everything back here." As we walked down the hallway, I noticed a man standing by one of the doors, clipboard in hand.

"Cory," the Daddy said, his hand still on my shoulder, "Meet Dr. West. He’s the one who’ll guide you through the rest of the process."

Dr. West stepped forward, offering a handshake. He looked youthful and polished, with sharp features and a practiced smile that somehow managed to put me at ease and unsettle me at the same time.

"Cory, right?" he said.

"Yeah, that’s me," I replied, shaking his hand. His grip was firm, confident.

"It’s a pleasure to meet you," Dr. West said. "Follow me, and we’ll get you started."

I glanced back at the Daddy, who gave me a reassuring nod. "You’re gonna love it," he said with a grin. "Trust me."

The corridor was long and white, the kind of sterile environment that made my stomach churn with a mix of excitement and unease. As we passed at least a dozen identical doors, I wondered what was behind each one. Was I the only one who was nervous, or were there others just as unsure?

"Room nineteen," Dr. West said with a cheerful tone, opening a door and gesturing for me to step inside.

The room was small but sleek. At its center was a chair that looked suspiciously like something you’d find at the dentist’s office, assuming the dentist was really into BDSM. Leather straps hung loose on the armrests and near where my feet would go. A monitor hung on the wall in front of it, blocked by a pair of heavy headphones.

"Take a seat," he offered, motioning to the chair.

I hesitated but eventually sat down, the plastic cold against my back. "What’s all this for?" I asked, rattling the restraints as he began fiddling with some equipment.

"Oh, nothing too important," he replied with a breezy smile, strapping a cuff around my arm and prepping an IV line. "But insurance requires us to have them."

That didn’t exactly ease my nerves, but I stayed quiet as he inserted the line into my arm. The pinch was brief, and a moment later, he flipped a switch. A neon-orange fluid began flowing through the tube.

"This will help ease the transition," he explained. "Comfortable?"

"I guess," I muttered, though my heart was racing. My hands and feet were secured with straps, and a chest restraint swung down over me, locking me into place. It felt more like a roller coaster than a medical procedure. "Is all this really necessary?"

"Relax," he said with a grin. "You’re going to love the results."

The doctor placed the headphones over my ears and adjusted them until they fit snugly. A techno track began to play, the bass thumping steadily. The monitor flickered on, and a man appeared on the screen. He was muscular and middle-aged, with a confident smile that made it clear he knew exactly how good he looked.

"Hey there," the man said, his voice smooth and reassuring. "Welcome to your new life. My name’s Sam Davis, the founder of Go Gay. I’m so pleased you’ve decided to join the family."

As he spoke, I felt a strange lightness creeping into my limbs. Whatever was in the IV was definitely kicking in.

"You might already be feeling different," Sam continued, "especially when you see a hot guy."

The screen shifted to a photo of a muscular man in his twenties, shirtless and dancing in a club. His pecs gleamed under the club lights, and for a moment, I was struck by the sheer perfection of his body. A jolt of electricity surged through me, making me gasp and clench the armrests.

"You chose to become a himbo," Sam’s voice said again, accompanied by an image of a man helping an elderly woman cross the street. "Himbos have a heart of gold," he continued. "You always want to help others." Another jolt, another gasp. My muscles tensed against the straps.

The next image showed a man lifting a barbell in a crowded gym. "Himbos grow their muscles every day," Sam said. "Your priorities are looking good and feeling good." The electricity returned, stronger this time, and I could feel the words embedding themselves into my brain.

Another picture appeared—a man laughing with friends at a bar. "Himbos are social creatures," Sam continued. "You thrive on connection." The jolt was almost welcome now, like a reaffirmation of something I already knew.

The pace picked up. A man doing squats, his glutes flexing. "You don’t need to read or learn," Sam said. "You just need to lift and fuck." A photo of two men in bed together flashed on the screen, and I felt a new heat rising in me, mingling with the electric surges.

The images came faster: men playing volleyball on the beach, men dancing in their underwear, men helping each other at the gym, men sharing a quiet moment on a couch. Each photo brought another jolt, another wave of heat, another piece of myself slipping away and being replaced by something brighter, simpler, and undeniably right.

The pictures blurred together, a kaleidoscope of bodies and smiles and endless, uncomplicated joy. I couldn’t keep track of them anymore. Time dissolved. Minutes, hours, maybe even days—all of it vanished in the whirlwind of images and affirmations.

When the lights finally came on, I felt... free. My chest heaved as I took in the stillness of the room, the absence of the relentless visuals. The monitor was dark, the headphones silent, but their message was still ringing in my ears.

The door opened, and Dr. West walked in with a warm smile. He removed the headphones and the empty IV bag, helping me out of the chair as my legs wobbled beneath me.

"Hi Cory," he said gently. "How do you feel?"

"Perfect," I replied without hesitation. For the first time in my life, I meant it.

----

The twink at the front desk looked up from his phone as I approached. His expression was bright and welcoming, like he’d been waiting for me to come out.

"Uh, hey," I said.  "Um... sorry babe, what was your name?"

"Tyler," he said, pointing at a little badge on the front of his shirt.

"Guess I coulda read that myself," I chuckled.

"But you're a himbo now," he smirked.  "Himbo's don't read shit.  You’ll probably need help signing up for Grindr.”

“Oh yeah, that’s a thing!” I replied, my voice full of sudden excitement. I'd tried the apps before – Tindr was such a disappointment – but Grindr... shit, I needed to get on it now!

“You’re gonna do just fine out there. We’ll text you in a few days about payment, mmmkay?”

“Slide into my DMs anytime,” I added with a flirty wink, starting to turn for the door.

“Wait,” Tyler said, stopping me mid-step. “What’s your Insta? Lemme give you a follow.”

I hesitated, scratching the back of my neck. “I, uh… I don’t really do social media.  Not since..."

Why did I stop?  I couldn't remember.  It musta been bad tho, cause Tyler’s jaw was dropped in horror.

“Babe, no! You’ve gotta get on there! Here, let me show you something.” He turned his phone around, scrolling quickly before holding it up. On the screen were perfectly curated photos of other Go Gay clients, flexing and smiling in their new lives. “See? That’s the energy you’re bringing now. You’re one of the hottest himbos we’ve made. Everyone here loves a transformation story, and trust me, you’re the new benchmark. You’re like… a walking billboard for Go Gay.”

"You think?" I said coyly.  I struck a suddenly familiar pose, popping my ass out and flexing my pecs.

I felt a warm flush rise to my cheeks as Tyler reached over the counter, squeezing my bicep lightly. “That Midwest muscle,” he said, almost reverently.  “You’re something special.”

A whisper flitted through my empty head: You’re a himbo. You’re living art.  Get on display.

For a moment, I felt a strong urge to pull out my phone and start snapping selfies. It wasn’t just an idea—it was a tingling sensation in my fingers, an almost magnetic pull toward the camera button. My heart raced, a strange mix of nervousness and excitement coursing through me. I could already picture the angles, the lighting, the way I’d look like... so hot.

Tyler waved a finger at me, snapping me out of the moment. "Wait," he said. "Don’t post anything yet. I’m about to go on my lunch break, and there’s a place I wanna show you."

"Yeah?" I asked, curious.

“Yeah,” Tyler said with a knowing smile.  “If you wanna get out of those clothes..."

"You wanna fuck?!" I asked, suddenly excited.  My hole started to twitch at the thought.  "Wanna slide that juicy cock up my ass?"

"Sorry babe," Tyler pouted.  "I'm a total bottom too.  But trust me," Tyler said with a wink, already rounding the counter. He motioned for me to follow, and without a thought, I did.

------

Tyler stopped in front of a storefront with a rainbow neon sign that read “Fresh Fits.” The windows displayed mannequins decked out in all kinds of flamboyant, eye-catching styles.

“This is exactly what you need,” Tyler said, holding the door open with a dramatic bow.  "We sort of recommend these guys.  The market for this kind of fashion is going through the roof."

The inside was… different. Nothing like the sleek, polished Go Gay showroom. It had a thrown-together vibe, like someone had taken over a vacant space last minute. Racks were packed tight with clothes, and the walls were lined with shelves of accessories. Bright overhead lights reflected off metallic fabrics, leather, and sequins. It felt more like a pop-up shop than a real store, but it had everything — everything a newly gay man could need.

“Have at it, babe,” Tyler said, gesturing grandly.  “Your style awaits.”

I didn’t need to be told twice. I went straight to the rack of neon gear, my fingers brushing over stretchy fabric. My baggy t-shirt felt like a circus tent in comparison, and before I knew it, I’d stripped it off in the middle of the store. Tyler didn’t bat an eye, and neither did any of the fashionable young men working at the place — this obviously happened a lot.

“Try this,” Tyler suggested, holding up a ribbed black tank with pink piping. I grabbed it, slipped it on, and turned to the nearest mirror.

“Oh yeah,” I said, admiring the way it hugged my chest and shoulders. The pink detailing popped against my skin.  Tyler totally got my vibe, right.

“You’re killing it,” Tyler grinned.

He’s such a sweetie.

We spent almost an hour tearing through the store, Tyler leading the charge like a personal shopper on steroids. He pulled everything from neon spandex shorts to glittery bomber jackets off the racks, tossing them my way with a gleeful cackle. I tried on ribbed tanks, cropped hoodies, tight leather pants, and even a pair of metallic gym shorts that Tyler swore would “slay at any club.”

In the end, my look for the day was locked in: the ribbed black tank with pink piping that showed off my chest and shoulders, a pair of white stretch jeans that clung in all the right places, and white hi-tops that made every step feel iconic. But the shopping didn’t stop there. Tyler insisted I needed options—casual fits, party looks, gym gear. We ended up with two massive shopping bags packed to the brim: more tanks, a couple of sleek jackets, some skimpy swimwear, and a few jockstraps that Tyler declared were non-negotiable.

“Perfect,” Tyler declared. “Babe, you’re gonna have everyone thirsting over you.”

“You think?” I asked, striking a playful pose in front of the mirror.

“Babe, I know.”

Tyler stepped up to the register with our haul, the two bags practically overflowing. He swiped his card like it was no big deal, turning to me with a casual, "We’ll just add it to your tab, mmmkay?" I nodded, still too busy basking in the excitement of my new wardrobe to question it.

I changed into my new outfit on the spot, feeling the smooth stretch of the jeans and the snug fit of the tank against my skin. The old, boring clothes went straight into the overflowing trash can by the door—no regrets. Out on the street, every step in those white hi-tops screamed “LOOK AT ME!!!”

It didn’t take long to gather the attention. Heads turned as I walked past, people’s eyes lingering on me a lot longer than usual. I caught someone biting their lip, and Tyler’s grin grew wider with every glance I got.

“Told ya,” he said, bumping his hip against mine. “You’re a natural, babe.”

I laughed, my confidence growing with every step.

"Uh... duh," I teased.  "I'm a himbo."

-----

Tyler glanced at his phone, letting out an exaggerated sigh. “Alright, babe, I gotta bounce back to work. But first,” he grinned, pulling me in front of the Go Gay store, “let’s get some pics.”

He grabbed my phone and snapped a few shots as I struck some playful poses, flexing my biceps and throwing up a peace sign. The rainbow neon sign glowed behind me, and I couldn’t help but grin. “You’re looking fire, babe,” Tyler said, scrolling through the photos. “These are gonna break the internet. Trust.”

“Thanks,” I said, tucking my phone into my pocket as Tyler gave me a quick hug. “Catch you later?”

“DM me, hottie,” he said with a wink, disappearing back into the store.

With my new bags in hand and my fresh look on display, I headed for the subway. The ride back was different than any I’d taken before. For the first time, I wasn’t just looking at the ads plastered along the walls of the car—I was noticing the people. Like... really noticing them.

On the subway, I noticed a guy sitting across from me, staring at one of the Go Gay ads on the wall. His brows were furrowed, and he looked… conflicted. The ad showed two ripped guys laughing over beers at a beachside bar, the tagline reading, “Sharing is Sweeter.”

“Thinking about it?” I asked, leaning forward with a friendly smile.

The guy blinked, startled. “What?” he said, a little defensive.

“The ad,” I nodded toward it. “I mean, it’s not just marketing. It’s legit. I just went through it myself, and… dude, it’s amazing. You ever think about what’s missing in your life?”

He glanced at the ad again, then back at me. “I don’t know. It’s not really my thing,” he muttered.

“That’s what I thought too,” I said. “But trust me, it’s not about changing who you are. It’s about finding who you’ve always been. You’re gonna feel better than ever. Happier. Free.”

He hesitated, his fingers drumming on his knee. “Really?” he asked, softer this time.

“Really,” I said, leaning back with a grin. “Think about it. If you’re curious, what’s the harm in checking it out?”

The guy nodded slowly, his eyes drifting back to the ad. I could see the gears turning. “Maybe,” he said, almost to himself.

“No pressure,” I said as I stood up for my stop. “But if you do it, bro? You won’t regret it.”

As I stepped off the train, I glanced back to see him still staring at the ad, a new kind of curiosity in his expression. My smirk grew as I walked away. Yeah, I thought. It works.

By the time I was back up to the sidewalk, I was rock hard in my jeans. Every man I passed seemed to catch my eye. A jogger in a tank top with sweat glistening on his arms, a skater whose low-slung shorts gave a teasing peek of his underwear… it was like the world had tilted, and suddenly, everything was clear.

Who would want to go back?

---

When I got back to the apartment, Jason was sitting on the couch, one hand deep in a bag of chips and the other holding a controller. His eyes flicked up at me as I walked in, and mine fixed on him.  Damn... no wonder he was always breaking up with some side chick... dude made my cock jump HARD.

“Uh, dude,” he said, putting the game on pause. “What the hell happened to you?”

I dumped my bags on the floor and struck a pose. “Like it?” I grinned, spinning around to show off the whole look.

“You look like you escaped from a pride parade,” Jason said, his tone half amused, half incredulous. “What’s with the… pink stripes?”

“Pink is my vibe bro!” I said, plopping onto the couch beside him. “Also, newsflash: I’m gay now.”

Jason blinked.

“I mean... yeah, got it, but...  I thought you said that was bullshit!”

“Yeah,” I said, leaning back casually. “Well, I was wrong. Turns out I’ve been sleeping on the best part of life. Like, seriously. Guys? Freaking amazing.”

Jason stared at me, then shook his head with a laugh. “Alright, man. Whatever floats your boat.”

“Oh, it’s not just floating. It’s fuckin’ soaring,” I said with a wink. “Speaking of which… you ever wonder what it’s like?”

He gave me a wary look. “What what’s like?”

I leaned closer, lowering my voice. “Getting your dick sucked by a dude.”

Jason burst out laughing, but there was a nervous edge to it. “You’re insane,” he said, shaking his head.

“Am I?” I said, cocking an eyebrow. “I mean, think about it. Guys know what guys like. It’s like... science.”

“Okay, Sherlock,” Jason said, rolling his eyes. “Thanks for the TED Talk.”

“Not a talk, bro. A demo,” I said, leaning back with a confident grin. “C’mon, one time. You’ll thank me.  You’ve seen the ads, right?”

Jason hesitated, his gaze flicking to the screen, then back to me. “You’re not gonna shut up about this, are you?”

“Nope,” I grinned.  My vibe was irresistible.  There was no point in denying me, and Jason could feel it.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Fine. Whatever. Just don’t… make it weird.”

“Weird?” I said, already sliding onto my knees. “Bro, this is the best choice you ever made.”

Dropping to my knees, I tugged at his shorts gently, dropping them to the ground.  He kept his eyes fixed on the TV, like shooting zombies was going to make this a straighter experience.  Whatever – I wasn’t trying to convince him of anything.  I just needed a cock between my lips.

He was soft when I put my tongue against his dick.  He was musky, in that way that drives me wild.  I took a deep sniff, trying not to make it obvious, but it didn’t matter... I had him.  He was starting to get hard, and nobody wants blue balls.

It felt intimate, new, and oddly thrilling. My tongue traced over the edge of his cockhead, tasting the salt of his skin as a jolt of exhilaration coursed through me. Jason’s breath hitched, his muscles tensing against the couch. I glanced up, catching his wide-eyed expression.

“Relax,” I murmured, letting my lips brush over the tip of his cock. “Trust me, you’re gonna love this.”

His body eased slightly, his head falling back against the cushion. I worked slowly, savouring every detail: the coarse texture of his skin, the subtle twitch of his leg, and the way his breathing deepened with each pass of my tongue. It felt almost meditative, an unspoken trust as I kissed and sucked, letting the moment stretch and linger.

“Fuck...” he gasped, grabbing my hair and guiding my head further down his shaft.  “Fuck... I’m gonna... I’m gonna...”

I tasted salty cum in my mouth.  Bro definitely needs more pineapple in his diet.  But whatever... at least I got some eggplant in mine.

Afterward, Jason slumped back on the couch, his expression a mix of confusion and… something else. “Okay,” he admitted, staring at the ceiling. “That was… different.”

“Good different or bad different?” I asked, smirking as I stretched to grab one of his beers.

He looked at me, then shook his head with a laugh. “I don’t know, man. If I ever went gay… you’d make a pretty good boyfriend.”

“Fucktoy,” I corrected, winking as I headed toward the shower. “No way I’m gonna settle down. But anytime you’re in the mood… just let me know.”

Jason groaned, throwing a pillow at me. “You’re insatiable.”

“Uh… duh,” I said, pulling down my shorts as I reached the bathroom door. I made sure to give him a good view of my ass as I strutted inside. “Later, bro.”

-----

When I walked back into the bar that night, it felt like stepping into a spotlight. The place was already buzzing, but as soon as I pushed through the door, the regulars turned toward me like I was a celebrity making a grand entrance.

“Look who’s back,” Peter called out, raising his glass with a grin. “How’s the other side, Cory?”

“Stoked,” I said, striding behind the bar with a confidence I hadn’t felt in years. “Best decision I ever made, hands down.”

Hunter, perched on a stool in his usual spot, gave me an approving nod. He was decked out in his trademark gaybro uniform, the tight shirt and joggers that clung to his lean frame. “Told you it’d be a game-changer,” he said. “You look like a million bucks.”

“More like a gazillion,” I quipped, spinning a glass in my hand before sliding it under the tap. “It’s wild. I feel… lighter, freer. Like I’ve been carrying around a backpack full of rocks and finally dumped it.”

Hunter leaned forward, his grin widening. “That’s what I’m saying, bro! Ain’t it the best? You’re not just freer, you’re like… unstoppable now. And people notice it. It’s like you’ve got this glow, y’know?”

I glanced around. “Where’s Matt?” I asked, noticing his usual spot was empty.  My stomach sank. What if me going gay freaked him out? We’d promised to stick it out together, two straight guys in a sea of change. Was he running away from me?

Peter leaned back, taking a sip of his drink. “On a plane to Phoenix,” he said. “Work trip, remember?”

“Oh, right,” I said with sudden relief.  "Matt's my bro... and himbo's take care of their bro's you know?"

Peter chuckled, slapping the bar. “That’s what I like to hear. Welcome to the club, kid.”

“Thanks,” I said, forcing a grin as I grabbed a bottle of vodka to mix Hunter’s next drink. “Feels good to finally… be me.”

----

It’s not like the story ends there.  I was part of something bigger. The crowd at the bar was electric — and gay as hell. The regulars who hadn’t already gone gay had either taken the plunge or fled for the hills.  I was the first bartender to go gay, but now it’s the whole team.  Ryan makes one hot Otter.

Peter was there in his Daddy finery, holding court at one end of the bar, while Hunter and a few of his newest bros laughed loudly at some private joke.

The clientele wasn’t just locals anymore either. My broad shoulders and tight pants seemed to attract a whole new kind of crowd. Word must’ve gotten out because the bar had turned into a hotspot. Besides, there was a demand for places like this right now. The news was saying over a thousand men a day were going gay in New York City alone. That meant more like mine — and more bartenders like me — were suddenly in high demand.

I was pouring a vodka tonic when my phone buzzed in my pocket. Pulling it out, I saw a text from an unknown number.

Sebastian: Hey babe… it's Sebastian from Go Gay’s marketing team.  Time to pay up.

I stared at the screen for a second, my heart skipping a beat. I fired off a quick reply.

Cory: How?  You’re gonna whore my ass to cover the debt?

Cory: Not like I'm against that...

The response came almost immediately.

Sebastian: Relax, stud. No one’s asking for that. We want you as a model.

Model? I blinked, caught off guard.

Cory: Seriously?

Sebastian: Dead serious. You’re the hottest himbo we’ve made all week. I need your ass on a Times Square billboard.

For a moment, I just stood there, letting the words sink in. A billboard? In Times Square?

Cory: Damn. When?

Sebastian: Tonight. After your shift. Come by the Ritz-Carlton penthouse suite. We’ll be waiting.

I glanced at the clock. “Hey, Peter,” I said as I passed him another drink. “Guess who’s going to be famous?”

He raised an eyebrow, smirking. “What, they’re putting your pretty face on TV now?”

“Billboards,” I gushed, flashing him a grin. “Times Square.”

“Better start practicing your autograph,” Rod chimed in with a laugh.

-----

The Ritz-Carlton lobby was everything I expected: sleek marble floors, towering columns, and an air of money so thick it almost made me feel underdressed despite my carefully curated outfit. I stepped inside, looking around for the elevator, when I spotted Tyler leaning casually against the concierge desk.

“Hey, you!” I called out, grinning as I walked over. Tyler was dressed sharp as ever, his Go Gay name tag replaced by a tailored blazer that somehow made him look even cuter.

“Cory!” he said, his face lighting up. “Man, it’s great to see you here. I was worried you might get cold feet!”

“Not a chance,” I said. “And it’s great to see you too.” I paused, lowering my voice conspiratorially. “Didn’t think Go Gay worked after hours.”

Tyler laughed, a rich, confident sound. “Honestly? You’re kind of my project,” he admitted. “If these ads hit the way we’re hoping, I’ll be moving from retail to corporate. Big leagues, baby.”

“And a big raise too?” I said, my gaze dropping briefly to his bulge before flicking back up to his face. “Guess it’s not just your career that’s looking up.”

Tyler smirked, clearly catching my double meaning. “You’re incorrigible and I like it,” he glowed. “Come on, let’s get you upstairs. Sebastian’s waiting.”

We stepped into the elevator together, the doors closing us into a world of polished chrome and soft music. Tyler filled me in on what to expect. “They’re pulling out all the stops for this shoot,” he said. “Trust me, if it goes the way I want, you’ll be the face of Go Gay.”

“No pressure, right?” I joked.

Tyler gave me a reassuring smile. “You’ve got this, Cory. They’re gonna love you.”

My reflection in the mirrored doors caught my eye, and I adjusted my tank with a smirk. Damn, I looked good.  When the elevator dinged and the doors slid open to the penthouse, Tyler clapped me on the back. “Knock ‘em dead,” he said, leading me out into the opulent suite.

The penthouse was another world entirely. The doors opened to a spacious suite that screamed opulence—plush furniture, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city, and a small crew buzzing around, setting up lights and equipment. Standing by the window was Sebastian, the marketing manager who’d texted me. He turned as I walked in, his perfectly styled hair catching the light.

“Cory,” he said, his voice dripping with charm. “Right on time. Come on in, let’s get you prepped.”

“So, what’s the plan?” I asked.  I should have been nervous, but... brains are overrated, right?

Sebastian gestured toward the centre of the suite where a model dressed in leather was already standing by the lighting setup.  Glossy black pants, polished boots, and a harness that barely contained his chest.  I think I recognized him from an ad near my apartment.

“This is Alfie,” Tyler said.  “Alfie, this is Cory.”

“Hey bro,” Alfie said, flexing his pecs and making me blush.  “Good to meet you.”

“So Alfie’s a pro,” Tyler promised.  “He’s been modelling since he was a teen, and he was one of the first guys in New York to Go Gay.  Part of the private pilot we ran with some of our talent partners.”

“Cool,” I said, reaching out to shake his hand.  “It’s my first time.”

“Trust me,” Alfie said, giving me a wink.  “You’ll be a natural.  Love your look!”

He was built like a dream—broad shoulders, rippling abs, and an ass that looked sculpted by the gods. My cock stirred in my jeans, and I realized I was grinning like an idiot.

“First things first,” Sebastian said, handing me a scrap of neon green fabric. “Get changed and then we’ll get started.”

I slipped out of my clothes and into the thong, feeling the soft fabric hug my hips. The old me would have felt exposed, but now... damn, I looked fuckin’ fine!

Alfie stepped closer, his smirk playful. “Don’t worry, man. I’ll make this easy for you.”

The photoshoot was unlike anything I’d ever done. The photographer, a flamboyant circuit queen named Marcus, barked out rapid fire instructions.

“Cory, darling, let’s get you looking out the window.  Let me see that ass!”

“Alfie, put that hand on his lower back.  That’s right darling.”

“Cory, babydoll, arch your back! Show me that smile! Yes, yes, gorgeous!”

Midway through the shoot, Sebastian looked up from his phone and asked “Ready for the action shots?”

“Action shots?” I echoed, my pulse quickening.

“Relax, stud,” Sebastian said from the sidelines. “It’s all part of the process.”

“Action shots,” Alfie whispered, his breath warm against my ear. “That’s what Go Gay calls it when we fuck.  Don’t worry – my cock looks bigger than it feels.”

It looked about the size of the Empire State Building.

Marcus directed us back to the penthouse windows,

“That’s right Cory, now darling, put your hands on the glass.  Really brace yourself.”

“Wonderful... Alfie, lose everything but the harness.  Yes, perfect!”

“Tyler, why don’t you run in there and strip off Cory’s thong.  He’s got that pose just perfect, I don’t want to break it.  That’s right... clear away the clothes.”

Alfie lubed me up, then wiped his hands on a towel and tossed it all in Tyler’s direction.  I could feel the pressure of his cockhead, firm against my hole.

“Nice and slow boys,” Marcus called.  “I want to get this all!”

I’d only been gay for a few days, but none of the guys I’d been with had taken their time like Alfie did.  He eased into me with the kind of painful slowness that made every inch feel like it took a year.

“Cory, darling, press your chest up against the glass.  That’s right... move your arms like you’re at the bottom of a pushup.”

It was summer out there, but the glass was cold against my skin.  I stared across the twinkling lights of Midtown, gasping as Alfie kept pushing more and more cock inside of me.  Hunter was six inches.  Jason was eight.  I’d even been with one guy on Grindr who drilled me with nine.  But Alfie...

Oh god, he was just getting started.

“Let’s get some rhythm going,” Marcus called.  An EDM beat started playing over a tinny bluetooth speaker, but that was enough for Alfie.  He started small, just a little back and forth to get me going, but soon he was going full speed.

My throbbing cock hit against the glass on a steady beat as he thrust deep inside me.  Over and over, fireworks went off in my empty brain.

We didn’t slow until Alfie lost control.  He flooded my ass with cum, his cock jerking over and over until his load was leaking out my hole.

“Perfect,” Marcus purred, his camera snapping shot after shot. “This is gold.”

When I peeled myself off the window, you could still see my pecs and hands, the sweat from them printed against the glass.

Marcus set down his camera and shot me a knowing look. “You’ve got something special, Cory. Not just the look—the vibe. It’s magnetic.”

I glowed and searched for my tank.  Tyler scrambled across the room carrying my clothes in one hand and Alfie’s in another.  Once Alfie slipped out of the leather harness and put on his streetwear, he looked like one of a thousand guys you’ll see at the gym.

“Let’s do it again sometime,” he said, giving me a playful wink on his way out the door.

Marcus waved at me to stick around. "You know," he said casually, looping the camera strap over his shoulder. "You’ve got something special, Cory." He paused, his tone shifting to something more conspiratorial. "I’ve got some juicy behind-the-scenes tea if you’ve got a moment to spare."

“Sure,” I said, still riding the high of the shoot.

Marcus leaned in conspiratorially. “So, I met the founder of Go Gay last month. Fascinating man. But get this… he’s straight.”

“What?” I said, blinking. “No way.”

“Oh, yes,” Marcus said with a dramatic flourish. “And he’s got this… vision. Says his goal is to be the last straight man on Earth. Claims it’ll leave him with four billion women, all desperate for him. Can you imagine?”

I rolled my eyes.

“God, that’s such a straight guy thing to say.”

Marcus laughed, a high, melodic sound. “Right? Anyway, it’ll take a few days for the designers to work their magic, but we’ll make sure you see the ad when it’s done.”

“Sweet, thanks,” I said, flashing him a grin.

Marcus’s gaze turned flirty. “Also… I noticed you didn’t get off during the shoot. We’ve got the room until checkout. If you want, I could… help with that.”

He cleared the room and pushed me backwards onto the bed.  His lips found their place around my cock and a rush of warmth spread through me. My pulse beat faster and faster.

I could get used to this.

------

Home was a vibe.  Like... half my apartment building had gone gay, including all three of my roommates.  It was getting so normal that when Amir walked into the apartment, we didn’t even ask where he’d been.  A tight white tee, leather jeans, and a matching pair of suspenders – Jason just asked "top or bottom?", then rode his ass til dawn.

It had been a week since everything turned upside down, and honestly? I'd never felt better. My days were simple now. I hit the gym, hooked up, worked at the bar, then hooked up again.  Two a day was enough to keep me satisfied, so long as I got a couple blowjobs too.

Thank god for Jason.  Four fags in one apartment, and Jason was the only top.  Tyler tried to explain something with statistics... apparently the process is basically a coin flip, but I got confused with the numbers.  All I know is... usually I order out for cock.

Jason's a hot fuck when you can get him though.  Our former frat rat had gone to the store for more beer and came back in a sleeveless hoodie and compression tights.  He signed up to be a gym bunny, and he was working hard to be the best.  He’d seen some ad in the gym window – Upgrade Your Game – and now he was hitting the weights four hours a day.

Most mornings, I woke up with my cock in his mouth, a cheeky grin on his face as he blew me til I got off. It’s how he gets his protein, he jokes.  I know he loves my cock, even if I'm not exactly his type – he's got a thing for clean-cut guys who look like an Abercrombie ad.

So I'm a himbo, Jason's a gym bunny, and Amir's a power bottom with a leather fetish.

Not every guy who goes gay ends up as a vibrant party slut though... Christian swears he’ll marry the next guy who can beat him at Mario Kart.  He's so sweet and nerdy.  Amir's really taken him under his wing – he wants to be a leather daddy someday, and he's already training Christian to be the ultimate houseboy.

Which – of course – Christian has embraced.  There's a few days after you transform where every suggestion just sort of works it's way into your brainstem.  Amir saw his chance, so now Christian's doing all the cleaning, the cooking, the washing up... sometimes I feel guilty, but at least Amir's paying his rent.  Plus Christian gets to suck all the cock he wants.  He claims it's a win-win.

Hey, at least I don't gotta do laundry.

Like I said, home's a vibe.

----

One afternoon at the bar, I was mixing a round of Cosmos when the door swung open, and Tyler walked in, barely holding onto a pair of heavy frames. He was still rocking his Go Gay polo, but the name tag was gone. Someone went corporate!

“Cory!” he called out, setting the frames on the floor with a dramatic flourish. “Got a little something for you. Thought you’d want the first look!”

I wiped my hands on a towel and walked around the bar to get a better look. It was a pair of posters.  The first was the ad I’d shot last week — the one they could actually put on a bus stop. My ass in a thong, looking out over Midtown.

“Don’t You Deserve Something Better?” the ad asked.  “Lift Heavy.  Laugh Hard.  Go Himbo.”

Damn, I looked good.

Then I saw the second poster. It was from the same photoshoot… but definitely not an ad. This one was  art – a raw, raunchy still from the 'action shots.' There I was, mid-fuck, my body on full display, a beautiful cock plunged halfway into my hole, my head turned to the side and my jaw hanging open.

It wasn’t subtle, but it was hot as hell.

“Not bad, huh?” Tyler said, smirking as he watched my reaction.

“Not bad?” I repeated, laughing. “Dude, these are fire. Absolute heat.”

I ran a hand over the edge of the tasteful frame, an idea already forming in my mind. Looking around the bar, I noticed a couple of old beer ads that had been hanging there since before I even started. “Hey, Tyler… you think I could hang these here? Like, in the bar? Let dudes know I'm a little famous?”

Tyler tilted his head, a wide grin spreading across his face. “Hell yeah!  I was hoping you’d for that that — you're the hottest bartender in town, and these are straight-up iconic. You’ve got to show everyone what’s up!”

Peter, sitting at his usual corner, raised his glass with a wry smile. "Cory, I’ve seen some hot stuff in my day, but... damn girl? You're a fuckin' icon," he said, the pride seeping through his praise. "To fame and fortune — or at least getting laid."

Hunter, perched on his stool, couldn't take his eyes off the raunchier poster.

"Dude..." he skeptically.  "You sure you're actually gay?  Like... have you actually hooked up with a guy yet?"

"Huh?" I said, confused as hell.  I'd taken his cock twice this week.  Hunter knew the way I liked it.

"He's just fucking with you," Peter said, helping me out.  "Remember when Hunter went gay and you were a total buzzkill?  It's a joke."

"Bro..." I chuckled, waving my hand over my head.  "Whoosh."

Hunter shot back with a laugh, "Relax bro, I'm just jealous.  I’m just saying — once your ass goes on that billboard, we're gonna need a bigger bar."

“Keep dreaming, Hunter,” Peter teased, swirling his drink. “You’re just jealous your ass isn’t up there.”

Hunter shot back with a laugh, “Jealous? Nah, I’m just waiting for my invite to the next photoshoot. Imagine this gaybro on a bus stop — instant classic.”

The back-and-forth had everyone at the bar laughing, their voices filling the space as Tyler and I hung the posters. I stepped back and took a look – yeah, those belonged there.  I belonged here.

I offered Tyler a drink, but he had to go – corporate is a nine to five, and it was still early afternoon. The bar filled slowly with my regulars, the air humming with laughter and the clink of glasses. I was in my rhythm, pouring drinks and chatting across the bar as the hours passed.

Eventually the door creaked open and I realized night had fallen.  The cool air swept in as Matt stepped through the entrance.

The moment he saw me behind the bar, his eyes widened, and he froze in the doorway. It was like he was looking at a ghost—or maybe a reality he wasn’t ready to face.  I'd been hoping he'd return from his trip as one of the family, but... Matt was still holding out.

“Hey, Matt!” I called, trying to keep my tone light. “Long time no see!”

Matt hesitated, glancing around the bar. His gaze landed on Hunter, lounging at his usual stool.  Peter, making out with Rod in the corner.  A half dozen guys on our new dance floor, busting out moves to the latest Chappell Roan.

“Uh, hey,” Matt mumbled, stepping inside but keeping close to the door. His eyes flicked back to me, taking it all in a second time.  My favourite hoochie daddy shorts, my over-tight t-shirt with 'Thirst Trap' bedazzled across the chest... it was a dead giveaway.  He looked like he'd been hit by a semi.

He opened his mouth to speak, then spun around to flee.  My posters – flanking either side of the door – stopped him in his tracks.  Just long enough for Hunter to get his arm around our still-straight friend.

“Yo, Matt,” Hunter said, restraining the man with a squeeze of his powerful arm. “You’ve gotta admit, Cory’s glow-up is next level.” He gestured at the posters. “What do you think? Hot, right?”

Matt’s jaw tightened. He wanted to bolt.

I got close, then motioned for Hunter to let him go.  If Matt didn't want to go gay, he didn't have to.  After all, it's a choice you make, right?  Nobody wants to force you.

On the other hand... sometimes you need to hear the right sales pitch.  I rummaged deep down in my brain, trying to remember something from my degree.  Maybe I'd have managed it before I went gay, but now...

Whatever bro.  Sometimes you just gotta wing it.

"Yeah," I said softly behind him.  "I know I said we'd be hetero bros forever, but dude... I was wrong.  That's on me.  Sorry."

Matt’s mouth opened, but no words came out. His gaze was glued to the second poster.

"Yeah, that's me gettin’ fucked," I grinned.  “Turns out I’m a pretty hot himbo.  They asked me to go in the ads... brought in this leather stud... bro, it was so fuckin’ hot...”

"The ads..." Matt croaked.  "They got to you... they got to my girl..."

"Maybe," I shrugged, hoping he'd hear the honesty in my voice.  "I gotta be real Matt... she wants to break up with you.  Maybe it's nobody's fault, but she saw those ads and... well, at least she wants you happy, right?  She wouldn't want you to go gay unless she wanted you happy..."

Matt shook his head sharply, like he was trying to clear it. “Nah,” he muttered. “Not me. I… I’m good.”

“Sure you are,” Hunter said, smirking. “But you still can’t stop staring at that ass, can ya?”

Matt’s face flushed, and he moved for the door. “Whatever, man. I just… I gotta go.”

“Matt... just... “ I paused.  “Nobody can make you do it.  Not if you don’t want it.”

Next time I saw Matty, he was wearing a harness.