A Sissys new start

I only ever told my father one lie. That was about the boots. I was about to turn 18, jobless, directionless and pretty screwed up to be honest. There had been rows, fights, shouting matches and long frustated silences about what i was doing with my life, but i had formulated a plan. Kind of. Two years prior I had finally admitted to myself, and no one else, that i was gay. This was a huge problem in our back water town where men worked construction and women were wives or teachers. I had to get out.

After inventing a fictious lumber job i asked for money to buy some proper boots for work and my father was delighted. Early the next day I was gone, the boot money, my ticket to the city and a world to discover. I got a bed in the local YMCA, knowing I had about 3 days to sort some income or i'd be on the streets. I waited tables, flipped burgers, washed dishes and even cleaned the hostel bathroom to keep me afloat but i knew i couldn't keep going like this, i needed a proper job.

South of the river on the east side of the city is where all the bohemian bars and restaurants are, as well as a small but vibrant gay community. One evening I found myself walking the streets down there, marveling at guys holding hands, even kissing occasionally and not caring. To this day I'm not sure how I got in, at 18 i looked skinny and fresh faced, but i was sitting at the bar of one of the gay dives and i got chatting to the barman, a guy named Carl. I'd been nursing a single beer for some time, and he took pitty on me offering me another on the house. It transpired they needed a bar-boy, which i learnt meant glass collecting but he seemed reluctant to let me take the job. He was kinda hot i guess and i think i may have come across a bit giggly but he said he got off shift in 30mins and would take me to a bar down the road, where their last bar-boy had moved to. We would see then if i was still up for the job.

45mins later i understood his concern.