jack was sprawled on a gray couch, scarred with cigarette burns, probably from the time of the last world war. his eyes were fixed on the stains on the ceiling, questioning his life choices. he was drunk. or was he just pretending to be drunk? he wasn’t sure. he was in the backstage of a gay strip club, brought here by sarah’s invitation. “you’re going to have so much fun,” sarah had said. “it’ll change your life.” well, it had changed his life, leaving him with a headache and probably a few images he wouldn’t forget for a long time.
the room was chaotic, but it was an organized chaos. drag queens were taking off their wigs, muscular men were tossing their glittery shorts into the air, and young dancers, half-dazed with exhaustion, lay sprawled around. everyone was shaking off the weight of the day in their own way. the smell of sweat? oh, that was just a bonus. it was as if it had been declared the official fragrance of the room, and no one even bothered to complain. in fact, being unbothered seemed to be a status symbol: “come on, buddy, this is an experience. live it, feel it.”
jack lay there in the middle of it all. “maybe i should have another beer,” he thought. or perhaps he should just go home and forget this day entirely. decisions were hard to make.
jack sank further into the couch, his eyes half-open, scanning the room. in one corner stood someone who had shone like a star on stage just moments ago. but now, the wigs were gone, and so were the glittering stage lights. having wiped off the makeup, it seemed as though the magic of the stage had taken their youth with it. there he stood, a man in his underwear, which didn’t quite fit properly, looking like he was in his 50s. the wrinkles on his skin revealed a reality that had been hidden beneath that dazzling stage persona.
the man tossed the makeup wipe aside and started walking toward the couch. there was a smile on his face—but to jack, it wasn’t a smile. it was more like the predatory gaze of a hunter closing in on his prey.
“you look tired,” the man said, his voice very different from the cheerful tone he’d used on stage. it was deep, husky, and way too intimate. one hand rested on the couch, while the other lightly touched jack’s shoulder.
jack flinched but was too drunk to properly react. he just muttered something under his breath. “i… uh, i’m just resting.”
the man smiled again, this time more openly. “yes, yes, of course, you’re resting,” he said, his hand still on jack’s shoulder. “is it your first time at a place like this?” meanwhile, he was casually stroking his dick, which hung out from beneath his tight, white briefs.
jack’s mind was a mess. he didn’t answer. this silence seemed to embolden the man, who leaned in closer, whispering in a low voice, “this is a comfortable place. people help each other out here, you know.”
jack’s stomach churned. was it the alcohol or the situation? he couldn’t tell. the couch suddenly felt narrower, the room hotter. “um… i think i should leave,” he said, trying to stand up.
but the man didn’t remove his hand. “oh, come on, don’t go so quickly. we’re just getting started.”
as the man moved even closer, jack’s patience snapped. his drunkenness, discomfort, and the frustration he’d been bottling up all day erupted at once. he pounded the couch with his fist, stood up abruptly, and spat out his words like venom:
“what the fuck is this? huh? nobody’s going to say anything? this saggy, decrepit sack of shit is sitting here harassing me, and all of you just turn your heads? am i some kind of prop in your fucked-up little play? what the fuck is wrong with you people? this so-called ‘safe space’ you keep talking about—is this it? this shriveled dick of a man is your friend? nobody’s going to say, ‘hey, what the fuck are you doing?’ because you’re all too busy worshipping your own stinking bullshit!”
the man was still sitting in the corner, his idiotic grin frozen on his face. jack turned to him, pointing his finger and yelling:
“and you! i’ll shove you back into your old mother’s cunt, you pathetic little shit! what the fuck do you think you are? you think you’re untouchable just because nobody here has the balls to tell you to stop? look at you, you saggy old fuck. take a good look in the mirror. you wipe off your makeup, and suddenly you’re twenty years older, and yet you have the audacity to come at me? if you ever put your hand on me again, i’ll take that hand and shove it so far up your own ass that you’ll be blowing trombone notes out of your nose, you got that?”
the room’s reaction was tepid at best. a few people snickered, some rolled their eyes. seeing this dismissive attitude, jack’s rage boiled over.
“what the fuck are you laughing at? you think this is funny? you think this is fucking charming, don’t you? because in your world, nobody gets criticized. because in your fucked-up fantasy, ‘freedom’ means rolling around in your own shit. but this isn’t freedom, you dumb fucks! this disgusting cesspool you call a safe space—this isn’t safe for anyone! while i’m getting harassed, you just sit there like it’s some goddamn art exhibit. nobody moves, nobody talks. but i’ll fucking talk! i’ll pop your goddamn glitter balloon, you sons of bitches!”
jack’s bloodshot eyes swept across the room, daring anyone to speak. nobody did.
“look at this guy sitting here, practically fucking me with his eyes, and none of you say a word! because in this fucked-up little world of yours, identities are shields, right? someone harasses you? ‘oh, but they’re a drag queen.’ no, you idiots! this is a pathetic fucking predator!”
the man shifted slightly in his seat, but jack immediately shut him down.
“sit the fuck down! i’m not done with you. i’ll break you into fucking pieces right here, do you understand? i’ll take your pathetic, glittery heels and drag you across this room like a fucking rug! what did you think? that nobody would touch you? well, i’ll touch you, motherfucker! i’ll marry you to this disgusting couch if i have to. now sit there and let me spit in your face—it’ll be the only goddamn blessing you’ll ever get from me!”
jack took a deep breath and turned back to the room.
“oh, now you’re rolling your eyes, aren’t you? because i’m saying something, right? because i’m criticizing your shiny, perfect little world. because in your world, criticism only goes outward. inside, everyone is a fucking saint, right? but what about this guy? this saggy, wrinkled asshole who decided that ‘breaking gender roles’ gives him the right to be a fucking creep? woke culture’s representative, right? you’ll never admit it, will you? because in your mind, ‘it’s their space.’”
jack paused for a moment, shaking his head in disbelief.
“and this isn’t just about you. this is about humanity in general. people use their identities as shields. you tell someone they’re wrong, and what do they say? ‘oh, but this is just who i am.’ no, motherfucker! being like this doesn’t make you right! it’s just an excuse to bother people less. you’re all fucking pathetic. humanity is fucking pathetic.”
sarah was standing off to the side, her head bowed in shame. the rest of the room was either shocked, smirking, or completely indifferent. jack took one last deep breath, then walked to the center of the room, his voice now calmer but still sharp:
“listen carefully. identities don’t make you right. your actions make you right. and nobody—nobody, no matter how colorful or unique they are—has the right to violate someone else’s boundaries. do you understand that? this isn’t freedom. this is just fucking chaos.”
as he finished his rant, the room was dead silent. jack grabbed his coat and stormed toward the door. as he slammed it shut behind him, the only thing that followed him out was the sound of his own heavy breathing.
inside, the silence lingered for a moment longer. then victor turned to sarah, his voice dripping with sarcasm:
“who the fuck was that? where did you find him? did we come here for a fucking sermon or to have fun? ron probably just wanted to relax, you know. he’s a friendly guy. he even grabs my ass sometimes. we laugh about it. but this guy? oh, honey, he’s pure trash. what a provincial mess.”
