“Ol' Glory”
by Mychael Black

Kevin snubbed his cigarette out and watched the last tendril of smoke rise up only to hang lazily in the thick, already smoke-filled air. It had been his fifth cigarette actually, and he still didn't quite know what had drawn him to the little dive of a bar in the first place. It certainly wasn't the atmosphere. The word itself seemed too good for a place that was hardly more than a boardwalk pub on a beach. The main room of the bar was relatively small, but it was hardly empty. Thanks to the sweltering heat outside, the predominant smell was not alcohol but sweat--the thick, musky scent of a room full of men who spent more time sucking each other's mouths than the drinks in front of them.

The restrooms were even worse. They reeked of piss, sweat, and sex, and the first--and the only--time that Kevin had dared to venture into the restroom to take a leak, he had noticed the waist-high holes bored out of the flimsy walls of each stall. Their round, rough edges were rimmed in crusty white. While he certainly wasn't one to turn down a good--or even a mediocre--cock-sucking, something about those cum-crusted gloryholes turned his stomach. It was the last time that he felt a bad enough urge for a piss.

The clientele didn't draw him to Ol' Glory either. He looked around, taking care not to appear too curious, and marveled that the place hadn't been shut down yet. Prostitution was very much illegal in New Orleans, but in Ol' Glory, it was in full swing--oftentimes quite literally. Either the cops didn't know about it or they simply turned a blind eye to it; Kevin's vote was on the latter. He watched as a crinkled twenty was folded discreetly into a smooth palm. A few minutes later, the young man led his john into a dark corner of the bar. Kevin watched out of the corner of his eye as the trick's blonde head bobbed up and down on a fat cock. When the john's head fell back into a thin patch of yellow light, Kevin suddenly realized why the cops ignored this place. Why would they shut a place down when the sheriff himself was a regular?

"See anything you like?"

Kevin nearly jumped out of his skin. He hadn't even realized that someone had sat down beside him. He turned fully around and was met with another surprise. A young man, who couldn't have been much older than twenty, sat watching him with eyes the color of jade. His full, gloss-slick lips were curled into a provocatively innocent grin.

"I didn't mean to scare you," the young man said sweetly. He held out a slender, smooth hand. "Name's Blaze."

Kevin shook his hand tentatively and noted the spiky hair, dyed fire-engine red, which framed an angelic face. "Blaze, huh? No doubt due to your hair, I would assume."

"Yup! Like it?" The young man twisted on his stool, showing Kevin his hair from every angle possible. "Just dyed it last week. So, what's your name?"

Kevin wondered just where this was going, but when he noticed the bulge in one of Blaze's pockets, he realized quickly what the young man was after. He killed the last of his rum and Coke and looked over at him.

"What's your real name? No nicknames, just your first name."

Blaze looked vaguely apprehensive, but leaned over and whispered, "Aiden."

Kevin