It was well past lights out, and the entire hostel was shrouded in silence as everyone else slept soundly. But sleep eluded me that night.
Every time I attempted to close my eyes, all I could see was the tangled mess my life was about to become.
My biggest fear wasn't merely being gay, though that alone was daunting. After all, I wasn't the first man to feel attracted to his fellow man. What terrified me was the stark reality of where I came from—a place where homosexuality was vehemently rejected. It carried such a heavy stigma that there existed a rigid law against it.
How was I expected to survive in a world where my very existence was deemed a crime, punishable on par with that of a convicted murderer?
These thoughts haunted me as I lay on my bed, contemplating the terrors that the future held.
As I pondered, I began to wonder if there were others like me, men trapped in the tangled web of a sexuality they would rather not claim. If there were indeed others, was it possible that some of them attended the same school as me?
Lost in my thoughts, I could feel my eyelids growing heavy. The day had been eventful, and it was time to carry my worries into the next day.
"Oh my goodness, who thought it was a good idea to blast music at this hour?" I murmured, my eyes still closed.
The noise grew louder, accompanied by the sound of people chatting. I reluctantly opened my eyes to assess the situation, and what I saw defied description.
"Hey, you're finally awake," a voice broke through my confusion. I turned and saw Israel.
"What do you mean, 'finally awake'? Where the hell are we?" I demanded.
"You tell me," he replied, his tone cryptic. "Look around and tell me what kind of place this is."
That was not the answer I had hoped for, but I knew better than to expect clarity from Israel.
I sat up on the plush couch, trying to get a better view of my surroundings, and to my horror, I realized I was in a strip club. Not just any strip club, but a gay strip club.
Half-naked men served as waiters, while three fully naked men danced on a pole, presumably strippers. Fully clothed men watched, their eyes fixed on the strippers, hunger in their gaze. It was unlike anything I had ever seen before.
"Israel, please tell me this isn't a gay strip club," I said.
"I see you've already figured it out. You truly are a genius," Israel retorted, sarcasm dripping from his voice.
I felt my frustration rising. "Figured what out?"
Israel's sarcastic tone subsided, and he replied, "Well, firstly, we're here because you wanted to be here, and secondly, you brought us here."
Confusion clouded my mind. How could I have brought us to a place I didn't even know existed?
But before I could press him for answers, a strong arm wrapped around my waist.
"Hey there, fresh blood," a voice whispered. I broke free from the grip, distancing myself, and turned to face the intruder. It was Michael.
"What are you doing here?" I asked, suppressing my shock at his presence.
Michael was the most homophobic person I knew. He despised anything related to homosexuality and would go to great lengths to torment anyone suspected of being gay.
I couldn't afford for him to discover my truth. And now, here he was in a gay strip club, gripping my waist and calling me "baby." Could this day get any more uncomfortably strange and surprising?
"Who cares what I'm doing? All that matters is that I'm here. Hey, Israel, please tell me this fresh blood hasn't been bothering you with questions like that," Michael remarked.
Israel responded with a light chuckle.
And just when I thought things couldn't get any stranger, Michael climbed onto one of the tables and shouted,
"Hey! Can I have everyone's attention, please?"
To my astonishment, the entire club fell silent. Even the DJ halted the music.
Who in their right mind would give attention to a child found in a gay strip club? Well, I suppose those present in a gay strip club would.
"My friend here," Michael pointed at me, drawing the crowd's gaze, "today is his birthday, and I think it's only fitting that we give him the special strip club birthday celebration!"
Cheers erupted throughout the club.
The DJ resumed the music, and everyone started dancing in a circle.
I looked at Israel, who seemed unaffected by the chaos.
"What is Michael thinking? Today definitely isn't my birthday, right?" I asked him.
I knew without a doubt that today wasn't my birthday, but after everything I had witnessed since waking up in this gay strip club, seeing Michael here, nothing was certain anymore. I needed some form of confirmation.
"Around here, every day is your birthday," Israel replied with a hint of amusement.
"What does that mean? And what on earth is the 'infamous special gay strip club birthday celebration'? It sounds completely made up. Please tell me it's just a fabrication," I pleaded.
"I'm sorry, my friend, but the infamous special gay strip club birthday celebration is far from made up. Soon enough, you'll experience it firsthand. I have a feeling you'll find it quite exciting," Israel said before slowly walking away, blending into the crowd.
"Where are you going?" I wanted to shout, "Don't leave!" But before the words left my mouth, he had disappeared into the throng.
As I turned, searching for Israel's presence, I noticed that the circle that had formed earlier was closing in on me, and I stood alone within it.
"Wait, can someone explain what's happening? Is this the infamous special gay strip club birthday celebration? I want you to know I'm not interested, and today isn't even my birthday!" I preached to the wrong audience. Nothing I said deterred them; they only drew closer.
In mere seconds, I was lifted off my feet and placed on the strip table like a lamb waiting for slaughter.
My limbs were bound at odd angles, rendering me helpless. And then it began—the sensation of hands caressing every inch of my body, from the top of my head to the soles of my feet.
I struggled to scream, but a gag restrained me, rendering me voiceless. Even if I managed to make a sound, who would listen?
I felt an overwhelming sense of unease, a wave of goosebumps prickling my skin. It reminded me of the strange sensation I had experienced when Israel touched my thighs, only this time, it was a million times worse.
Lying there, defenseless as my body was ravaged, I heard a voice rise above the multitude.
"Pull down his trousers! Let's see what kind of beast he's carrying!" The crowd erupted in agreement.
Panic coursed through me, and I fought against my restraints, desperate to escape.
"This can't be happening. Someone, please help me," I muttered to myself. In an instant, I felt my trousers and underwear being pulled down.
Realization struck, and I squeezed my eyes shut, summoning every ounce of strength and courage within me. Then, I screamed with all my might, possibly tearing my lungs apart.
"Stoooooooppppppp!"
As my scream faded, a profound silence fell—not just from me, but from the entire room. I opened my eyes and found myself sitting upright in bed. It had all been a dream. I sighed with relief, sinking back onto the mattress.
"Thank God," I whispered.
"Who's making all that noise?" a voice called out from a few bunks away.
I didn't bother responding; my concern now was how to go back to sleep.
Shifting on the bed, I noticed something wet and sticky around the lower part of my body. It took me a moment to realize what it was because I knew it wasn't urine. That's when I discovered I had just experienced my first wet dream, all caused by a bizarre and unsettling nightmare.