Page 38 of Torn
I yanked farther away. “What’s wrong with you?”
He grinned—so devilishly that I could almost forgive him. Almost.
“I thought you wanted it.”
I shook my head and scooted down the bench, placing almost a foot of distance between us. “I don’t know what gave you that idea.” I didn’t know which was worse, the actual slap, or someone thinking I’d wanted to be physically assaulted in a bar.
And as suddenly as he’d arrived, he got up and left me sitting alone with my beer.
I watched him head into the back room, where I was sadly certain he’d find someone receptive to his charms.
I looked around for Boutros.
There he was—heading into one of the men’s rooms, pulling a big, hairy dark-haired lad by a leash. I followed their progress until the door closed behind them. It didn’t take much imagination to figure out what would go on behind that door.
God only knew how long they’d be inside.
Another law of the jungle was that one could exit the bar, leaving the other behind at any point, if it was advantageous.
Right now, it was advantageous for me. My cheek still stung. I needed some air. Even though the bar was only about half-full (or half-empty), I felt claustrophobic, as though the black-painted walls were closing in.
Once I got outside on Clark, I felt better. Freer. Despite the heat, humidity, and the smell of exhaust hanging in the air—urban miasma—there was a sense of release. It was as though the evening had finally opened itself up. Anything could happen.
I thought for a moment of Boutros. He’d wonder where I’d gone, of course, but not for long. Soon he’d find himself another playmate, maybe even the slap-happy redhead. I smiled as I thought how Boutros would annihilate him, probably verbally, but maybe even physically—Boutros was a lot tougher than he appeared—if he dared smack Boutros’s face.
I snorted. Now that was a funny notion.
I took in a deep lungful of bus fumes as the number 22 roared by and contemplated my options. Next door to the Eagle was the oh-so-convenient Man’s Country, a multistoried bathhouse where one could find just about anything one desired, as long as those desires fell into the drug or sex category. I had a membership. But I’d just gotten over hepatitis A, and I didn’t fancy catching something else tonight. When you had sex with someone at Man’s Country, you had sex with everyone else they’d had sex with, and from personal experience, I knew that could be a lot of men! No, maybe another time, when my desire outweighed my common sense, which was a fairly frequent occurrence, I’m sorry to admit.
I looked the other way and thought about the little side road running along Saint Boniface Cemetery. Guys who hadn’t found what they wanted at the Eagle or Man’s Country often loitered there late at night in a public place, hoping for one last chance.
Why, just last fall, I’d had quite a memorable time there when I’d had my one and only sexual encounter with a ghost.
Yes, you read that right. I drifted back….
The air that September night was hot, so humid you could almost touch it. Inside the Eagle, it had been just as bad… or worse. In spite of the crowds, no one met up to my exacting standards, and so, plied with equal amounts of alcohol and despair, I emerged into the torpid night lit by a big tangerine moon.
I wandered over to the little side street that ran parallel to the walled northern border of Saint Boniface Cemetery. There were only a few houses, all of them dark. And the street was a dead end. I stood around, thinking nothing much would happen. I smoked a cigarette, making an agreement with myself that when it was burned down almost to the filter, I would head home. I was almost ready to make that very trip—the rumble of the L a few blocks over reminded me to get on board—when a man approached. Even in the dim light, I liked what I saw: tall, husky, dark hair flowing messily out of a Kangol cap, and eyes so mesmerizing that, for a second, I could see nothing else.
We didn’t say much. Isn’t it strange how gay men have elevated eye contact to a language all its own? Before long, near the wall of the cemetery, corporeal fires got ignited, and the two of us sought a place that would offer more privacy. My new friend led me to a rust-eaten pickup. I asked if it was his. He simply smiled and opened the door. He scurried inside, and I didn’t hesitate to join him. Kisses resumed and went from lips to nether regions in only a minute or two.
The sweltering air, the eerie light, the thrill of getting caught, and a hot man all conspired to create a night of romance I won’t ever forget. I remember the climax of our union found us this way—the truck passenger door open, my new friend prone, naked, across the front seat with his calves resting on my shoulders while I fucked him ruthlessly, my T-shirt on the ground and my camo pants around my ankles.
There were at least two full moons that night.
After it was over, and after the two of us scrambled to get dressed, we went our separate ways, he heading off in the direction of the cemetery. As soon as I started to make my way to the L, I stopped and turned around. He might also be headed for the L. It would be nice to have a repeat encounter—if not tonight, then soon. In the meantime, perhaps, we could accompany each other on the several-blocks-long walk and get better acquainted. The kindness in his dark brown eyes stuck with me, along with his quiet demeanor. Who knew, I wondered, maybe something could come of this.
But he was gone.
I searched up and down the dead-end street we’d been on and even cast a gaze along some of the side streets. He’d disappeared too quickly! There was nowhere for him to go, really, but up the dead-end street, and there wasn’t time enough for him to traverse its short course. He had vanished—as unlikely or impossible at it might have seemed.
I stared at the cemetery walls as I walked away, wondering if he had emerged not from the same bar as I had, but from St. Boniface’s slumbering confines, driven by needs he was supposed to have left long behind. Did we never learn to behave? I smiled at the thought, but shivered as the temperature of the night seemed to plunge downward….
I shivered now, too, at the memory. Nah, I thought, maybe I’ll skip that little side street.
I wanted someone alive.
Just as it had reminded me of its existence that night last fall, I heard the rumble of the L to the east. I picked up my pace and started heading south, toward where I’d left my car.
