All rights reserved. Copyright held by the author. This is a work of fiction containing explicit sex and graphic language. If you are offended by such, underage, or live in a state or territory where literature of this nature is unlawful, please exit now and read no farther....R.C.
"HALF PAST SUNSET, AN HOUR BEFORE DAWN"
by
Ritch Christopher
Chapter One
I live alone but I never sleep alone. I have neither multiple personalities nor schizophrenia, but I do lead a double life...one from 8:00AM to 4:00PM..the other from 8:00PM to 4:00AM. The two lives are at opposite ends of a spectrum. They will remain separated. They MUST remain separated if I am to survive in either of them. Never the twain will or should meet. For, you see, during the day I am a sixth grade school teacher in Manhattan at P.S. something or other (which I will not reveal for obvious reasons), but at night, I shed my collegiate mantle and my inhibitions, as I prowl through as many gay bars, adult book stores, and porno movies as time will permit, looking for a nightly partner, or maybe just a "quickie" in the dark, looking from one end of the island to the other, on both the East and West Sides. I like men...all kinds of men...tall, short, young, old...it doesn't matter as long as I feel I'm not in danger...physically, emotionally, or healthwise. I can't remember a time in my life when I didn't desire men, but it was only after I entered college and left my non-understanding parents that I began my quest to see how many men I could meet or have a one-night fling with. There are supposedly one hundred million adult males in the USA and, if I had the time, I would connect with every one of them. My family, friends, and neighbors never knew or suspected of my prurient desires. If they did, they would nicely look the other way.
I, luckily, do not prefer twinks. That is to say, I am sometimes turned on by a young man in the twilight world. Don't get me wrong, I love kids. I'm a handsome, arrogant, overly self-confident, perversely neurotic elementary school teacher. That is not to say that I'm not a damned good teacher. I love my students and they love me. Most of them come from housing projects or underprivileged surroundings. They'll be lucky to catch a glimpse outside the city on the Staten Island ferry or a subway ride to Shea Stadium. That's why I try to make games out of their curriculum. Today, for example, I made them close their eyes and visualize we were in a fast moving car, going five hundred miles per hour through New Mexico. I wanted them to see Carlsbad Caverns, to feel the heat of the day in some painted desert with reds, oranges, browns, and yellows merging into the sunset, only splotched by the greens of cacti and yucca plants. Left and right, we whizzed by rattlesnakes, prairie dogs, and jack rabbits. At eventide, the desert would cool off so much, you almost needed a sweater for the chill in the air or from the ice you could feel in your blood at the howl of a lonely coyote.
We stopped at all the major cities...Roswell, where we saw the site of the alien landing, Silver City, where we went into real silver and copper mines, Truth or Consequences, the other Las Vegas with its steer ranches, the oil wells of Tucumcari, Albuquerque, Gallup, Los Alamos, and, finally, Santa Fe. We always ended our tours with five minutes of silence, drinking it all in. Then I gave them a written quiz about what we'd seen and where we'd been and I was never surprised when the average test score of the whole class was ninety-five per cent. Tomorrow we would visit Alaska, and next week, Paris, France. They left the geography session, almost convinced they had actually been there. I used similar teaching methods with math, social studies, history, and science. The kids loved it and responded to it. But at the end of the school day, that was my last dealing with young folks until school the next day. I didn't want to get involved with kids and risk an arrest for molestation. That would ruin me in both my entities.
The same end would be reached, crumbling my self-made universe, if the school ever learned of my nightly shenanigans. I had been careful for seven years and would continue to do so. I would leave no margin for error.
At night, I had to have sex...male sex...as much, as often, and in as many ways as I could get it. I didn't drink, smoke, do drugs, but I had a cock addiction that almost defied belief. In all my years of being gay and the hundreds of faces I had kissed in the dark. I never found a guy I wanted to spend two nights in a row with. Sure, I would occasionally trick with the same partner but never on consecutive nights, I changed the motif of my nightly attire, depending on my mood. Sometimes, if I were going to cruise the posh East Side, I would wear a suit, tie, black silk socks and Brooks Brothers shoes. On the weekend, I would sometimes go to the other extreme and dress in tight black jeans, a leather jacket, a biker's hat with a short bill, and have chains dangling from all my front pockets. The only thing I would not resort to was drag. I didn't want anyone to doubt my masculinity or be confused by what type date I was looking for. I had many rules and restrictions I put on myself and my tricks...the most important, after "safe sex", was that they had to leave my premises before 4:00AM...NO all-night sleepovers. This gave me a few hours to rest and transform myself into my mild-mannered Clark Kent genre for the day's trek to school...Who knows...maybe I was a bit schizo or had a MP disorder? It didn't matter, because it had always worked for me.
I drove my little Ford Probe home from school and stopped for gas at my usual Texaco station on the upper West Side. I had used the same service station for years, out of habit, but mostly because it was nearest to my apartment on West End Avenue. Beside me in the passenger's seat I had a stack of papers and essays I had to grade before tomorrow. I tried to read and drive at the same time. I hadn't even noticed who had asked me if I wanted my tank filled up. I had stared at the papers and said, "Go ahead,,,and check under the hood too, if you will".
A few minutes later, the gas station attendant rapped on my window, holding up my oil dipstick, saying, "Sir, your oil is low and it looks awfully dirty. You really need to have an oil change and a new filter." I really didn't have this much time to kill, so I just answered back, "Just add a couple of quarts and I'll bring it down for an oil change this weekend."
"Whatever you say, sir." he replied.
That's the first time I had seen him or looked into his emerald green eyes. "My God", I thought, "why hadn't I seen him sooner? He could change my oil and overhaul my engine if he wanted to." I knew I would like to lubricate his pistons. Just to be sure I hadn't missed my chance with a good thing, I quickly asked him..."Will you be working this weekend and could I make an appointment?"
Saturday afternoon was agreeable with him. Now I had to find out how late he worked and if he would join me for dinner afterwards. I decided that was being too forward or forceful on a first time encounter, but I somehow knew, even if he didn't, he was gonna be my dinner as soon as possible. Damn! After I drove out the station and headed home, I could still feel the erection in my pants. He had turned me on, hot, hard, and heavy. Shit! Was I gonna have to go home and jerk off just to get him out of my system temporarily, so that I could go out and enjoy myself later tonight? Probably...No one had had that kind of effect on me since my locker room days at college. Whomever I picked up tonight would have to be extra special with a lot of extra tricks in his bag to make me forget the Man Who Wears the Star.
A frozen Mexican dinner would suffice for dinner...Wait,,,not a Mexican dinner...that would mean beans...which would mean gas...which would mean I would fart all night. It's funny, everybody farts, either in public or private, but a long smelly blast of gas could surely cut a date short, if you were the only one who was flatulent. No, I remembered I had some left over Prime Rib I could heat with a seven minute microwaved baked potato and lettuce salad, The meal suggested what kind of attire I would chose for the evening...a nice pair of navy blue slacks, an open necked silk shirt, a cashmere sweater, blue socks and black loafers. Now if I could meet the appropriate mate, I was all set.
I decided not to drive my car. I felt like walking and could always hail a cab when I finally decided on my destination...some nice middle of the road cocktail lounge would do. Even though I didn't drink, I knew many bartenders who would keep me supplied in Virgin Marys or faux Margaritas. Hell, it was lucky I didn't drink. I could never manage my hours and lifestyle with a daily hangover. I kept a full bar at home for "guests" and a cooler full of non-alcoholic imported beer that no one had ever heard of, so that I could mask my being a tee-totaler if I fixed us both drinks. I was in the mood for jazz, so it was gonna be The Jazz Cat for me. It was a quiet bar with the anachronistic sound of George Shearing piano doubled by vibes and a stand-up bass and brushed snare drums. The vocalist was a fag hag but her singing style was reminiscent of Julie Wilson, singing the best of Porter, Coward, Styne, and Sondheim. You could actually sit at a table and talk at a normal level and be heard. Occasionally, male couples would dance on the parqueted floor in front of the band stand. In the fifties, this bar or club would be "cool"...not the same kind of "cool" in the 21st century.
I sat at the bar for a while until I decided to move to a small table for two on the left of the combo. The move was a good chance to me to make a pit stop in the men's room. When I entered, all eight urinals were occupied, so I strolled by the booths until I found an empty one. I only had to pee but thought of the luxury of sitting down to relieve myself in comfort. Once I had undone my pants and sat down, I heard the sound of another occupant in the next booth trying to relieve himself with masturbatory moans and sighs. I wondered if he was by himself and if so, how could he pleasure himself, alone, that much. I leaned down far enough to see that there was only one pair of shoes in the next booth, unless he had a partner who was straddling him with a lap dance.
I felt the release in my urethra and I was peeing in the luxury of my privacy,,,and then without a warning I saw a piece of toilet tissue wrapped around a ballpoint pen being pushed into my booth from my neighbor's. I reached down and picked up the object and unrolled it to read my retrieved message. It simply asked, "What are you into?". I was offended because it was I who always made the first move. So I quickly wrote a reply, "Women...I'm straight!"...re-rolled the paper on the pen and returned it to its origin. I waited to read his rebuttal...instead it was quite loud and vocal, "You fucking bastard, get away from me!". I laughed as I redressed myself and flushed. As I exited the booth, a guy came out of the booth on the other side of the message sender. He was laughing too.
"Did you get a message from Garcia, too?" he asked me.
"Is that who that was?" I joked.
The two of us laughed and walked over to adjoining lavatories to wash our hands.
"It takes all kinds, I guess, to make the world go around." he said.
"You mean that didn't turn you on?" I joked again.
"This faucet turns me on, more." he replied.
I shook the water off my hands and turned the wall hand dryer on with my elbow. The guy came up behind me to wait his turn.
"Here, come on, put your hands under...there's enough hot air for two." I invited. This is the first time I got a good look of him as the fluorescent lights lit his face.
"Hi, I'm Del," he said.
"Chris." I replied. as I took his hand to shake.
Both our hands were still wet. Subconsciously I wasn't aware I was just touching his hand under the dryer as I gave him the once-over. He was sizing me up at the same time. He was about my age, a nice trim build, blonde hair he had combed off his forehead, Brad Pitt blue eyes, and contrasting black eyebrows and long lashes. He was somebody's dreamboat that I would like to borrow for one evening.
"Nice meeting you, Del. I suppose you'd better get back to your significant other for the evening." I said.
"I'm afraid I'm by myself." he answered.
"Oh?" is all I could manage to say.
"Yes, this is my first time here. I've only just moved to New York and, I'm sorry to say, I've really made no friends yet. I heard it was difficult to make friends in New York. Everyone is so busy, he doesn't have time for anyone else."
"In that case, would you like to join me at my table...friend, to be?" I asked.
"I would love it. At least if I sitting with someone, there's less chance of being hit on. Are you certain that your partner won't object my joining your table."
"You are he." I said.
"Pardon?"
"I have no partner for the evening. If you join me, you'll be he." I explained smiling.
As he accepted my invitation, he smiled, showing his Brad Pittish teeth and dimples.
"On my God," I said to myself, "I've just fallen in love...for the whole evening,"
We walked to my table and the waiter came over to take our order.
"I'm not much of a drinker." he said. "I'll have a very week rum and coke."
"Tell Larry that Chris wants you to make his "usual". I told the waiter.
"The bartender knows you well enough to remember what you drink?" Del asked me.
"Yes. but I seldom come in here...just on nights when I'm in the mood for quiet jazz. Tell me...your name..'Del'...is that with one 'l' or two?"
"One."
"Oh? Short for Delbert?" I asked.
"Much worse...Delmar. I should have known from the first that my parents hated me for saddling me with that name. I really hate it...so I just go by 'Del'" he replied. "'Chris'? Short for "Christopher?".
"No such luck,,,Christian. I think that's why I'm agnostic. My parents expected too much of me."
"What kind of work are you involved in and why the move to New York?" I quizzed.
"I'm originally from Wisconsin...dairy country. I represent many clients in the dairy industry and they sent me to New York to protect their investments with the demons of Wall Street. And you?"
"What?" I asked..."Me, what?"
"What line of vocation are you involved in?"
I had several pat answers to this question, but tonight I said, "Public Relations." as I lied.
"Oh, Madison Avenue?"
"So to speak...Oh good, here are our drinks."
The waiter set down two napkins to serve as coasters for our weak rum and coke and Virgin Mary.
Sally, the blues singer, began to wail, "The Ladies Who Lunch" from Sondheim's "Company". We stopped our conversation completely to savor the lyrics. When she finished, the all male crowd broke into a thunderous applause.
"Who wrote that?" Del asked.
"Stephen Sondheim, the greatest lyricist of all time."
"It's wonderful."
"Sondheim wrote the gay national anthem."
"I didn't know there was one."
"It's not official, but gays, and especially gays with AIDS, have adopted it as our personal national anthem. It's called 'No One Is Alone' from 'Into the Woods'".
"Oh I know that song...I love it. I saw the touring company when it came to Milwaukee."
"Sally will sing it before the night is over. What kind of music do you like most?"
"All kinds...jazz, classical, pop, soft rock, some country,,,but definitely NO RAP."
"It's nice to know that we have something in common. Do you mind my asking what neighborhood you live in?"
"I found a great apartment on West 85th, just off Central Park West."
"Damn! I'm on 83rd and West End Avenue. We're practically neighbors."
"That's funny, we might even meet at the supermarket sometime. I'd like that."
"So would I." I said,
"Do you mind if I ask why you're looking at me so intensely?"
"No, you can ask." I replied.
"Well...why?"
"Because right at this moment, I have the greatest desire to grab you, pull you close, kiss you, and rub my tongue back and forth on your perfect teeth." I said, almost in a gruff whisper.
"And if you succeeded...then what?" he asked, coyly.
"I'd take you to my apartment and fuck your brains out...but don't worry, I'm not going to do it...it's just the alcohol talking."
"How many Bloody Marys have you had?" he asked.
"Enough." I lied.
"Have you had too many to "get it up"?" he asked.
"Wanna find out?...Slide your hand under the tablecloth and up my thigh and see if it's hard enough for you."
"You won't make a scene if I do?"
"No way...I have this thing about making the first move...and I've invited to you make it for me."
"If I find what I expect to find, would it embarrass you to kiss me here...at this table...in front of all these people?"
"Try me...feel and see..." I said, looking at him at straightforward as I could.
Slowly his hand sank below the table, underneath the tablecloth, and rested on my knee. Inch by inch it travelled up my leg to reach my crotch area, masked only by my blue slacks and boxer shorts. I was hard and had arranged myself to stretch as far down my inner thigh as my cock could reach. A few more inches and he would hit pay dirt. Eureka! He found it and took a long time feeling its length, width, and strength. As he started squeezing my erect member, I leaned farther and farther toward his face. I tilted my head enough to make contact with our lips. Once our mouths had touched, he opened his to invite my tongue for my well-sought-after dental exploration. I heard and felt a nervous sigh in the back of his throat, almost resembling a laugh. He opened his teeth and met my tongue with his and the two entangled in every angle possible. The harder we kissed, the more pressure he applied to my organ with his right hand.
Had he been satisfied enough with this foreplay to go home with me? God knows, I had what I was looking for. I immediately felt a bit guilty in having to explain that Cinderella must leave my castle before the clock struck 4:00 AM. Maybe he would invite me over to his apartment and I could make my exit before I broke my ascribed curfew.
The intensity of our kissing slacked as Sally began to sing, "Guess Who I Saw Today". It's almost a gay sacrilege to not stop whatever you're doing to pay homage to that ballad. Her set was nearly over and the pianist began to go into the intro of "No One Is Alone". Del and I sat there holding hands, giving an occasional squeeze as the entire bar fell to a hush, drinking in every word of the lyrics. No matter how many times you heard it, it meant something new and different each time. The crowd rose to their feet and and didn't stop applauding until Sally had taken 8 or 9 bows. The bandstand lights went down and recorded music replaced the combo for the break.
I once again turned my attention to my evening's number one interest. Del still had tears in his eyes from Sally's finale.
"Hey, Blue Eyes." I spoke, "would you like to come home with me?"
"I was about to ask the same thing to you." he responded. "After all, I'm still new to this town and you'd have it easier finding your way home."
"I can go for that. Let me get our checks while you go outside and get us a taxi." I said, getting up and motioning for the waiter.
Once outside, I discovered we had had an autumn shower making the streets all shiny with the New York neon. We arrived at Del's in less than fifteen minutes. I could tell by his actions, he wasn't completely "out" as he tried to make the conversation very "butch" for the cab driver. His was a remodelled building with the fingerprint detector that allowed you to enter the lobby. There was a middle age couple, having had too much to drink getting on the elevator as we approached. Del leaned over and pushed "15". All was quiet going up except for the couple laughing and trying to get a head start on their evening of lovemaking yet to unfold. Del and I exchanged glances and smiled. Once we had reached his floor, the couple remained to ascend higher.
Del used his plastic card key to open his door and, as soon as we entered, the light sensor detected us and lights went on throughout his apartment.
"Just like magic!" he remarked.
His place was "quel chic". I couldn't imagine the cost of this high rise, but he certainly paid more for it than a sixth grade school teacher's salary could afford. He must have been looking after some very rich cows which gave very rich cream. To say the least, I was impressed. I was all too glad we had not gone to my place, which wasn't bad...it just couldn't compare to this place.
"Could I fix you another Bloody Mary or some other vodka drink? Like Martha in 'Virginia Woolf' said, 'Never mix, never worry." he said, laughing.
"No, no, I've had enough thank you. I know my limit." I mean how much straight tomato juice could you drink in one evening. One more glass and my piss would turn red.
"Could I offer you anything else? Something to eat, perhaps?" he asked.
"I would like some bottled water if you have it."
"Perrier do?"
"Great! And thanks but no thanks on something to eat. You go ahead if you like. I had a huge dinner and maybe you haven't eaten yet." I replied.
"I had a large meal, too." Del said, "I had a slab of leftover Prime Rib, a baked potato, and a salad."
"You've got to be kidding. Is that for real or could you taste my dinner on my breath when I kissed you?" I said, puzzled.
"I swear. If you look beside the sink you'll see the bone and the rest of my potato peel. Why are you making such a big deal out of what I ate?"
"Because that's the same identical meal I had before I left for the club." I remarked.
"What's that song from 'Gypsy'? 'We have so much in common, it's a phenomenon.'" he sang.
"'Small World'...another Sondheim lyrical jewel. How does a dairy farmer from Wisconsin know so much about Broadway? You quoted Edward Albee a minute ago and now you're singing showtunes."
"My Broadway record collection is the only thing that preserved my sanity. I belonged to the Columbia Record Club and bought every Broadway show in their catalogue, including the five record set of 'Virginia Woolf' with Uta Hagen." he said, almost smugly.
"And I thought I was going to spend the evening with a farm boy." I said,
"You are. I'm still a farm boy at heart. Some day when I make enough money, I'm going to buy a farm and raise cattle as far as the eye can see." he said, proudly.
"Back in Wisconsin?" I asked.
"Maybe not. I'm going to upstate New York in a couple of weeks to look at some land there. Maybe if you can get away from Madison Avenue long enough, you can join me." he offered.
"Thanks, but a trip outside the city right now just isn't possible, but thanks anyway."
"I'm afraid I haven't bought very many yet, but I do have a stack of CD's in that bookcase over there if you'd like to supply some music while I get your Perrier."
"Love to."
I went over to a case that had all the newest shows like, "The Producers" and "The Full Monty". I chose the newest Streisand, "Timeless". What gay didn't like her? One day at school while I was making up a test I wondered if anyone had ever made up a list of celebrities that gays identified with, but there were so many...the list was long---- Barbra, Judy, Ethel, Bette, Elizabeth were the top divas. The male list ranged from James Dean to Stephen Sondheim, Montgomery Clift, Johnny Mathis, Rock Hudson, Tony Perkins, Jack Kerouac,,,these were the names that helped shape gay society as we know it today.
As soon as Barbra's overture began, Del popped his head out of the kitchen and smiled. He toasted me with a bottle of Perrier. As the music swelled to the strains of "People", he met me in the center of the room and embraced me with two green bottles at my back. We kissed and let the music carry us into a world of ecstasy. At this moment, everything was wonderful, perfect, and all was right with the world.
My mind raced. Why couldn't I ever settle down to a life like this, 'with one person...one very special person'? But this was not me. I would never settle down with THIS person or anyone like him. I was born to wander and wonder. Some day Del would meet the right person for him and they'd go off and raise cattle in the sunset. Me...I would still be drifting to a new and different pair of arms each night...as long as I lived, but tonight I had him in my arms...or at least until this side of 4:00 AM and I intended to make the most of it for myself...and for him. My objective was always to get my partner to want me...just before I made my exit and leave him in a despairing puzzlement of what he had done wrong to make me go. This was hideous of me, but I had always done it and would continue to do so as long as I could latch on to a trick.
I grabbed both cheeks of his buttocks in my hands and pulled his crotch in to mine while I felt him shiver and release a vocal sigh. From his motions and sounds you'd swear he was falling in love with me. I was deep in thought about taking my class on a imaginary tour of Wisconsin. We hadn't been there yet, but I was getting some good ideas.
Knowing how inexperienced Del must be, I didn't expect much to come of the evening. We would get undressed and roll around naked in his bed for fifteen minutes and he would probably ejaculate within five minutes after that. Oh well, he was a nice handsome guy, I could fake it for an hour and still be able to leave before 1:00 AM. I really wasn't in the mood to give a lecture on Gay Sexology 101 tonight. I would be kind and polite and make him think he was the best I'd ever had. The best!? Ha! That was a laugh. I'd never had the "best" unless I counted solo masturbation. I really just wanted to hold someone every night to get rid of my momentary loneliness and reassure myself that I would never have a permanent relationship. The few times I had tried that was when I was in college...one relationship ended when my lover was killed in a car wreck. The second one...I caught my lover cheating and the third...my lover had caught me in his brother's bed. So much for relationships! Ten years had passed and I still loved being footloose and fancy free. Now I had to concentrate on tonight's bill of fare.
There was a huge king size bed with an art-deco mirrored headboard in the bedroom. The room was done in greys, black and white. Two lamps in the shape of enormous deep-throated tulips lit either side of the bed. Above was a skylight and one whole wall was solid windows where you could see the lights from the city and a view of the Hudson River. All that was missing was Lana Turner coming through the door in black sable and evening gown as she wore in "Imitation of Life".
Del picked up a remote control and clicked it toward the ceiling. Instantly, an artificial rainfall started pouring on the panes of the skylight. Barbra's voice was coming into the room via hidden surround-sound from all four walls. Jesus! If I had known, I could have asked for caviar and Dom Perignon with Tomato Juice. I was here to impress Del with my skilled sexuality, but instead I sat there in awe of everything I saw. I mean, hell, when we finished, there were bound to be masseurs to enter en queue to refresh our exhausted bodies. My God! What would we do for an encore?
Somehow, we slowly undressed each other and, the more flesh he revealed, the better looking he became---if that was possible! I wasn't ashamed of my body, by any means. It had pleasured hundreds of Johns in the night, but where in hell did he get such a tan in Wisconsin, of all places, for God's sake? When he slipped out of his silk boxers, his manhood was just as I had anticipated. However, at first glance, I had him beat on length and width. Maybe I could impress him and get back on a more even ground when I showed him what I had to offer.
I slowly removed my shorts and stepped out of them. Hell, just looking at him, I was already erect and ready for action. He stepped back to get a full-length view of my nakedness and responded by saying quietly, "My God, you're beautiful, Chris." This shocked me because, for the first time in my life. I felt I was blushing. He had put me on the defensive and I didn't know how to handle it...not with this pseudo-romantic neophyte!!
"You're not so bad yourself, stud," was the best I could reply under the circumstances.
"Let's lie down and get to know each other better," he said, softly.
We lay on the bed, face-to-face, letting whichever parts of our bodies wanted to touch...touch. He moved in closer to me and began to nibble on my lower lip with his moist lips. His right hand was running up and down my left arm as we kissed again and again...very lightly without aggressive passion. Our desire for each other was intensified by a magnetic presence that I could feel even where our bodies didn't touch,
I wanted to speed the action up a bit by asking, "What would you like to do?...Any preferences?"
He didn't say a word at first, He just politely shook his head in the negative. Every muscle in my body ached, wanting to reach for him and have a plethora of wild sex, but I didn't want to break the mood he was trying to set.
Finally, he spoke. "Would you be terribly angry if we didn't have sex?...Just lie here and feel our auras merge and melt together?"
I wanted to scream, "Hell no! I want to fuck you and fuck you hard...non-stop for about two hours or until the cows came home." But, instead, I don't know why but I whispered to him, "We'll do anything you want."
"Good" he responded. "That will give us something to look forward to on our second date."
"Second date?" My mind screamed. "Doesn't this asshole Adonis know that I don't have a second date...with ANYONE?"
"Thank you. You're just as understanding as I thought you would be. Let's just lie here quietly and let Barbra lull us to sleep. We both have a long day ahead of us, let's save the frivolity for the weekend when we can make love all night if we choose." he said, once again, quietly.
I was about to go out of my fucking mind. Never...NO...NEVER...had I seen, heard, or read of this approach before. I was being pushed aside for a good night's sleep. Fucking shit! I was angry enough to run out of his apartment, stark naked, in a rage, but what kind of fool would that make me look like? What a night! First he makes me blush with embarrassment and now I'm supposed to settle for a good-night kiss, like some kid on his first date in junior high school. Damned right, I was angry...but I didn't know how to express my true feelings. Just what WERE my feelings. I would never had stood for this in the past...so why with him? What had he done to me? I couldn't blame it on alcohol or drugs. Was I acting this way because I was falling for the guy? Hell, NO! The thought of my falling for anyone made me even madder.
I don't know what kept me there, but I stayed where I was and listened to the entire two hour "Timeless" CD. He was asleep and boy, was I glad. I prayed he was not a light sleeper. If I could just ease out of his embrace, I would gather my clothes and dress in the living room or hallway. I almost laughed out loud when I realized we hadn't told each other our surnames. I had no way to call him, nor he, me. He didn't know my true occupation and he could travel for weeks up and down Madison Avenue trying to find me to no avail.
He was a moderately heavy sleeper, so I did manage my escape. I finished dressing in the elevator going down. Once I was outside on the street, I felt a cool Autumn breeze and saw leaves dancing across the pavement which was at last quiet from the hubbub of yesterday. Maybe my students didn't have monetary riches or couldn't travel over the world for real, but they possessed one of the greatest feelings in the world...Autumn in New York. Nothing, nowhere could compare to it. I decided to walk home and enjoy being where I was.
I loved my work. I loved New York. I loved my nightly venturous jaunts,,,but something was wrong. I had a feeling I had never experienced before in my life.,,and the feeling kept drawing my mind back to the apartment and its occupant that I had just left. I DID want to see him again. That, in itself, proved to me that it was wrong. I didn't need a lover or a mate. It would upset everything in life that I lived for. Neither Del nor I had spoken of "love" or "relationship". That was as far away from his way of thinking as mine. I'm sure. Why didn't he want to have sex? I thought we were both about the same age...it couldn't be that I was looking old or something. I was still in my early thirties, as was he. Goddammit! I kept thinking about his blue eyes and soft lips and the string of blonde hair that kept falling on his forehead, the way Robert Redford's did in "The Way We Were". Come to think of it, he was better looking than Redford. I never paid attention to "looks" before as I was so certain of mine.
I felt for certain, the way my mind was boggling, I would have a difficult time getting to sleep. I had to look and act my best for my six-graders in about six hours. It was too late to take a Sominex, I would feel drowsy all day. I would not give in and have a drink. I'd seen what spirits had done to my dad's health and swore as a kid I would never touch the stuff. The best thing was to go home, take a warm bath, put on a dirty movie or look at some gay magazines and jerk-off. That was always a quick way to relax. I know sometimes when the kids at school get on my nerves, I slip into the faculty restroom for a "self-induced quickie" and I would calm down.
It was nearly 3:00 AM before I arrived home. I ran a tub of hot water and soaked until the "hot" was gone, got out, picked up my newest copy of "David and Jonathan" and lay down. Good God! I couldn't get an erection. Some little voice in the back of my head kept saying, "Don't masturbate, tonight. Wait for a second date." I knew for sure I was going out of my fucking mind. I lay there for a few minutes without realizing my whole body was trembling. Tomorrow night would be "leather night" for me and I'd forget all about gorgeous Del who lived on the fifteenth floor and all would be back to normal.
Later that morning I arrived at sclool with an outrageous sleepless hangover. It could be a rough day for my kids. What was even worse was that I had planned to go to a leather bar later on that night and I'd b in a grumpy mood. That was just asking for trouble. Maybe I could catch three or four hours of shut-eye when I got home from school. The students seemed unusually loud today...or maybe it was normal...maybe my senses were just being too insensitive. My mind couldn't concentrate on Alaska as my thoughts kept straying to Wall Street and its newest blonde inhabitant. I wondered what he thought when he awoke only to discover I had left without a note or word like a thief in the night even though I hadn't taken anything but a preponderance of puzzlement that was driving me insane.
I cheated a bit on the kid's daily routine. Instead of playing the bug game in science, I had them read two chapters silently in the textbooks while I gathered whatever faculties I had left. How's that for a bad pun...a faculty member who had lost his faculties. While I was in the lunch line, some other male teacher had passed me leaving a trace of Calvin Klein's Eternity... talk about emotional sensory recall, I almost turned and gave him the hug I'd wanted to give Del earlier this morning when the same aroma of aphrodisia had filled my nostrils. Goddamn! Del was haunting me everywhere I turned. The piped-in music in the cafeteria was playing an all violin arrangement of "People". I had to get a grip on myself before nightfall.
I finished the day with my little munchkins and headed home. I had filled up the car with gas the day before and I had food in the fridge, so I needed to make no stops. As soon as I got home, I undressed and flipped on cable TV to ESPN2. They were showing a soccer game from somewhere in Europe. The star was a handsome young lad with blonde hair flopping across his forehead. I changed channels immediately and tuned in the Food Channel where Emeril Lagassi was showing the best way to cook Prime Rib. Shit! Was there no escape? I settled on the Disney Channel and watched Chip and Dale. This was safe...I hoped.
I decided to fix the Mexican dinner I had planned the night before. Hell, who cared how much you farted in a leather bar...the more you farted... the more attractive you became.,,rough, raw, sweaty men in black leather and chains. How much more manly could you get? Out of sheer exhaustion, I fell asleep in my Lazy-Boy recliner and didn't awaken until 7:45PM. I could eat, bath, dress in my "costume" and be on the streets no later than 9:00PM.
Leaving my building, I started my car and headed for the Village but somehow my car turned down toward 85th and CPW. Damn! There he was...Del...walking down 85th to some unknown destination. I almost wrecked my car while wrestling with myself tryig to decide whether to stop or not. Goddamn! I couldn't let him see me dressed for the biker's ball. I'd better not stop. On the other hand I could return home quickly and change clothes and be back in less that 20 minutes. "For what?" I asked myself. "Keep going toward Greenwich Village. I returned to West End Avenue to head south, but instead I found my car heading in the direction of my apartment.
I almost broke my neck trying to get inside to change clothes into something similar to what I had worn last night. I had scads of clothes but suddenly I hated everything in my closet. I finally reached blindly onto the rack and somehow got a matching shirt and pair of trousers. It took forever to get my leather boots off and replace them with casual slippers. I still don't know why I was doing this, Time had passed and I probably wouldn't be able to find him on the streets again. What the hell? Even if he wasn't there, I was still dressed to go to another bar or bookstore.
Once again I headed toward West 85th and I drove around block after block winding up on Amsterdam Avenue. I drove south toward Needle Park and the subway entrance and the newsstand across the street. Oh my God! There he was...buying a magazine and a newspaper. It would take a lot of balls or a total dose of insanity to drive up to him and stop. Maybe it was a combination of both because I did just that! I reached over and rolled down the passenger window of my car.
"Hey Del!" I yelled. I didn't know what my next line was or how to say it.
"Chris, is that you? How're you doing, Buddy?" he asked, showing those perfect teeth, almost blinding my eyes. My hands gripped the steering wheel to steady them. "Where you headed?"
"No place in particular" was my reply.
"Want some company?" he asked unassumingly.
"Sure" I managed to say.
"Can we stop by my apartment. I put a five hour turkey in the oven to roast and I should check on it or turn the stove off, anyway."
"Yeah". I said, realizing I was unlike Dorothy for I was headed to Oz for the second time. Was this going to be a second date? Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!...Why not?
(to be continued in Chapter Two)