Friday, July 17, 2015

Cruised by a Man in Black

New York, March 2000

When I was living in Manhattan, I always got off at the Christopher Street Station, even though I actually lived closer to 14th Street.  I never got tired of walking past the Stonewall Inn, where gay liberation began, or the Gay Liberation Monument in Christopher Park.

Sometimes there was a Man in Black walking next to me.

He was in his 20s, shorter than me, with broad shoulders, dark skin, and Asian features.  Very handsome.  He spoke slowly and formally, as if English wasn't his first language.

I could never remember exactly when he approached.  One moment I was walking alone, and the next, he was walking beside me.

When I thought about it, I figured that he was a Catholic priest, friend of Andre, who belonged to a Traditional Catholic spiritual community.  But I didn't think about it much.  Everything seemed perfectly ordinary.

As we walked five or six blocks down Christopher Street and the Avenue of the Americas, the Man in Black asked me questions.

Mostly trivial:
"What kind of food is your favorite?"
 "What occupation does your father have?"

Sometimes gay-specific:
"Are there locations where gay people congregate?"
"Why does your government forbid gay people from serving in the military?"

I was pleasantly surprised that a Catholic priest was so gay-friendly.

Sometimes very personal: 
"What is your preferred method of achieving an orgasm?"
"Do you have a preferred size in the penises of your partners?"

But I answered them without hesitation, never even thinking how odd it was for a priest to be asking me about penis sizes as we walked down the Avenue of the Americas together.

When we got to 13th Street, I turned right to go to my apartment, and the Man in Black vanished.  I assumed that he was continuing north to the Church of St. Francis Xavier, but actually I never saw where he went.

He was definitely my type, and I'm particularly interested in priests.  But for some reason I never thought of inviting him out on a date, or for a hook up.

Then one day in the spring of 2000, he invited himself.

When we got to 13th Street, I turned right, as usual, but the Man in Black continued to walk next to me..  "I am very interested in new experiences," he said.  "If you are free just now, could we go to your room?"

I didn't protest.

When we got to my apartment, the Man in Black led me directly into my bedroom.  Strange, since he had never been there before.

"Would you like a soda?" I asked.  "Or some water?"

"Certainly, if that is customary.  Water, please."

On the way to the kitchen, I thought, "Does he really want to hook up, or am I imagining it?  If I make a move and he's not interested, he'll think all gay men are sexual predators.  But if I don't make a move..."

When I returned, the Man in Black was sitting on the bed.  "Is this your preferred starting location?" he asked.

"Um...sure, but...well, I thought you guys were celibate."

He took the glass of water from my hands and drained it in a few gulps, as if he was very thirsty -- or nervous.  "Oh, no, we can enjoy sexual intimacies with whomever we wish.  We get very few opportunities, however.  There is so much other work to do.  Should I remove my clothing?"

What followed was very unsatisfying.  The Man in Black had a nice physique and respectable beneath-the-belt gifts, but he was singularly inept.

He kissed by opening his mouth as wide as he could.

He just lay there like a statue, responding without emotion, saying nothing except "Am I doing it right?"

He wasn't.

When we were finished, instead of cuddling, he got up and quickly dressed.  "Thank you very much," he said.  "This was very enjoyable."  He headed for the door.

"Shouldn't we exchange telephone numbers?"

The Man in Black looked surprised.  "If it is customary."  I gave him my card, and he wrote a name and a telephone number on a piece of paper.  Then I walked him to the door, and he vanished into the cool Manhattan evening.

I never saw him again.

The name he gave was "Mario Sanchez, OSB" and the telephone number was for the Department of Religion at Columbia University, but there was no one by that name on the faculty.

OSB is the abbrevation for the Benedictine Order.  There are several Benedictine monasteries in New York (none in Manhattan), and the monks wear black cassocks.

But then, why the mysterious appearances and disappearances?  The bizarre questions?  The "we aren't celibate."

Later I read Jenny Randles' The Truth Behind the Men in Black, about the weird men dressed in old-fashioned black suits who question people who see UFOs.  They ask bizarre questions and behave oddly, yet no one finds them unusual at the time. (They were popularized in a series of movies starring Will Smith).

Maybe the Man in Black was an alien-human hybrid conducting research on gay people.

Or just a Catholic monk with a strange cruising technique.

See also: The Football Player who Got Unstuck in Time.; Stuck at Jamaica Station with a Student.


Thursday, July 16, 2015

December 2001: The Pizza Delivery Guy

When I was growing up, the best pizza in town came from Harris Pizza on 14th Avenue, about a half mile from our house.

The best in the world -- I've never found anything close.  Ground sausage, with the cheese on top. Real, fresh mushrooms, not the canned stuff.

We never got delivery -- why wait around, and then have to tip the delivery boy?  Dad just drove over and picked it up.

After I moved to West Hollywood in 1985, I went back home for visits twice a year, at Christmastime and in the summer, and I always insisted on getting Harris pizza at least once.

My parents moved to Indiana in 1995, so I didn't get back to Rock Island often, maybe every two years.  I stayed with my brother, who lived downtown, a long way from 14th Avenue, but I still insisted on ordering it at least once during my visit.

During the summer of 2001, a few weeks before I moved from New York to Florida, I was back in Rock Island visiting Ken, and for some reason I got the job of driving my sister-in-law's car to pick up the pizza.



I had never actually been inside Harris Pizza before.  I was surprised by how small the space was, how much it smelled of sausage and mushrooms, and how hot the guy at the counter was.

He was stunning!  College age, oval face, sparkling black eyes, wavy black hair, nice chest and biceps.  His name tag said "Jack."

I couldn't decide which I liked better: the smell of the Harris Pizza, or Jack saying "May I help you?"

My pizza wasn't quite done, so we chatted a bit.  "I grew up in Rock Island.  Whenever I visit, I always come back for a Harris Pizza."

"Where do you live now?"

"New York.  I have an apartment in the East Village." (I didn't mention that I would be vacating it in three weeks.)

Jack grinned.  "Wow, that's exciting!  I'd love to live in New York someday.  I'm studying theater arts at Augustana, so Broadway is my dream."

"Hey, I know lots of theater people.  If you visit New York, I could introduce you to my friend Blake, who works for...."

Then my pizza slid up from the kitchen.  I paid and left -- forgetting to give Jack my name or phone number.

The next day I went to Harris Pizza at about the same time.  No Jack -- and it would be pushy to ask the staff about him.

And I was leaving tomorrow!

Thinking fast, I called my friend and former bully, Dick.

"Harris Pizza!" he exclaimed.  "All that fat and sodium!   I never go near that place -- you might as well be eating a deep-fried Big Mac!

"The pizza might be bad, but you should see the pizza boy!  His name is Jack, he's a theater student at Augustana, and he's incredible!"

"Your type, huh?  A short bodybuilder with dark skin, an extra big sausage, and a degree in theology?"

"Well -- rather tall and fair skinned, actually.  More your type.  But gorgeous with a capital G!  And he was obviously cruising me!  Except I'm flying back to New York tomorrow, so I don't have time to pursue him."

"So you want me to pursue Jack for you?"

"Just go to Harris Pizza, mention me, maybe wow him with the list of celebrities I've seen naked -- feel free to add Tom Cruise to the list -- and maybe get his number.  I'll take it from there."

"I don't know, Potsie," he said, referring to Happy Days.  "Sounds like a crazy scheme. What's in it for me?"

"Well...if Jack and I hit it off, I'm willing to share.  Besides, you owe me for the 3,000 times you called me a 'sissy,' 'wuss,' and 'girl' back in grade school."

"Ok, ok," Dick grunted.  He didn't like to be reminded of his bullying days.  "I'll see what I can do."

The next day I went back to New York, and got so immersed in packing and truck rentals and lease walk-throughs that I forgot all about it.  Dick didn't say anything in his emails.

Then in November he emailed me: "Are you coming back to Rock Island for Christmas?"

"I wasn't planning to.  I was just there last June -- I don't want to wear out my welcome at my brother's house."

"You can stay with me.  I have a special present for you. Come the day after Christmas -- but not until 6:00 pm.  That's when the present is coming."

Puzzled, I agreed.  I spent Christmas with my parents, then rented a car and drove out to Rock Island on the 26th, timing my trip to arrive at 6:00 sharp.

Dick opened the door in a Christmas sweater, gave me a bear hug, and took his present -- a rather expensive set of wine glasses.  I noticed that the table was set for three.

"So, you mentioned a special present?"

"Right, right."  He yelled "Okay, now!" into the back of the house.  "Whatever Lola Wants, Lola Gets" from Damn Yankees started playing.

And a shirtless twink in a Santa hat and red jockstrap came dancing seductively out of the bedroom.

Whatever Lola wants, Lola gets,
And little man, little Lola wants you!

"Merry Christmas!" he said, grinding against me.

I helped myself to a grope.  "You got me a twink?  How thoughtful!"

Dick grinned.  "You idiot, this is Jack -- the famous hot pizza boy you were all crazy about!"

Over dinner (for which Jack got dressed), I heard the story:  last summer Dick went to Harris Pizza as I requested, but Jack wasn't there, so he gave up.  But in September, he read that the Augustana Theater Department was performing Death of a Salesman, with someone named Jack as Biff.  He wasn't a big theater fan, but he went to the performance, talked to Jack afterwards -- sure enough, it was the same guy.  And they started dating.

"Since you're kind of responsible for us meeting, Dick wanted to surprise you," Jack added.  "But not recognizing me kind of ruined it."

"Well, I only talked to you for five minutes, six months ago.  But it's a nice surprise now -- you're even hotter than I remember."

"You are, too," Jack said.

"Ok, enough grade school 'Oh, you're cute!' bull!" Dick exclaimed.  "Everybody thinks everybody is hot -- now let's get busy.  We have some sharing to do!"

Jack moved in with Dick a few months later.  They've been together ever since.

See also: Hooking Up with My Old Bully; My 12 Porn Movie Hookups; and The Museum Guard in My Bed.

L

Related Posts Plugin for WordPress, Blogger...