Whirlwind
A Fictional Story by Danny Piccolo.
Earlier that day I sat alone at the bar of my hotel, perched on the beach in Old San Juan. The bar was average, and the drinks were standard; the bartender was very gay yet unmemorable. Waiting for my friends to join me, I ordered a drink and sat at the bar with the shore to my left and the entrance to the patio on my right. We had all taken the same flight, but I readied myself faster than the three queens I was with. “Friends” is an overstatement.
These were acquaintances. Two were friends of the boy I had attached myself to for the trip. He and I had had intimate relations on several occasions, but he, being the younger of us all, won awards for the strongest libido. Within weeks I had become old news. He bore my presence as a useful beard while keeping a watchful eye on all that passed by, anywhere and everywhere we traveled together. Although I had liked the times we spent in bed, I soon realized that he was a true boy and needed to sow, sow, sow those wild oats.
Who was I, so much more mature and wise, to deny him his youthful queries? His friends were more mature, like me. We had steady jobs and were adequately financed for this vacation. We were all looking to enjoy a long overdue time away from New York City. This gay hotel and beach bar was mutually selected as the answer to each of our dreams. Before the rest of my troop had come down, I spied a new arrival enter the hotel briefly, who soon came to sit at the far end of the large rectangular structure built to resemble a tourist’s idea of what a tropical gay bar should look like. Tacky.
The boy was not large of stature, but the tee and shorts revealed a wonderfully hard 18-year-old body.
He sported a cap that allowed dirty blond hair to escape out the back and sides. His face, from a distance, looked like that of a mischievous cherub. This was my gift. I could have left right then and there, but did not. I watched him with pleasure just sit and sip. He never noticed me.
As my friends came down, he got up and passed them quickly on his way out of the patio off to wherever angels live.
“Don’t leave so soon, honey!” Michael whispered under his breath as they sat around me, all eyes following the capped boy walking away from the bar.
“Yes, he is very cute.” I offered. “But I saw him first!” They all laughed, and John and Michael rolled their eyes at me in contrast to my claim. Jeff, my roommate, hadn’t seen him and got all flustered that he missed something good.
We decided to have a few drinks to settle into our new surroundings and discussed preparing to go to the hotel’s rooftop bar later that evening. Agreed, that’s what we had come for: drinks, music, and new faces.
We entered the rooftop bar to loud rhythmic music, pulsing lights, and many colorfully dressed men. Madhouse; we could have been in NYC, with eyes open or shut. Michael got us all a round of drinks. Small thin glasses for gin and tonics (me, Michael, and John), and large curved stemware for umbrella drinks (Jeff)
I sipped and scanned, swaying my old high school hips to the bass notes. I never improved my dance moves; they were classic. Suddenly, I spied a familiar face. It was the cherub. Somehow he had floated into the room and became part of the bobbing heads and swaying shoulders. I looked around for my partners in crime, but they had all gone off in various directions.
As I gazed at the mop of dirty blond hair, it looked like he raised his glass and was beckoning someone near to me. I casually looked around and carefully behind me but saw no one looking in his direction. When I looked back, he was gone. Deflated, I stirred my drink and sipped a deep draw on my cocktail straw. A tap on my shoulder, and turning to my right, I almost choked. There was my cherub standing next to me, smiling a toothpaste-white grin, saying hello. I spit out my straw.
“I’m Billy.” He shouted over the music, getting close to my ear. I introduced myself and held out a hand. “I saw you earlier downstairs.” He offered.
Astonished at what was happening, I smiled awkwardly and said: “Oh yeah, at the bar, right?”
He grinned and nodded. Then, leaning in close again asked me if I was hungry. What a line. He explained that he had gotten in late and hadn’t eaten yet, and would I like to join him for a quick bite somewhere “Quieter!” he yelled.
“Sure.” I followed him out, never looking back for my posse. I was walking with, and into, a dream.
We found a small place to grab a bite, nothing fancy, just serviceable: local fried food, burgers, and simple fountain drinks. We made small talk, as often happens on a blind date. To me, this fit that category of date perfectly, blind, as in me being bewildered. It all happened so fast. Did the boy whom I spied for a few moments earlier in the day actually see and remember me and think highly enough of me to approach me in the bar that very night and ask me out? Dreamland for sure. I looked into his smooth features and mop of hair, which was rather better groomed than at first appearance.
There was a polished look to him; he took care of himself. He told me he was living in NYC and held a position as a dancer at a club in midtown. I recognized the name of the club from ads in newspapers I had seen, but didn’t know if it was a gay or straight establishment. All I knew was that he was gay and wore a crooked, cute smile as we got to know each other over fries and cokes. As we left, he offered, “My place is just over there…do you smoke?”
He asked as he pulled out a joint and held it up. I didn’t answer; I just followed, stepping on clouds under a starlit sky. He lit it up as we hit the door and he beckoned me to climb the stairs with him…”To the roof!”
We sat on stone ledges that defined the roof line; that was where we began to smoke and relax. I saw a gust of wind pick-up some leaves that had gathered in a corner and watched them swirl and swirl around in a small tornado pattern. The smoke was intoxication and I was getting soft and simple in my thoughts. We forgot what we were talking about and suddenly started laughing at each other – seeing how stoned we had become. “Let’s go.”
He grabbed my hand and led me downstairs to his small room. There was a bed and a lounger almost facing each other, side by side. I sat on the bed; he sat across from me on the small settee. He stared into my eyes. I stared into his and admired a wonderful face. I could never explain it, but there was an honesty about him that caught me up. He reached out and grabbed my forearm. It was an unusual grasp, but it allowed me to also hold on to his forearm. It felt like hardened steel. He was firm. That memory of that touch stays with me to this day.
Soon, he leaned into me and lay with me on the bed…the rest is a proverbial blur. We made passionate love, not sex, love. He undressed me, then exposed himself slowly and carefully. His manhood was rigid and purposeful. Mine showed itself for what it is, small and unimpressive, even though I was as hard as can be. He lay next to me with an unspoken air that we were to touch each other and not partake in any oral or anal activity. It was the age of AIDS.
We were living in an age of sex that constantly taunted us by pitting primal fear against primal desires. We somehow knew our boundaries and accepted them. He lay on top of me and enjoyed the feel of my chest. I enjoyed the feel of his tight, firm muscles against me. Chest, arms, legs, face…he was a sculpture of high order. I remember looking down as he stroked himself lightly. His shaft pulled tightly at the base and stretched tightly from each inner thigh to the base of the shaft.
It looked painful; I had never seen that happen to anyone, then or since. “Does that hurt?” I asked.
“No, want to feel it?” He offered.
As I placed my hand around his hard, smooth penis, he reached down for mine. He was so kind; I remember him holding my small head in his fingers and rocking it gently back and forth. He mused a lovely smile on his face as he looked at me. “Very, very cute.” He whispered in my ear.
“I’m sorry,” I said.
“Why?” He asked.
It was my initial response whenever anyone ever got that close to me, whoever I shared my smallness with. I was, and still am, always embarrassed by it. He made a firm face and told me to be happy with myself just the way I was. It made me feel good and reassured that he truly admired me. Honesty and wisdom, all packed into my little angel. I smiled and held him tightly. He was warm and selfless; he allowed me to become his in every form of completeness. He was generous that way.
We slept comfortably in each other’s arms for the rest of the night. As the sun came up, light streamed through the old wooden slatted Venetian blinds. Uniform bands of shadows and light fell across us, like some classic art deco print. I lightly placed my fingers onto his sculptured chest. I could see his light blue vascular system under the pink marble. The scene was something out of a perfectly directed film. I was in that form of awakening where your eyes are open, but you can still hold on to every precious moment of a dream.
He rose out of bed and visited the washroom. I sat up on the edge of the bed, and as he returned, I started to put my pants back on. Both feet started down the same pant leg, causing me almost to fall. That was the moment I returned to reality. I looked one last look at the angel that sought me out of a crowded dance floor the night before. He lay back under the striped rays of the rising sun, sheet pulled up to his waist. He leaned on his side toward me to say something, like ‘Hope we see each other soon,’ or ‘Thanx!’ Or something like that.
I didn’t let him speak. I hushed him with a finger to my lips as I opened the door to leave. “Please, don’t speak,” I asked politely. “Anything you say will only sound like a cliché.” I left him in silence.
I walked back over green lawns and through parking lots to find my hotel. Jeff had left for the day, I presumed, so I showered and dressed for the pool. As I arrived, Michael, John, and Jeff were all poolside. “OH, so there she is! Got lost last night, did we?” They taunted me in front of the other hungover guests.
I sat by the pool, dipping my feet into the cool water and smiled. “Remember the boy with the cap?” Was all I needed to say.
They laughed at me, like I really thought they would believe for a moment that that could actually happen. “Not you, honey, keep dreamin’.” Michael scoffed.
But later that day as we were walking through town, who did I spy walking towards us wearing that cute cap? We all stopped when he said to me. “Hi, this is my friend from last night.” He said to the tall, dark boy with him, who had a hard, glossy ebony body that rivaled my angel in design. We touch kissed each other on the cheek. “Maybe I’ll see you again tonight at the bar?”
I nodded.
I grinned.
My bitches were speechless.
The End.
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