myself on the back for finally finding bliss with an average-looking guy instead of the body-beautiful circuit boys I’ve lusted after for years, I can’t deny the real reason the sex with Shane was so good. It fed my own starving narcissism, a fact that both troubled and fascinated me. I mean, who wouldn’t get off on it? There I was— me, Henry Weiner—being asked to stand on a hotel bed naked so that a guy could adore me. Literally. Down on his knees, worshipping me, telling me how sublime I was, how radiant, how muscular, looking up at me as if I were the naked Christ on the Cross—an analogy that would give my Jewish mother an apoplectic fit if she knew I was thinking it. But the truth remains: it was simply the most awesome, most intense, most mind-boggling sex I’ve ever had.
And to top it off, Shane had even been willing to pay me! Even afterward, he’d taken out a crumpled hundred-dollar bill from his jeans pocket and waved it in front of my face, saying, “You sure?”
He was only joking , I insist to myself, watching him now as he tries to open the pants of a GI Joe doll.
“So what do you want to do until we meet Jeff?” Shane’s asking. He’s given up trying to get a peek at the GI genitals. “Ride around in a cab so I can blow you in the backseat?”
I blush again, certain that the handsome father and adolescent son looking at a train set next to us have heard every word. I grab ahold of Shane’s coat and pull him out of the store onto Fifth Avenue.
“What?” Shane asks, mock-innocently. “Something I said?”
Outside, a Salvation Army volunteer cheerlessly rings her bell. Who still gives after Christmas is over? The sidewalk is thronged with people returning holiday gifts, their faces muffled in upturned collars and scarves. Suddenly, Shane takes my leather-gloved hand in his. Oh, boy. This is the awkward part. This is the part of tricking that Jeff calls “the hard truth of the light of day,” when you have to tell the guy it was fun but it’s over now. My first reaction is to pull my hand away, but I don’t want to hurt Shane’s feelings. He’s too nice a guy.
He squeezes my hand. Oh, great , I think. What if he’s falling for me? What do I say? The truth? You didn’t make me hard, Shane. Your protestations of devotion did. You can’t base a relationship on narcissism. And that’s all it was, Shane. You feeding mine.
Right. As if I could say that without feeling like a total shit.
I can’t wait to talk about this with Jeff. Jeff would know how to handle things. He always does. No matter the experience, Jeff has already had it. “Stay away from two kinds of guys,” he’s counseled. “The ones who act like they’re in love with you the next morning and the ones who act like they don’t care in the slightest. They’re both exactly the same.” And, “Stay away from two kinds of drugs. Tina and Gina. They’re not at all the same, except that they’ll both destroy your life if you let them.”
Jeff is probably the smartest guy I’ve ever known. I’m not that much younger than him, but sometimes I feel a whole generation removed, as if crammed into Jeff’s head start of seven years is an entire lifetime of achievement and failure. The school of gay hard knocks.
“So are you guys going to the Blue Ball in Philly in three weeks?” Shane is swinging our hands between us, as if to show the entire avenue what he’s caught. “I can’t decide whether to go to that or to the Fireball in Chicago next month. Doing both seems a bit excessive. You know what I mean? I don’t want to be like those tired circuit queens who blow all their vacation time hopping from one party to the next.”
I smile with some amusement. “I think actually the next one we talked about was the Winter Party,” I tell him.
“But of course the Winter Party. You can’t skip Miami.”
I laugh. “That’s where I wanted to be last night. All our other friends were there. But Jeff and Lloyd
And to top it off, Shane had even been willing to pay me! Even afterward, he’d taken out a crumpled hundred-dollar bill from his jeans pocket and waved it in front of my face, saying, “You sure?”
He was only joking , I insist to myself, watching him now as he tries to open the pants of a GI Joe doll.
“So what do you want to do until we meet Jeff?” Shane’s asking. He’s given up trying to get a peek at the GI genitals. “Ride around in a cab so I can blow you in the backseat?”
I blush again, certain that the handsome father and adolescent son looking at a train set next to us have heard every word. I grab ahold of Shane’s coat and pull him out of the store onto Fifth Avenue.
“What?” Shane asks, mock-innocently. “Something I said?”
Outside, a Salvation Army volunteer cheerlessly rings her bell. Who still gives after Christmas is over? The sidewalk is thronged with people returning holiday gifts, their faces muffled in upturned collars and scarves. Suddenly, Shane takes my leather-gloved hand in his. Oh, boy. This is the awkward part. This is the part of tricking that Jeff calls “the hard truth of the light of day,” when you have to tell the guy it was fun but it’s over now. My first reaction is to pull my hand away, but I don’t want to hurt Shane’s feelings. He’s too nice a guy.
He squeezes my hand. Oh, great , I think. What if he’s falling for me? What do I say? The truth? You didn’t make me hard, Shane. Your protestations of devotion did. You can’t base a relationship on narcissism. And that’s all it was, Shane. You feeding mine.
Right. As if I could say that without feeling like a total shit.
I can’t wait to talk about this with Jeff. Jeff would know how to handle things. He always does. No matter the experience, Jeff has already had it. “Stay away from two kinds of guys,” he’s counseled. “The ones who act like they’re in love with you the next morning and the ones who act like they don’t care in the slightest. They’re both exactly the same.” And, “Stay away from two kinds of drugs. Tina and Gina. They’re not at all the same, except that they’ll both destroy your life if you let them.”
Jeff is probably the smartest guy I’ve ever known. I’m not that much younger than him, but sometimes I feel a whole generation removed, as if crammed into Jeff’s head start of seven years is an entire lifetime of achievement and failure. The school of gay hard knocks.
“So are you guys going to the Blue Ball in Philly in three weeks?” Shane is swinging our hands between us, as if to show the entire avenue what he’s caught. “I can’t decide whether to go to that or to the Fireball in Chicago next month. Doing both seems a bit excessive. You know what I mean? I don’t want to be like those tired circuit queens who blow all their vacation time hopping from one party to the next.”
I smile with some amusement. “I think actually the next one we talked about was the Winter Party,” I tell him.
“But of course the Winter Party. You can’t skip Miami.”
I laugh. “That’s where I wanted to be last night. All our other friends were there. But Jeff and Lloyd
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