The first time I met him, I was hypnotized by his beauty. It was impossible to express that since my friend Joe was dating him. Actually, dating isn't really the right word. Joe was a self-proclaimed virgin and bisexual on the edge of coming out and considering making John his first foray into gay. They had been doing the flirty dance for some weeks, so I quickly quelled any dirty thoughts on my end.
This was very difficult the first time I was invited to a BBQ at John's where he unabashedly pranced around in his speedos all afternoon. ( To this day, no one will compare to how he looked in those.) At the end of that evening, John, a little liquored up, told me that Joe and he were not going to happen. Joe wasn't ready yet. The way my heart soared at the news should have been my first hint to get the hell out of there, and I did manage to stammer an, "Oh I'm so sorry, that's too bad, " before I left, my mind racing with what-ifs.
If it had only gone no further, I would be able to remember the sweet arms of possibility wrapped around me that night. But the subsequent events would effectively block out most of my positivie experiences during this time. I'm sitting here trying to uncover the million layers of girief to remember our first encounter together, and yet I cannot. In fact, I can only grasp little shards of images of us in bed together, a force stronger than love having dimmed the memories so much, I could probably be convinced it was all a dream.
Unfortunately, it was not.
(to be continued)