The Tomcat and the Butterfly

After a beautiful and warm Sunday, evening twilight fell over the forest, making shadows between the many trees grow to enormous proportions. It was the kind of forest where gay men tend to go, when they feel, that the quantity of hormones in their blood surpasses the red blood cells and they only come here to find solace for this blissful imbalance. Of course, straight men tried their luck as well, but mostly left disappointed, since female companionship was hard to find between the trees. At best they might find a t-girl, mistakenly thinking they had found what they were looking for, only to find out that the body structure was somewhat else than expected in the intimate regions.

Michael was certainly not looking for any female attention. He was as gay as gay can get. And he was in the already described condition. If any physician would take a blood test of him and would evaluate the results afterwards, chances were big that the man might cry out:

“My friend, you are desperately in need of having sexual contact!”

Michael was halfway his thirties, but still in good shape. His belly was flat, his chest and shoulders muscled and he had the legs of a marathon runner, although his lungs would probably stop him after five hundred meters. He didn’t complain about that. First of all, he had done this to himself by smoking too much. And secondly: for distances of 42 kilometers they had invented cars and busses.

He had decided to follow the imaginary doctor’s advice and as a result he found himself within a clump of trees, observing the men passing him over the small trail. Most were ignored, not being his type or even far off his search pattern. Others were interesting, but then he himself was not deemed appealing enough to give a second glance. And since sex was at a minimum a two men game it didn’t bring the facilitation he was looking for.

Michael glanced at his watch. Time was passing, darkness was falling and it didn’t look as if something worthwhile was going to happen. He considered going home, watch a nice, juicy porn and help himself for the time being for another time.

“Oh, what does it matter?” he murmured, “I’ll just hang around for another fifteen minutes. Maybe something shows up”.

And something showed up. A young boy walked at leisure over the trail. It was the kind of boy, that made every gay man turn his head immediately: slim, supple gait, shoulder-long dark hair and, as far as was visible in the fading light, with the face of an angel. Michael’s heart skipped a beat when the boy stood still in front of him, looked at him intensely and then just walked straight towards him, stopping at a safe distance, out of Michael’s reach.

“Hi”, the boy softly said with an alluring voice.

“Hi, gorgeous!” Michael replied, feeling his hormones almost burning through his skin.

The boy just kept staring at him for a short while and then said:

“You wanna play a little game?”

“You bet!” Michael chuckled, “With a boy like you I’d like to play a lot of games”.

“Not so fast”, the boy said with a hoarse voice, “First, I just want to play my little game to find out if you are the perfect guy to play your kind of games with me”.

Michael stared at him, not fully understanding what the boy meant. He was no newcomer to cruise spots, had experienced a lot of funny and even weird things, but this one? No, this one was new: something like this had never happened to him before.

“Bit confused, are we?” the boy asked with a beaming smile, his white teeth flickering in the by now almost complete darkness.

“Yes…I am”, Michael admitted.

“I just ask you a few questions to find out which role you want to play in the game and then we play it”, the boy quietly explained, “So, what kind of animal do you want to be?”

Michael thought it over, still not knowing what to expect and answered spontaneously:

“I want to be a tomcat”.

“And what is this tomcat doing?”

“At this moment, you mean?” Michael asked puzzled.

The boy nodded so Michael hastily added:

“For the moment this tomcat is on the prowl”.

“For what?”.

When the question came Michael thought he saw a slight flickering in the eyes.

“For mouses”, he answered with a smile.

“Yuk”, the boy said in mock disgust, “Only for mouses?”

“Well, could be for birds as well”, Michael smiled.

“Birds as in girls, in women?” the boy asked softly.

“No, male birds, they’re more juicy than females. Haven’t you ever noticed that in the bird world the males are more beautiful than the females?”

“Hmmmm”, the boy smiled, again showing his flickering teeth, “I like that answer!”

The boy looked into the tree canopies overhead of them as if he was thinking and then he softly said:

“And…how about butterflies?”

Michael still had no idea where this was leading to, but he started to enjoy this almost literal cat- and -mouse game, so he answered:

“A tomcat that is chasing butterflies is just frolicking, just playing around. There is not that much to eat on a butterfly”.

“But does this tomcat know how to catch butterflies with his hands?” the boy asked.

“Claws”, Michael said.

The boy looked at him with quizzing eyes, clearly taken aback for a short moment.

“Tomcats don’t have hands, but claws”, Michael explained smiling.

“Yeah…you’re right. Well, as long as you don’t use your nails, it is fine with me”.

The boy looked at him with some kind of stare Michael could not discern because of the rapidly increasing darkness and then he said:

“Does this tomcat know how to capture butterflies with his hands…eeeuhh, sorry: claws?”

Michael shook his head. In fact, he thought he knew, but he felt that the required answer would be more elaborate than just the normal procedure.

“I’ll explain it to you”, the boy said, “So, listen carefully. Most people, and tomcats, are too rough when they want to catch a butterfly with their hands. They just swap around and if they catch the little thing, they do it too forcefully, too uncontrolled and too wild. So, they will crush the soft wings and the little thing dies in between the flats of their hands. Then there is the group, that is careless. Yes, they capture the butterfly, but then they open their hands to look at the treasure they have caught. Only thing that will happen is, that the butterfly will flit away, maybe being caught by someone else. Now, wouldn’t that be a pity?”

The boy fell silent for a few seconds. Then he dropped his voice and in a seducing, hoarse tone he continued:

“Only the one, who does it into perfection, will experience the soft tickling of the fragile wings on his skin”.

Michael thought it over briefly. What did this mysterious boy mean? But the boy made it clear right away when he asked:

“So, do you think this tomcat can do it in the perfect way?”

“I can always try”, Michael said.

Again, he saw the flickering white teeth and he heard the boy whisper in a clear challenge:

“Then come and get this butterfly…if you can, that is!”

“Won’t take long”, Michael growled good-humored.

But was he wrong! He jumped at the boy and reached to where his shoulders should be, only to grab in thin air. In surprise he looked around, searching for the boy, who stood about two or three meters from him with a mocking smile, having jumped out of reach with the speed of lightning.

“You can’t”, Michael said flabbergasted, “You can’t just jump away to that distance in such short time!”

The boy just stood, grinning, clearly enjoying it.

“Try again”, he just said.

Michael concentrated, jumped and…had the same result with the boy again chuckling about three meters from where he had stand before.

“How come you are so fast?” Michael uttered astonished.

“Butterflies are always fast”, the boy said, laughing teasingly, “Come on, don’t give up. But one tip: you do it too wild. Slow down, concentrate!”

Another attempt followed, but again the boy flashed away, out of reach as if a beam of light just moved from one spot to another.

No matter what he tried, Michael couldn’t grab the boy. They more or less danced around in the dark forest for about an hour. Some men passed by, looking on in bewilderment, shaking their heads and wondering what had gone into the heads of these two. But Michael was beyond caring if it might look ridiculous what he was doing. He was bent on grabbing the boy or the butterfly or no matter what. He just wanted him and he wanted him badly. Only problem was: his lungs told him he came at about the end of his five hundred meters endurance limit, while the boy just stayed as fit as he had been in the beginning. He showed no sign of tiring what so ever.

Michael knew he had to find a solution, otherwise this evening might end in a most frustrating way. Here he was, the most gorgeous, desirable boy, he had ever seen, in front of him, almost within reach…but unfortunately only “almost”! How could he catch this butterfly?

It was not only the problem of catching it, but then of keeping it. Because Michael started to get the feeling, that his interest in this boy was meant for longer than the coming night.

“First things first, man” he muttered softly, “First catch the little bugger”.

The idea he needed popped up in his head. He tried hard to think back to the time when he was a kid, observing how the family cat was hunting for birds. No, that was only partly true. Their family cat hunted everything that moved, including butterflies.

He tried hard to imagine how the animal did it. Somehow, he saw the whole movie passing through his head, frame by frame: how the cat slid with infinite patience to his prey, how any forward progress could be hardly noticed, how no sound could be heard and how it was constantly fixated on its game. And then, at short distance from the quarry, that was kept unaware about its imminent fate, the final jump and the ultimate success.

“So, little butterfly, let’s try it that way!” he whispered.

He started his deliberate and slow stalking approach, almost like their old cat did, centimeter by centimeter. The boy just stood, his back turned towards him. Michael felt it almost took the best part of another hour, but finally he stood about fifteen centimeters from the boy, who hadn’t moved. And then…the final jump!

“Got you!” he cried out in triumph.

The boy laughed and said:

“Man, I really thought you would never get that idea!”

He turned around and pushed his body against Michael’s.

“Well,” Michael asked, “Did I pass my exams?”

The boy nodded and whispered:

“Yeap, and with honors!”

“Hey”, Michael wanted to know, “How did they call this beautiful butterfly?”

With a giggle the boy replied:

“They called him Vincent. But now you mention it: how did your master call this sweet tomcat?”

“My master called me Michael”, was the reply, “And now?”

“That’s up to you”, Vincent said in that same enticing hoarse voice, “Your place, I presume?”

“Vincent”, Michael asked, knowing he was pushing his luck, “What will the butterfly do tomorrow morning? Will it still flutter away?”

Somehow the boy had set his heart ablaze and he simply felt compelled to ask it.

“Depends on how sweet this cute tomcat is tonight”, was the straightforward reply, “If he is really considerate and tender for his butterfly, then this butterfly might become very faithful and stick to the same flower, since its nectar is always at its best”.

The boy called Vincent brought his face closer and gave Michael the first kiss. Then he giggled and said:

“Mmmmm, I believe this little tomcat has already started purring!”

Michael felt himself blushing and softly said:

“Come on, let’s go to my place”.

They walked back to the trail and once they arrived there Michael took Vincent’s hand. Hand in hand they sauntered to the parking lot. It was simply a precaution: Michael had to keep the boy’s hand, it was no use to let the butterfly flutter away again. Not after all his efforts to catch it in the first place.