I had been dancing alone when I felt his hand on my shoulder. Turning to look, I saw that it was someone I recognized, a familiar face, but one which I had never met before. He spoke to me anxiously but his words fell completely under the mask of the pounding music. Gesturing with his hand, he motioned for me to follow him out of the dancing crowd, which I did out of curiosity.
Where the music was less forceful, he told me his name was Dylan. He too had recognized my face among the crowd. He said he was not alone, but instead was with a friend. I followed this man, realizing nothing, expecting nothing. Lead into a corner, I at first saw nothing. But there, standing in the dark was his friend, another familiar face, but one that I had met about a year before. At that time a year ago I had thought nothing of him, since he had showed no signs of interest in me. Now here he was, waiting for me in the confines of the darkness.
John was his name. I had not forgotten it since our first encounter a year ago, despite never seeing him since.
They asked if I wanted to leave with them, to go back to the place of a friend who had left them his keys for the week. So I left with them both, feeling free to follow with no expectations. Out on the street, we waited while Dylan signaled a taxi for us. With the cold winter air hovering around my skin, my mind wandered far from thoughts of heat and flesh. Instead, I thought of the winter, the snow, the ice. I was not myself this night, allowing subtle glances and words to go freely without notice.
Our ride was short. A few dark minutes with these two men in the back of a taxi, smiling at nervous jokes, staring at half-lit faces, our legs pressed against one another's.
Inside their friend's place, a place I had recently been to before, we sat down to drink. Dylan went to turn on the hot tub while John, excited and hyper, moved from one spot to another, room to room, as he explained his past and his life. He lived in Cambridge with his parents, a Portuguese family. He was a student of the university there.
Not too long ago, he told me, he had spent some time in Europe. The photographs of this trip filled an enormous album which he was quite happy to show me. I moved through each picture slowly, taking in each image. For nearly every monument in Europe, a photo existed where John stood beside it. These pictures went on forever as his face did with them, showing his endless smile as my fingers moved slowly over each page.
This same smile now hung over me at my side. It watched me as it waited patiently. I could feel its intensity now . . . it's intentions. This was no ordinary smile. It was a smile which did not wish to smile alone, hoping soon that it would be joined by my own, and discovering the sensation of it's touch. At 18, I was no stranger to the world and its experiences, but he looked at me as if I were some newly ripened and untouched treasure that had just been discovered for the first time.
'It's getting late.' John told me. 'Do you want to crash out in the guest bedroom?'
It was not even then when I fully realized his desire, but when he told me of his plan to share the bed with me for the night. My reaction was of surprise, of disbelief, and of shock for remaining unaware for so long. But in addition to this was an undoubtable excitement. I looked at John again, finally seeing him.
'The guest bedroom,' I replied, '. . . sure.' A calm face hid my arousal.
Hand on my arm, he lead me towards this room. The bed needed to be set up, which we did before turning out the lights. I wanted one light on, enough to illuminate his body because by this point I wanted to see his naked skin, as much as I wanted him to see mine. John wanted all the lights out however, saying he wanted to be in the dark with me. So in the darkness we remained.
Rustling clothes in the dark revealed to my hands his newly exposed skin, which my fingers explored endlessly. We stood naked, discovering each other's form by touch. Then we sat ourselves down on the bed where I lay on my stomache. Slowly, he came down to me. Our first embrace nearly fused us into one. It was an embrace of longing, of not wanting to release.
The softness of his lips passed over mine. Our tongues met, pulling apart only to taste so many other anxiously awaiting parts of our bodies. His fingers probed between my legs, rubbing all of me. My excitement grew. My hand touched his penis. I caressed it. It sprung up, so hard. He kissed me until I felt a new wave of desire, a desire to respond completely. He asked, 'Can you stay with me, all night? Will you stay?' Which of course I did.
Throughout that night our desire never faded. Hours passed. Our bodies grew tired. Yet this unceasing hunger for one another kept us from collapsing in exhaustion.
At last he slept. In his sleep he remained silent, his big body still curved as when he was lying against me, his arm thrown out where my head had been resting. I slipped in at his side and fell half-asleep. I wanted to touch his penis again. I did so, gently, not wanting to wake him. Then I slept at last, only to be awakened by his kisses.
Later I discovered that I was expected to have been an elusive encounter, disappearing as quickly as I had appeared. I stayed however, not being able to remove myself from the presence of this man who had captivated me. I filled each of my days with thoughts of John, yearning thoughts. This longing never eluded me. In my dreams I felt the touch of his roving hand and of his beautiful voice washing over me in its hypnotic sensuality. In my emptiest moments I felt only his absence.
The next time we met, John came to Hamilton to visit me while he also collected some reading material from the university. Near the campus was a small house John once shared with another student. We walked over to this house to see if John's friend was still there. After knocking repeatedly, nobody answered, but we found the door unlocked. We went in. Some things were as John remembered and he knew his friend was still living there. John wrote a note for his friend while I sat on the edge of the bed inspecting every visible part of him from a short distance.
I wanted so much to lie back, to find myself stretched out on this stranger's bed with my clothes being peeled off by John's eager hands. Too nervous to ask for this with words, I tried to ask him through the expressions of my eyes, but it was a message that escaped him. We left the house.
That same night we enjoyed dinner together and all along I kept in my thoughts how I had wanted to be taken by him, a failed fantasy. It wasn't until he returned to the city for another visit with me that desires like mine became evident in him again. Urgent, he took me to a place off the highway where only a small building shielded us from the view of passing traffic. Here I discovered solid arousal, hindered by nothing, magnified by fear. I looked around anxiously, expecting to be found, arrested for lewdness. Instead, we were alone, my clothes loosened enough to manipulate each part of me that could partake in this heated moment. The whole event became hidden from sight as the steam saturated each of the car's windows. His one hand touched part of me at times, but for the most part focused on his own body. From my side I watched with a fixation, paralyzed by the sight.
I remember the sexual odour that came from him and that stirred me. With each longing breath I consumed his desire entirely, drowning in it's overwhelming potency. Hardened by its exhilarating force, my penis fell victim to this sexual narcotic. In the end it was me who was consumed entirely, both by a sexual force that left me drained, and by the realization that some as yet unknown sexual being had finally surfaced from within me. My confusion soon replaced my excitement as this new part of me had been discovered. I seemed to myself to be a stranger, quite suddenly.
John's visits became further and further apart after this night. The telephone calls disappeared too. He had taken a renewed interest in a former love, and I had reeled back in fear of what he had released in me.