Tales of the City 05 - Significant Others
stretched out next to Thack, leaned back on his elbows. There was something supremely sexy about a man who planned ahead like this, who wore his options like a tool belt, ready for any emergency.
Thack took another toke, then stubbed out the joint. He rolled his head over lazily and gazed at Michael. “I thought this would never happen.”
Michael smiled at him.
“You’re a great guy,” said Thack.
“You too.” Michael turned on his side and flicked open the pearly snaps on Thack’s denim shirt.
His mouth went straight for the left nipple, pink and proud as a tiny cock.
Afterwards, they lay there motionless, listening to the music. A snail’s trail of semen still glimmered on Thack’s stomach. He kept his hand cupped gently around Michael’s cock, as if it were a wounded bird trying to escape.
Michael said: “Where’s a priest when you really need one?” Thack chuckled and nuzzled Michael’s shoulder. “Was that really Gertrude Stein’s favorite song? Did you make that up?”
“Why would I do that?” asked Thack.
“I dunno. To get me in the mood.”
“Gertrude Stein is a turn-on?”
“Well … it worked for Alice.”
“You were already in the mood,” said Thack.
“This is true,” said Michael.
Further down the gorge, another piano began to play. Joyful male voices floated toward them on the breeze. For some reason, Michael thought of a faded daguerreotype he had seen in an antique shop on Union Street: a dozen lumberjacks with huge mustaches and vintage Levi’s, straddling a fallen redwood tree.
“Brian would have loved this,” he said.
“Think so?” said Thack.
“Yeah. He’s a big kid.”
“Like you.”
“Yeah. I guess so.”
Thack snuggled closer and slid his hand up to Michael’s belly. “You’re kind of a couple, aren’t you?”
“Who?”
“You and Brian.”
“Well … yeah … in some ways.”
“How long have you known him?”
Michael thought about it. “Nine years, almost ten.”
“Have you always been friends?”
“Not at first,” said Michael. “But we … you know, swapped stories.”
“About what?”
“Oh … getting laid.”
Thack chuckled.
“He’d come bounding down the stairs after breakfast—he lived on the roof then, so he could see anybody who crossed the courtyard. He’d say something like: ‘Michael, my man, how dark was it when you dragged that one home?’ ”
“Nice guy.”
“Oh, I’d get him back. You know … tease him about the dog he took to bed. It was just a game.”
“Yeah, but …”
“O.K., objectifying other people. But it brought us closer, and we never hurt anybody. I loved dishing with him. He loved sex as much as I did.”
“Did?” Thack nipped at his ear.
“Do,” said Michael, smiling.
“That’s better.”
“He was a big romantic, really. Mary Ann wouldn’t date him for years, because she thought he was such a pig. When he finally fell in love with her, he courted her like crazy. He spilled his guts to me whenever the slightest thing went wrong. Meanwhile, I was having this on-again-off-again thing with my lover, and lots of other people. So Brian and I just kept on coming back to each other.”
“I see,” said Thack.
“It’s funny,” said Michael. “When I look back, he was the only constant.”
“Mmm.”
“He was there in the room with me when my lover died. Holding my hand.” Tears welled up in his eyes, blurring the moon. He wiped them away with two efficient strokes of his fingertips.
“Was it AIDS?” asked Thack.
“Yeah. When Jon got sick, I was so angry, because nobody really gave a fuck. They pretended to be concerned, but these were just faggots dying. They were sick to begin with. I remember thinking …” He couldn’t find the right words for this.
“What?” asked Thack, stroking his arm.
“Just … that nothing would ever happen, no one would ever care until straight people started getting it.”
“I know the feeling.”
“But I prayed for it. I actually prayed for it.”
“You didn’t mean it.”
“Does that make a difference?” asked Michael.
Nothing Romantic
W REN APPEARED AT THE TOP OF THE STAIRS when Brian parked the VW behind her hilltop chalet. “Bring a few logs,” she hollered. “We’re almost out.”
He looked around him in the dark.
“To the left,” she said, pointing. “Next to that bench. There’s a woodpile.”
He found it and loaded his arms with redwood logs. Most were green enough to be oozing sap, and
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