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Circuit Stories
By
Ken Cimino
Chapter
Eight: Lazy Bear
Will filled the glass of orange juice to its top. Who on earth drinks orange juice at 9:30 at night? Jack thought, surprised.
Why wouldn't he want to drink? A moment later, though, a potential answer came to mind: maybe Will was an alcoholic, in a program. Who else would choose to drink orange juice at this time of night?
Sober Catholic boys do, apparently, he conceded. Of course, Will didn't look very much like a sober Catholic boy.
Why does he keep looking at the newspaper on the seat next to him? Jack wondered.
Does he think I can't see him?
As Will lowered his eyes to once again take a surreptitious look at the newspaper, Jack took an equally surreptitious look at Will. What he saw didn't really impress him… the harsh overhead lighting did Will no favors at all. It bounced off his bald head and highlighted his juice-soaked goatee. Was this really the same hot "Daddy" from last month, Jack wondered. What on earth had he seen in him?
He already knew the answer, though. On the ferry Will had been all smiles and charm. There had been no sign of the dining habits that thirty days later were threatening to totally destroy dinner. Jack watched Will as he shoveled a large forkful of mashed potatoes into his mouth. Will was in his early 40s, but what did he have to show for it? He was a semi-retired porn star, Jack was a lawyer. They couldn’t possibly have anything in common… this date was obviously a waste of time.
Jack looked around the room, impatient to leave. The restaurant was almost empty, with the only other customers near them being two larger gentlemen. They were both dressed in plaid shirts, with long beards and plenty of chest hair poking out from underneath their shirts. They were obviously in town for Lazy Bear.
Jack thought back to the time he had sex with a 50 year old 300 pound bear with salt and pepper hair, just for the experience of it all. He’d loved the way the guy had kind of thrown him around while they’d engaged in passionate kissing. The problem was that when he climbed onto his stomach, he felt like an ant on elephant. That, along with the fact that while at first he got off on the way the bear made him smell his armpits, but quickly changed his mind. The pungent odor laid in the air the rest of the sexual encounter.
At least he’d tried it, he told himself. For Jack, sex - like drugs - was an experience to be explored. When it came down to it, he really only had three actual rules regarding his sexual activities. First of all, he refused to have sex with men under the age of eighteen... he liked older, hairier men and also hated that gay men were generally stereotyped as pedophiles. Statistics show that the average pedophile to be a 50 year old STRAIGHT man. Secondly, there would be no sex with animals of any kind. This made Jerry’s claims and rumors all the more infuriating. Lastly, Jack wouldn’t have sex with a dead person… he liked his men moving around. Of course, there were a few other smaller rules about things like fist fucking, blood, and shit, but they were a bit more open to negotiation.
Jack watched Will shove more potatoes in his mouth, then looked down at his fish and took a semi-bite. He was incredibly bored, but didn’t know of any way to get out of there. Slowly, he started looking around again.
Around that time, another man walked into the bar. He didn’t really look like he fit in with the Guerneville “hairy gathering” being held over the three-day weekend... and it wasn't just his clothes that made this young man stand out from the crowd. It wasn’t his age, either, though he was clearly the youngest person in the room. What really made him stand out was the fact that he was reading a Bible. He wore a nametag that read “Mark” in bold white letters standing out against a brown base, which was pinned to a tacky-looking short sleeve white shirt.
Mark must be Mormon. Jack guessed that Mark was on a mission trip... why else would someone so young be in Guerneville for Lazy Bear? He couldn’t help but wonder if any of the bears in town for the party questioned the 18 year-old rule when they saw Mark walking around with his bible.
Jack's thoughts were interrupted by the approach of the waitress, who asked if they'd like to order anything else. She was in her early 60’s, he guessed, with her dark brown hair streaked with grey and eyes showing flecks of grey mixed in with their rich brown. He watched her as if she was a character in a play… this was a favorite game of his. He'd pick some random person and then invent a whole life for them, past, present and future.
This woman had been born in the small town of Guerneville, he decided.
She would probably never leave it. Did she feel trapped, he pondered? Did she ever wonder if her life could have been different, a little like the way Jack sometimes wondered how his life would have turned out if he was straight?
That was another favorite game: answering the "What if I was straight?" question. Jack had been playing that particular game quite a bit lately, imaging what his life would be like if he had just been able to conform. If he was a straight lawyer in his early 30s, he'd probably be married with kids by now. He'd probably be a partner by now too; coming out at the law firm had nixed his chances of that happening. He was no longer seen the same way: he wasn't given the best cases, and he wasn't even taken very seriously any more. He didn't really care, though. Announcing he was gay gave him some sort of “work free” card. It allowed him to travel the circuit and not be tied down to some of the responsibilities of work.
Jack had embraced this freedom, he’d sacrificed family for fun. He gave up work for pleasure. If there’s one thing that Jack knew, it was how to get the most out of fun and pleasure… unfortunately, as he grew older he found that the fun wasn’t quite so much fun. The pleasure was getting harder to find. The circuit was getting to be much more work for no real human connection. Secretly, Jack wished he could jump into the ocean at 38 and never to be heard from again… just like the character Malone in Andrew Holliman’s 1970 book,
Dancer From the Dance.
Of course, whenever Jack was asked the inevitable "Would you ever change your sexuality?" question, his answer always followed the gay party line. "No." And why should he, after all? Why would he want to change who he was? Sure, it would be great to have brown eyes for a day and see what that was like, but the fact was he was born with blue eyes. This was his journey to always see the world with blue eyes. It was the same thing about being gay; this was his life, his journey. He was meant to see the world from the homosexual perspective, that's all there was to it. He wasn't sure what the meaning of his life was yet, but he knew that there was one. He knew there was a reason for his being gay – he'd just expected to find out a little more of what that reason was by now. Unfortunately, the world hadn’t given him those answers yet. He’d bet the waitress didn't have all her answers yet either. Did Will, he wondered?
While the waitress was a combination of grey and beige, the restaurant she worked in was beige all over. Walls, floor, table covers – the room looked like it had been flooded in a sea of beige.
How on earth could one place on earth contain so much of an empty and unemotional color such as beige? thought Jack. In strange way, though, he found that he seemed to like it. It echoed the way he felt... empty and dead. The more Jack soaked up all the beige in the room the more he liked it. It was suddenly such an interesting color. At first glance, you thought it told you everything; it was only after you'd been looking at it for a while that you realized it told you absolutely nothing at all.
Of course, Jack realized that most of the men he met on he circuit were the same way. When Jack was high on X or K these men seemed to hold of life’s mysteries in their kisses and hugs as they gyrated to techno dance music under pulsating lights. The next morning when these handsome musclemen woke up in Jack's arms, though, all he ever saw was beige, beige, and beige.
Then, of course, there was Will. So far his color appeared sharper than the others. There seemed to be a little more to him, he seemed to have so much wisdom for a gay man who had been dancing the circuit for almost fifteen years. Would Jack end up like him? In some ways he wished he would, though at the same time he could see that Will had been beaten up by life. There was a sadness lingering somewhere behind his eyes, even though his smile said that he was willing to take on a little more of the world. But only a little more.
They had met the month before, on the ferry home from Fire Island. Though both men lived on the West Coast, with Jack in San Francisco and Will in Los Angeles, they hadn't met up for a date until now on Lazy Bear weekend. This was the circuit party for the gay man who liked his men a little round and a little hairy. Obviously, Jack loved this weekend... it was filled with hairy “Daddy’s” dressed in plaid, the type of men who liked to eat and didn't worry about the carbs or the fat grams they were taking in when they did. Lazy Bear was such a relief. Jack was so tired of starving himself; it was sometimes good to just let himself go. Of course, Will he was the “Daddy” type that Jack so vehemently searched for at circuit events and rarely found. Will seemed interested, but they were having trouble relating tonight.
When they'd first started talking over the phone and by email, the connection had been instantaneous. Throughout that first few weeks, Will had slowly confessed his little secrets. The first secret had been that he was in recovery. Jack had been a little shocked at this, but had shrugged it off. As long as Will would allow him to drink and party with friends, it would be okay. The next secret came the following week, and was more of a shock than the first. Will’s ex-boyfriend had killed himself after he found Will in bed with a friend of theirs. Jack wasn’t exactly sure how to deal with this news. He finally made peace with it by telling himself that Will had had no control over Tom's actions. He managed to shrug this one off too. The last secret was the biggest one, unfortunately... Will was HIV positive. Jack was not. This would take a lot of work... and Jack had a suspicion that he was just too selfish to do the work required. And he still hadn't found himself.
Back in the café, Jack realized he couldn't bear to watch Will eat another bite of food and miss most of his mouth in the process. It was time, he decided, to find out whether Will was beige too, or some other color.
“So, I’m judging by the fact you’re a gay man who came out in the 70’s and you’re drinking OJ, that you’re an alcoholic?” he asked, bluntly.
“No," replied Will. His answer surprised Jack, until he qualified it with, "I'm an alcoholic
and a drug addict." Will spoke without any emotion. He appeared all beige. He was stating facts, nothing more.
“Ah... I see. Well, add sex addict to that mixture and you’ve got every guy I ever dated," laughs Jack.
“I guess the one thing they all have in common is you," said Will, taking another sip of his juice. "Sounds like you might be co-dependent. Do you use?"
“Well if we’re being honest..." said Jack. "I don’t really drink. But I do X, K, G and Tina when I go out dancing."
“I can’t stand Tina,” replied Will. “Its like she's some kind of Greek goddess or something. Men are always entertained by her and then, with a wave of her wand, she turns them into pigs. But where is the Goddess two days later when the swine all want to kill themselves?” he added.
It was interesting answer. The beige was brightening.
Jack wasn't entirely comfortable with the way the conversation was going. He took a large bite of his salad to give himself time to think but missed his mouth completely, letting the lettuce and lemon juice dressing fall onto his lap.
"Shit… all over my jeans!" he said, annoyed. "Man, I hope no one see the spot when we’re dancing at Fifes."
“Jack... with your body, no one will be looking at your jeans,” Will said with a smile. Jack felt himself relax a little... there was an easiness to Will that he enjoyed. Jack, on the other hand, rarely ever felt at ease. He was always going from one place to another, while Will seemed to be happy to be in one place. It must be the country scenery.
Fifes Guest Ranch was nestled to the Russian River and contained towering redwoods It was the best of both worlds, rustic tranquility and a contemporary atmosphere. The rural air brought out a rested Will, though Will suddenly became perky.
“Ever blacked out from using?" Will asked casually.
“No,” lied Jack, not wanting to remember – or explain – the way he'd fallen down at the White Party just a few months before.
“Really? I swore I saw you take a tumble at the Wyndham hotel. You were with some sketchy skinny guy, wearing a USC baseball cap. That wasn’t you?” Will asked.
“I think you’ve described half of the guys at the White Party, but no it wasn’t me,” said Jack with another lie. He took a large gulp of water. He hated lying, especially to a guy he liked. Unfortunately, Jack's luck wasn’t getting any better. Missing his mouth for the second time that night, he cringed in horror as he felt most of the water trickle down his face.
"Man, what is up with my coordination tonight?" he muttered, grabbing at a napkin and mopping up the spill.
“The first dates are always awkward," said Will kindly. "Lets just eat and relax. Stop worrying about being perfect and putting on a show... just be yourself. Come on, eat some of that salmon," he urged.
Food.
Jack turned his eyes back to his plate, noticing as he did so that Will was staring into his roast beef and mashed potatoes disinterestedly. Both men were having a hard time working out what to say to each other.
“I can be me, but we really need to deal with some of the issues between us," he insisted. “Lets just put all of our cards on the table."
“Okay, counselor," replied Will, his eyes twinkling. "What have you got for me?"
Jack took a deep breath. “ OK," he said. "First, I do drugs. Not all the time, but I do them on occasion. I’m not sure if I’m an addict, but I try to keep them under control. They don’t control me. And yes, that was me that passed out at the Wyndham hotel... I got a bad batch of GHB. I haven't done G since then. It’s like the third time I’ve passed out on it, so no more."
He paused, noticing that Will was no longer staring at his food. For the first time that night he was looking at Jack as if he actually
saw him. Maybe there was some chemistry between them after all.
"Feel better now?" he asked.
Jack nodded. "Wow, he said. "Felt good getting all that off my chest."
“Don’t worry," Will assured him. "Most of the guys I date still use. Just realize I won’t want to be around you when you do use. I can’t. I’ve only recently been going to circuit parties again. The White Party was really my first party back. So far it's been cool, and I’ve stayed sober. I do have to admit they’re not that much fun sober... just easy to get laid." He smiled ruefully.
“The White Party must have been hard," Jack said carefully. "Being back at the place where your ex took his life. How did you deal with it?"
“For the most part I didn’t," Will admitted "I dream about Tom a lot. I see him everywhere. In some ways Tom is here with me now.”
“I think about my friend Shane the same way," Jack confided. "It hurts me to know he died with all his worldly goods – a box full of steroids – hidden in my storage closet. That's all I have to remember him by."
“What did you do with the ‘roids?” Will asked curiously.
“I gave most of them away to friends, and then one of my friends broke into my apartment when I was in San Francisco and stole the rest of them,” Jack explained. “I was trying to help him get off meth and had given him a key to watch my cat. And he ripped off Shane’s ‘roids instead." He shook his head as if to clear it of the memory of Shane, and then said, "Why do you think Tom hasn’t left you? I don’t feel Shane around me at all. It was like he overdosed and got the hell out of San Francisco. His spirit was never going to hang around that city.”
“Tom is…I mean was, always pushing me,” Will told him. “I have a hard time leaving my comfort zone in terms of relationships.”
“A porn star not pushing himself? I'd have thought your whole job would be about pushing yourself,” says Jack.
“Porn isn’t about pushing yourself," Will told him. "It's about leaving yourself. It's about creating a persona and making it exist for the client. But the older I get, the harder it is to leave my true self behind. I’m actually bored with porn. Can you believe it? Its time for me to change careers... but a resume that says sex worker for the last fifteen years won’t exactly get me hired at Wal-Mart." He shook his head, grinning.
“Do you think Tom would have wanted you to leave porn?" asked Jack.
“No way, “ Will said. “Tom was an out of the box artist... everything was about living life on the edge. His boyfriend being a porn star only added to his suffering. Tom always needed to be in the center of chaos for his art. Initially, he thrived on all the attention and the stares, but like everything else it eventually became boring."
Will stopped to take another bite of his roast beef. "There's nothing worse than a bored gay artist," he continued. "Its only a matter of time until they find drugs, or S and M sex, or some other craziness. The boredom has already killed them, the rest is just for show for the wake.” Will took his last bite and swallowed. He looked up from his plate to see Jack staring out of the window.
“Did I lose you?" he asked.
“No, I just was reflecting on what you just said. I’m jealous of Tom," he admitted.
“Why?”
“You know... sometimes, I wish I could give up law and be a writer," Jack said, blushing. "Since I was a kid I’ve always wanted to be a writer. I would write these stories and show my parents. They would always encourage me. When I went off to college, though, I could never take a fun class; it was all about practicality. In a way, Tom experienced life without having to worry about cost and benefits. He just enjoyed what he had. I guess I'm jealous of that," he said, shrugging. He looked at the window again. "I can make out a red wood bridge outside this window," he commented. "When we're done eating let’s go stand out there and think about art.”
Will watched Jack eat his last bite of Salmon. “You haven’t asked me the big question yet? Am I HIV positive?” he had.
"You already told me you are," Jack reminded him. "I'd guessed, anyway. Most men your age living in San Francisco are. And you're a porn star, for god's sake."
“I’m an ex-porn star now, actually. I assume that you’re negative?" Will asked.
Jack was about to answer, knowing that what he said next would be harder than it should be. Before the words could leave his mouth, however, he heard a familiar voice. He paused for a moment, letting the small strands of music take him to that place where only music can go.
Trying hard to control my heart
I walk over to where you are
Eye to eye we need no words at all
He recognized the song by Madonna that was playing on a small radio that was sitting on the counter. Losing the moment, he answered, "I don’t have issues with positive men. But I do my view my health as important. So, when it comes to anal sex I only play safe. I know it's boring, but I don’t get into the whole barebacking thing that's suddenly popular.” He managed to hear a few more Madonna lyrics before Will spoke.
Slowly now we begin to move
Every breath I'm deeper into you
“I only have safe sex," Will told him. "Even on film. Just a few months ago I turned down a barebacking gig. I’m not about spreading HIV. I don’t like the guys who describe getting HIV as being part of a club. Those kinds of guys go on disability as soon as they get HIV... that’s not me. There’s nothing great about this disease; I’ve had every sickness a person can get over the last few years. It's not glamorous, there’s nothing admirable or strong about having it. I’m tired of gay men acting like this is diabetes, or like all they have to do is take a pill and they'll be fine," he raged.
“The advertisements in the magazines make HIV seem not so bad anymore,” Jack said. “Or at least livable.”
“Those ads aren’t real, “ Will said. “I wouldn’t wish this disease on anyone. I take pills of all colors at all times of the day. Do you know how many men never call back once you admit your positive”, he asked.
“Well, it’s not as much of a death sentence anymore... and if you give yourself a chance then the right guy will come along,” smiled Jack. For some reason the idea of taking care of Will became appealing. It was as though on some subconscious level Jack knew if Will needed him to live, then he would be like the others just left.
Jack knew that he shouldn’t think this way, but he did. His attraction to Will was growing deeper; he was falling in lust with him.
“Are you going to finish that fish or not? “ Will asked. Jack looked over to see that Will’s plate was empty and the beige waitress had dropped off the check. Soon after, though, he found that he really was looking at Will’s eyes. For a moment both their eyes met and both smiled at the same time.
Jack quickly took the last bite of his Salmon and grabbed the bill. “Lets go out on the bridge and talk about art,” Jack said as he jumped off his seat.
“Just art?” Will asked, getting up right behind Jack. His big chest touched Jack’s back.
Both men moved quickly to the bridge. Pine trees dotted the hillside, and Jack noticed lots of trucks of all colors with various bear stickers and emblems parked all over the road way. The bridge was about 200 feet away from the restaurant, towering above a small gray brook, which made it way down the hillside.
Jack reached the bridge first. He noticed it was made of a bright redwood and was narrow enough that only one person could walk across it at time. He darted halfway across to view the entire Fife campground in the distance, knowing that it was filled with men who wore facial hair, slight bellies and plaid shirts. Will follow right behind him, gasping for air from running. He wasn’t prepared for Jack’s quick jog across the bridge.
Suddenly, Jack stopped and turned around. Will bumped into Jack, causing both men to trip and stumble for footing. As though by instinct, they grabbed each other and held on. A tight bear hug began, both men looking at each other and feeling each other’s muscular bodies. They slowly became lost into feeling the body of the other, both of them becoming hard. “So, “ Will said softly, “should we talk about art…or sex?” He felt Jack’s stiff dick resting on his thigh, through his pants.
“We could talk about art, “ Jack whispered. “Or sex. Or maybe we could talk about love.” Without warning, Jack grabbed Will and pulled him close, his strong arms holding him as he kissed him deeply on the lips. Both men felt an energy running between them, connecting them... Will’s lips parted and their tongues mingled as though they were one being. The sixty-second kiss seemed as though it went on for minutes.
Suddenly, Jack realized that the men were not alone. He let go of his embrace of Will, grabbing Will’s hand as he turned to see Mark with his short sleeve shirt and his name tag, Bible in his hand as he stood right behind them on the bridge. Mark’s mouth wide open.
Both men looked at Mark. They then looked at each other for a moment, and began a second passionate kiss. They didn’t care about Mark, or the beige restaurant with the imprisoned waitress, or all the bear men walking around the downtown area wishing that they could find something as pure as what they shared.
It was at that moment, on that narrow redwood bridge... a connection had occurred. It was something that neither one of them had expected, but that they both felt was wonderful and right. Jack looked into Will’s eyes, unaware of Mark hastily moving to the other end of the bridge, unaware of the waitress counting out tip money and worrying about her sick grandson. From deep within Will’s eyes, the beige of the world seemed to be melting away. The small brook seemed to have more blue, the bridge seemed to have more red... the grass, and the trees, and all of the plant life around them took on a richer green.
Both men standing on that bridge couldn’t help but feel a link to love spanning their hearts. Suspended by the bright redwood, a bridge between two souls was beginning to be built.
Copyright © 2006 Ken Cimino
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