Fell Down On My Knees

As Joey and I ducked out of the rain and into Starbucks last night, I squealed at our good fortune: a beautiful young black man was sitting there with his girlfriend. He didn't pay us the slightest bit of attention, but I had a great seat from which to enjoy the view. He looked vaguely familiar; I assumed I'd simply seen him around the ghetto. There aren't nearly enough black men in this town; I tend to notice—and in this case, "notice" can be an extremely active verb—what few there are.

What a beautiful young man: shaved head; intense, dancing eyes. They danced gay, too, I thought. Or hoped. The girl sat riveted as they talked. I knew just how she felt.

Then after a nice, long overdue chat with Joey—yes, we did talk about other things besides the beautiful black man in our midst—we were ready to go. As I walked by the beautiful black man on my way back from the men's room, he beamed me a huge smile.

All of a sudden it dawned on me.

"Remember that picture I emailed you Thanksgiving weekend after my night out in the bushes?" I whispered to Joey.

"Yes....." replied Joey.

This smiling beauty at the next table was none other than the owner of the humongous penis I'd knelt in the mud to worship that night!

And that muddy night, it wasn't until it was all over that we realized we'd already met two months before, through friends of friends, on Pride weekend.

(My favorite part of the night in the bushes, as recorded in my journal the next morning: We stood there kissing and laughing and talking. I suggested we jerk off. We did. I came, cataclysmically. Spurted a bit on the sleeve of his red jacket. He laughed and laughed and laughed, showing me the white stain. I absolutely fucking adored him when he laughed like that.)

It seems like every two months this beautiful guy and I keep crossing paths without immediately recognizing one another.

It didn't feel right to go up and speak to him last night, although Joey thought I should. Joey and I kept running into him and his girl-friend as we shopped. In the last store, I almost got up my nerve to wander right up and say hi. But I didn't.

Besides, I'm going to cross paths with him again in a couple months: we'll talk then.

We have a lot in common, actually. Important stuff, like writing and reading. And cock-sucking.

When I next run into him—in early February—I'll have difficulty deciding whether to talk books or get my knees dirty again. My favorite kind of indecision.

All of the above?