Veux-tu?
We went to high school together--I'll call him Saul. I only went to his house once. He lived out in the woods in a small white house set in a nicely manicured lawn with white pebble gardens. Outside his bedroom window was a statue of the Virgin Mary.
Saul was Catholic and wore a cross of St. Christopher around his neck. I found this out in Quebec City in June after my junior year. We were in the French club together and had taken a trip to Quebec City for a week to practice our French. We were staying at Lavalle University dorms. The real students had departed.
During the days we were free to come and go as wel pleased, taking the city buses into the old part of town (or, if we were brave, out to suburban shopping malls, where no one spoke English). Most of us chose to spend the days out of the dorms, because they were sweltering.
Saul and I were friends, good friends. I think we had spent the day together in town but had returned to the dorms before everyone else. We were alone in his dorm room and he took of his shirt. He told me what the medallion meant.
Saul and I had a game we used to play. It was a variation of the 'Do You Trust Me' game that some of his played in junior high. You put your hand on a girl's knee and said, "do you trust me?" If she said yes, you moved your hand a fraction of a inch higher. Same question. Another affirmative, and you inched up and up until she giggled and bucked your hand off. Saul and would play the same game, only after two or three rounds one of his would suddenly lunge for the other's crotch and give it a good shake, like a dog's jaw tugging on a rope.
That's the game we played, only it went farther. I kept my hand on his crotch and he let it sit there for seconds upon seconds.
Each second another drop of sweat.
Eventually we bucked against each other, his bare chest against me. I can close my eyes and see the brown freckles, the pendulum of St. Christopher beating between us.
Nothing else happened. The moment was dilluted and then trickled away. We returned home.
It was the end of our senior year when the next development occured. Again, it happened rather quickly during a heated performance of our Do You Trust Me game. This time we were in my parents' minivan and I was driving us to a friend's house. There was a lot of crotch-grabbing along the highway. Finally, I pulled over. I was going to ask the question.
"Saul, can I ask you something? Are you gay?"
"Yes," he said, very, very quietly.
"YOU ARE?" I said loudly and quickly, so shocked and surprised and so pleasaed.
"Nah," he said, retreating. "Far from it."
I told him I was bisexual, that it was okay if he was, etc. Nothing happened. He wouldn't budge. He wouldnt' go there again. I asked if he wanted to go to the elementary school and hang out on the dark playground equipment. We wouldn't need to join our friends. We could just be alone. No, he didn't want that.
A lot pivots on that moment for me, and also very little. I was enamoured of Saul. I admired him, his sweetness, his sensitive masculinity. He needed glasses. In a way he was a Jack Twist. I was in love with him. I moved away to go to college and Saul struggled at the local community college, eventually dropping out to work full time in the meat department of a grocery store. I have never gone back to see him although I know exactly where he would be. When I kissed the suburban boy the other night, the lips immediately made me think of Saul's, as though every kiss I seek out is a search for his.
Saul was Catholic and wore a cross of St. Christopher around his neck. I found this out in Quebec City in June after my junior year. We were in the French club together and had taken a trip to Quebec City for a week to practice our French. We were staying at Lavalle University dorms. The real students had departed.
During the days we were free to come and go as wel pleased, taking the city buses into the old part of town (or, if we were brave, out to suburban shopping malls, where no one spoke English). Most of us chose to spend the days out of the dorms, because they were sweltering.
Saul and I were friends, good friends. I think we had spent the day together in town but had returned to the dorms before everyone else. We were alone in his dorm room and he took of his shirt. He told me what the medallion meant.
Saul and I had a game we used to play. It was a variation of the 'Do You Trust Me' game that some of his played in junior high. You put your hand on a girl's knee and said, "do you trust me?" If she said yes, you moved your hand a fraction of a inch higher. Same question. Another affirmative, and you inched up and up until she giggled and bucked your hand off. Saul and would play the same game, only after two or three rounds one of his would suddenly lunge for the other's crotch and give it a good shake, like a dog's jaw tugging on a rope.
That's the game we played, only it went farther. I kept my hand on his crotch and he let it sit there for seconds upon seconds.
Each second another drop of sweat.
Eventually we bucked against each other, his bare chest against me. I can close my eyes and see the brown freckles, the pendulum of St. Christopher beating between us.
Nothing else happened. The moment was dilluted and then trickled away. We returned home.
It was the end of our senior year when the next development occured. Again, it happened rather quickly during a heated performance of our Do You Trust Me game. This time we were in my parents' minivan and I was driving us to a friend's house. There was a lot of crotch-grabbing along the highway. Finally, I pulled over. I was going to ask the question.
"Saul, can I ask you something? Are you gay?"
"Yes," he said, very, very quietly.
"YOU ARE?" I said loudly and quickly, so shocked and surprised and so pleasaed.
"Nah," he said, retreating. "Far from it."
I told him I was bisexual, that it was okay if he was, etc. Nothing happened. He wouldn't budge. He wouldnt' go there again. I asked if he wanted to go to the elementary school and hang out on the dark playground equipment. We wouldn't need to join our friends. We could just be alone. No, he didn't want that.
A lot pivots on that moment for me, and also very little. I was enamoured of Saul. I admired him, his sweetness, his sensitive masculinity. He needed glasses. In a way he was a Jack Twist. I was in love with him. I moved away to go to college and Saul struggled at the local community college, eventually dropping out to work full time in the meat department of a grocery store. I have never gone back to see him although I know exactly where he would be. When I kissed the suburban boy the other night, the lips immediately made me think of Saul's, as though every kiss I seek out is a search for his.
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