- Joe, do you know the song?
- I don’t think so, my friend, said I, while very quickly searched the net to find a live piano version, which I immediately put on to play and to my own surprise I got so emotional I just started crying.
- Are you playing our song, my dear man?
- Yes, Thomas. I am.
We listened to it in silence, until the end of the tune and then he asked me:
- Did you like it?
I said:
- No, my friend, I did not like it… I loved it.
- It is my gift to you, dear Joe. Remember me whenever and wherever you listen to it. Every word in it is exactly what I feel about you…
The track, “The first time ever I saw your face”, played and sung by Roberta Flack, supposedly expressed his emotions and the impressions he felt when we met first time. He used to say he liked my company and could not resist playing his seduction game with me. For all that matters, Thomas thought I was an attractive man, a statement that no one else had ever made when referring to my person before.
I have to confess I kept on listening to that song for a longer than expected time…
The situation was as simple as that. Thomas was the man who made me see myself in a completely different way, for the first time in my life. I was absolutely grateful for the way he introduced me to a new vision of my own self. He was responsible for the awakening of a fiend I never knew existed inside my soul: the appreciation of my physique – an exercise of sheer vanity.
We had a very close relationship – a very intense affair that lasted no longer than a very short time. One day, out of the blue, Thomas told me he was feeling a deep pain in his chest and had to see a doctor. By the end of the day, he was staying in the hospital for a few nights, for some tests the physicians wanted to perform. I got worried, but there was nothing I could do to help.
I still tried to keep contact, but all I had in return was silence. Not a single word, nor news or a single response to my contact attempts.
After some wordless weeks and some more frustrated tries to get in contact with him, I received a very strange message informing me he had died in hospital. For some odd motive he decided to disappear from my life for a second and decisive time. I did not know what to think of that. I was caught in surprise in the middle of a business trip and did not know how to react. The feeling I had flourished for such a short time transformed into a tiny dried seed buried underneath a cold pile of winter snow covering my already torn soul.
Deep inside I knew I had to live my life without him. I was determined not to question the circumstances anymore. In just a few weeks I had grown stronger and harder at the same time. My heart, however, was irretrievably and disappointingly torn apart.
Understanding people is always a very difficult task to me. The whole story did not make much sense, but I was forced to accept it. For good or for bad, he was definitely dead for me… or so he decided to be and I, from my part, decided to let him go off of my life for once and for good.
He had played his part and had woken up a feeling I had not ever had before in my life, but his role in that play was sorrowfully and definitely over.
The song still kept on sadly playing over and over for months, while the grip of my memories of him was going from too tight for me to let it go to an easy but bitter acceptance of an uncontrollable status quo assumed by the passing of the days. Holding on to a recent past and to the man who made me see myself in a different way was gradually turning into a pale, stingy and painful reminiscence slowly healing in my chest, but not without leaving its mark deeply printed in my soul.
But what sort of man does not bear his own scars painfully carved in his life anyway?
I sometimes wondered if he, for some eccentric intent, played with my heart and took some kind of revenge for something totally unknown to me. I mourned for too long and before all my grieving was over, however, life would dare me to be strong again.
A very few inconsequential mistaken tries followed the subsequent months and to my surprise, I grew too tired of those as well. I am a man who needs some emotional depth and those shallow encounters were not satisfying enough to make my days a bit brighter or at least less lonely. I decided I should stay away from trouble and be quietly alone for the time being.
But life has some funny ways of catching me by surprise and that time was no different. A kind of another occasional meeting would prove me wrong.
***
Brandon was sitting alone with his legs relaxingly crossed, apparently waiting for someone to come. The shirt, unbuttoned on top, letting a portion of hairy chest to sight, was in a pattern of white, blue and red plaid. I could not see his eyes, as the light was intentionally directed otherwise, but I noticed he smiled slightly when I approached him. It was his territory and he felt comfortable in it.
The conversation went on carefully at the beginning, when we tried to fumble through unfamiliar ground, analyzing the way our own words were chosen as if we were patiently fishing from a mutual awareness pond we were circling around. For some weird but amazing reason, it then turned out to be quite easy to find a connection between us a very short time afterwards.
In trying to know and understand each other’s preferences, we found out many similarities either in tastes or the way we liked being teased around. I told him I liked being touched, tasted, smelled, kissed, hugged...
He then called me a sensualist. It was his first attempt to catch me. He would use that specific word many times after that occasion...
Time flew away so fast without our noticing it. I found it very easy to be comfortable with him and the game he played was a banter novelty to me. I had to recognize he was a very good player.
From my part, I did not analyze the good looks, the shape or the appearance, once I was attracted by the strongest sex appeal to me: his wits. Later on we would laugh about this statement of mine...
***
The large living room was enlightened with the afternoon sun being filtered through the almost transparent curtain. The music playing had the intention of filling up the gaps between one phrase and the other of our meek attempts of conversation. We were in my comfort terrain that time, but still groping clumsy into intimacy. He sat at my side and seemed a bit uneasy at first. Fortunately Ginger was staring at us and that gave us time to evaluate each other by playing with the purring attention catcher sitting on the carpet by the couch we were on.
A moment of silence brought his eyes to mine and he touched my ear, in a sort of intimate way. I turned a bit around to face him. It was obvious we were both waiting for a chance like that and the opportunity was immediately seized.
Not a full second later we were kissing each other, carefully but tenderly tasting the lips of one another. My legs were still shaking, as were his. He then moved his hands on my back, searching for an opening between the shirt and the still belted jeans. His touch was warm and soft on my bare skin and it felt really good, to say the truth. My body reacted immediately and I have to confess now I felt his response grow quicker and harder than mine.
He played his game with skilled mastery, savouring and testing my senses and my acceptance to his contact, finally leading me to a state of an almost induced trance that culminated with an explosion of welcome pleasure – for both of us, as far as I could noticed.
Silence followed the moment as a taunt in the almost gloomy bedroom. Lying on my back I closed my eyes as I felt the soft touch of his small, delicate hands over my skin, tenderly caressing my torso.
- Are you ok? His voice was an almost inaudible whisper.
- I am, indeed, more than ok.
I rolled over and kissed his head, his eyes, his face and his lips. His arms clasped warmly around my nude body and held me tightly against his for a long moment. We did not need to say anything else...
***
My body swayed to the cadence of the music while my arms held his chest closer to mine. The rhythm was compelling and inviting. He let the slight swinging movement of my body and legs lead him slowly and entirely into it, while the somewhat high-pitched male voice filled the living room with the repeating chorus line singing “all I wanna say is that they don’t really care about us”...*
*(Michael Jackson’s “They don’t care about us”).
When the music was over, he said he loved that song. From that moment on it was “our song” and whenever it played it had a remarkable effect on us.
I thought to myself: funny how simple things had a great importance when placed in the right context, at the right time...
A late phone call that day would complete the scene. He told me he had been thinking about the happenings of the day on his way back home and while still smelling the scent of my cologne on his skin, he asked himself: “what is this 'Greek God' doing to me? What does he want from me?”
A loud laugh was my response to his obviously silly remark. “What an exaggeration”, said I, feeling all special and full of myself for the second time in my life. Deep inside I was sure he had gotten me but I did not express my thoughts that loudly.
He laughed back at my response, as if in disbelief... He had no idea of how sweet it was to hear that and how hard it was to accept it, when all my life I was led to think the opposite about myself.
Sometimes his laugh was just a defence to a certain insecurity he felt and to compensate a low self-esteem he occasionally had, consequence of his distressing past at school, when he was a chubby boy, bullied by his so-called “normal” colleagues, as generally happens to school kids on top of their cruelty.
After all, we were so alike, thought I. Silly insecurities have filled our lives in for too long.
That lack of confidence still used to come out every now and then, especially when he was alone and thinking about his life and his relationship with me. He used to say his thoughts were then like a ball of wool entangled in his head.
***
I was lying lazily on the couch listening to Ginger’s relaxing purring close to my ears when the telephone rang. The cat, which was almost asleep on top of my chest, jumped off but stayed close, looking at me quite awkwardly. He immediately recognized my friendly way of talking and leaped back to the couch, lying comfortably on my chest and looking into my eyes, as he used to do when was at ease with me.
- There is a very good cook in the neighbouring area where you live.
- Ah... is it? You have to take me there one day.
- Maybe I will, if you behave nicely...
And he laughed loudly. His laugh was spontaneously attractive to me. He was in a good mood.
- Will you come and dine with me? Maybe I try to cook something and if it is not ok, then we still can go to the “good cook” you know around here.
I was just teasing him, obviously, as I knew he was telling one of the private jokes he used to say when we were together. My mind wondered back in time as I reminded the first day I cooked dinner for the two of us.
He was standing in the kitchen, watching my movements closely with sheer attention, while I was dealing with the onion and garlic frying in the pan and still slicing the red chilli pepper and some cherry tomatoes to add into the sauce. Some spices, a pinch of fine herbs and salt and the appealing smell started getting into our nostrils. I wanted to use a simple recipe supposed to be quick but not for any instance far from good to the palate. He served some red wine to both of us in large crystal glasses and we toasted, smiling to another private joke. A toast without a taste was never supposed to be allowed between the two of us.
I finalized adding up a handful of fresh mushrooms and some prawns into the sauce, let the concoction simmer and then added the rice already spiced with some herbs. Two cups of water and then let it cook for some minutes for the risotto to be ready and then we could sit down by the small kitchen table and appreciate it slowly and peacefully. The real world was definitely left outside...
He looked at me with both attention and affection and mentioned he was surprised by the speed I dealt with the cooking. That made me smile satisfied. Luckily the taste of my simple cooking creation was very good and he truly enjoyed it. I noticed it when he took a second portion as fine as the first one, saying he could not resist it.
A simple dessert prepared with papaya and ice cream, aromatized with a spoon of Greek yoghurt, followed by a strong espresso with a small piece of dark chocolate and dinner was over. All our more than five senses were tested during the time we were in the kitchen.
While I was laying the dirty dishes into the sink, he, in a natural gesture, hugged me affectionately from behind, kissing my neck lightly. I moaned quietly, turned around, kissed the top of his head flippantly and went to the living room with him.
I wanted to take that opportunity and show him a sketch I was working on. It was a sepia study of my torso - very light, with the delicate amber colour of the lines and shades almost fading into the white textured paper.
He said he particularly liked it, then stopped for a while, as if thinking about how to put in right words what he wanted to say next and looked back at me with a funny expression stamped on his face.
- You are a true man of the Renascence.
- Why so?
- Besides other things you do, you can draw, cook and still amaze me with something else like a genuine man of the Renascence. And you still can put your ideas and stories in writing. You know I am not good with words and sometimes I am even afraid of them...
- A Vitruvian Man?
He giggled loudly and nodded.
- Yes, an authentic Vitruvian man!
At that moment another code had just been created between us: the Vitruvius Man! He would use it in any opportunity he could, making the two of us laugh at the expression, remembering that occasion.
That night he loved me like no one else had ever done before. He tasted and touched me slowly and tenderly, quietly and carefully, as if studying the reactions of my body to his gentle contact and caresses. I learned how to be touched by him and how to let myself go when touched by his skilled hands. The dim light of the bedroom was witness of the lustful game he played deftly and intensely on my pale body.
In addition to what I received gracefully, I taught him how to let himself be touched by me as well. It was a trade of senses that made the two of us feel like sailing ships drifting along through sometimes still sometimes stormy and wavy waters.
I was lying prone in the large bed, with my eyes intentionally closed and still enjoying the warm touch of his fingertips going from my neck down to my buttocks, where he softly played around and asked me:
- Joe?
- Yes, Brandon...
- Did I say how much I like your body?
His voice was nearly a murmur. I moaned languidly and said:
- No, not yet.
He came closer to my ears and whispered, as softly as he could:
- I do. I really do.
This man had undoubtedly initiated me into a world of pleasures I was not used to and that was utterly new to me. He had no idea how good it was to listen to his compliments and how satisfying it was receiving so much attention. That small seed buried underneath the cold snow was slowly blooming again out of my scarred but healed soul.
How could I avoid being thankful or even like him any less for what he was doing to me?
- Brandon?
- Yes, Joe...
- How can I give you more pleasure?
- Moooooore???!!!??? Is it possible to have more than this, my dear?
I have to admit the obvious: he had caught me... definitely...
- Brandon?
- Yes, Joe...
- How can I give you more pleasure?
- Moooooore???!!!??? Is it possible to have more than this, my dear?
I have to admit the obvious: he had caught me... definitely...
***
Six months after our first encounter, following a naturally growing intimacy process, we were seeing each other every single week, at least once and talking on the phone or “on-line” on a daily basis. Barriers had melted down and away. We were closer than ever.
His thoughts were expressed in a short, but intense electronic message, where he stated he sometimes caught himself thinking about us and the time we spent together, feeling the complicity and serenity of the moments we filled with laughter and sensuality.
Somehow I felt special every time I noticed a progress in our relationship. An unexpected message in the middle of the day; a phone call telling me he was coming over to spend the whole day Saturday with me; a whisper in my ear saying he missed me; these little things seemed like an immense step forward to what we had in the beginning and to promises we had never made.
At the end of the day we were both sensualists, teasers of a kind, addicted to the presence of each other and with a lot of very good memories to keep.
***
The familiar beep of the cellphone announcing an incoming message was heard loudly from where I was. It was almost late in the evening and I had a vague idea of who it was from. When I picked the small gadget up and pushed the button to open and read the received note, I saw the word “kisses” written repeatedly twenty-three times in the single funny text message.
- What happened to you? Have you gone crazy? , went the message I sent back.
- I have gone crazy... yes... for you... That was his quick response...
I felt involved in a situation that was already history and to which I did not have a single moment to regret about. I smiled at myself and sent him another text.
- When are you coming to see me again, my dear friend? I’ve been missing you quite a lot...
The telephone rang almost immediately after the text message was sent.
- I was thinking of coming later tonight and staying over. I want to sleep very close to you; embracing you all night long...
His voice was almost a plea. I smiled to myself and said, very seriously:
- I will love if you stay over, my dear friend. I really will...
***
