When the fog comes, I always get lost, a throbbing that pumps
me up like a balloon, shaping me into the strawman, stirring up the broth until
I can think of no one but her, convincing myself I want to think of nothing
else.
This fog that creeps through me, that steals that part of me
that might otherwise resist, as fog that fills me up and makes me ache, losing
myself, in my continual search for love.
In my dreams, it opens before me like a raw oyster, with all
I have to do is stick a fork in it and plop it into my mouth.
It is almost always the same dream, there at the bar with
her, a dish of oysters she gobbles up, a bit of moisture on her lower lip, irresistible,
even in a dream where anything is possible, churning up some deeper feeling that overflows
on me, the dream like a photograph of a real moment in time, but with a much
happier ending, when we gobble each other up just like oysters
I still recall what she looked like in the lobby below, in
the old office, in August, so hot my eyeballs sweated just to look at her, so
taunt under her sundress, sunglasses hiding half her face.
I melt even recalling it, how intense the sunlight was, how
I could – even if the cubbyhole a whole flight up – smell her scent that send
me into an enthrall turmoil, thinking she was going off to meet another man,
somewhere where the two could roll in the hay in some cheap motel room maybe or
in her perch above the church.
I recall the ache I felt at thinking of another man’s hands
moving over a landscape my hands ached roam, that sundress, that August, in
that overwhelming heat.
I still feel her lips against my lips, and I guess I always
will, a kinetic memory that clings to me. I wake up with it, live with it all
day, and crawl into bed with it at night, even though I know it is all that it
will ever be, a precious memory, and maybe it is enough.
To feel it even in memory is to live it again, tender to
touch, even with my fingertips, pressing in, watching the flesh contract,
anticipating a closer, more personal contact.
Sometimes, this memory wakes me from sleep, inspiring other physical
reactions that will not dissipate without vigorous effort, the feel of those
lips, the memory of a kiss, stirring me now and always.
Although I grew up with my two best friends, Bill and Lou –
going all the way back to Kindergarten, I was never as close to either of them
as they were to each other.
They were inseparable from the start, sharing secrets with
each other but nobody else, an odd couple to say the least.
Bill was a star athlete, who came very close to making the
pros, while Lou was far more academic, a sensitive soul most of us thought
would become a professor or a priest.
Even after we each went to college, we remained close, often
hanging out at the local bar, sometimes attending baseball or football games or,
at Lou’s insistence, theater shows.
They were so tight, nobody could foresee a time when they
wouldn’t be.
It took the two of them to fall for the same woman to wedge
them apart. A real sparkplug of a girl named Sue who was nearly as athletic as
Bill and twice as smart as Lou.
She seemed to love each of them for different reasons: Bill
for his manliness and his (rumored) nine-inch dick, and Lou for his compassion.
The rivalry for her affection became so extreme, they two
men refused to even talk to each other (since I was their mutual close friend,
I got to hear their nearly constant complaints about the other.)
Sue felt very guilty about coming between these two old
friend, and even consulted me about what she might do to rectify the situation.
The best I could come up with was for her to pick one and let the other one get
over it, suggesting time might heal even such a deep wound.
But apparently, she had a better idea, even if she didn’t share
it with me at the time.
She decided not to see either of them individually. If she
went out with one, the other one had to be included. Both grumbled about it, but facing a choice of
not dating her at all, they begrudgingly agreed. They went to movies together,
picnics together, even vacations. The four of us often ended weekends in lounge
chairs near her swimming pool. I got invited to some of these as a kind of
referee, while Bill and Lou nearly constantly bickered.
This went on for months, and Sue finally came to the conclusion
that one of the two men would have to change in order to get this feud resolved,
someone she would have to coax one of them out of their current frame of mind.
Bill, of course, was the more difficult in this regard, a man so stubborn it
would take an earthquake to change him. Sue pinned her hopes on Lou, and around
whom she shaped her devious plot.
I did not realize anything until it was far too late to stop
it.
Sue decided she needed to make the two men attractive to
each other, and figured she could get Bill to cooperate if she reshape Lou into
someone Bill thought he could not live without.
She started out by insisting that the two men treat each
other with respect. When they went out together to an event, she insisted the
two men shake hands, this evolved over time to more affectionate greetings,
such as giving each other hugs. Later, she insisted they become even more
expressive and wanted each to kiss the other as a greeting the way she did when
she greeted them.
Bill hated thew hole routine and only went along with it to
remain in Sue’s good graces.
Lou seemed more receptive, even though he still hoped to
become Sue’s sole companion. He seemed to still have a residual affection for
his childhood friend. Sue capitalized on this, insisting Lou do things stir up
fond memories when they grew up together, or anything else that might get under
Bill’s skin in a positive way.
“What kind of things,” I asked her once.
Sue gave me a devious grin and said I would see for myself.
She managed to meet Lou privately, where she advised him to making
himself warmer and more welcoming when she, Bill and Lou were together, things
that would put Bill in the right mindset.
Later, I was shocked to learn that she insisted Lou wear women’s
panties – not just while on a date with her and Bill, but all the time, telling
Lou this would make him feel warm and fuzzy inside.
Lou balked at the suggestion, but after much badgering by
Sue, he caved in.
“No one will know you’re wearing them except you,” she told
Lou. “Wearing them will make you feel different.”
And perhaps it did. I sensed a bit less chill when we got together
with her, especially at the pool side where we all tried to relax.
Pushing the envelop further, Sue said hugging and innocent
kisses were not enough when they greeted each other, and told both men needed
to kiss each other as if they meant it, offering a demonstration on me that
left me more than just breathless.
They resisted at first, but gave it their best shot after a
while.
At some point, Sue decided Lou’s wearing of women’s panties
was not enough, and suggested he also wear panty hose, assuring him these would
show no more than the panties had. Lou reluctantly agreed, although he resisted
harder when she insisted that he wear a bra, more alluring female blouses. She
even supplied the fake breasts to puff out the bra a little. While after much pestering,
he gave in for most if it, he absolutely refused to wear a skirt, and Sue – the
moment – relented and allowed him to wear woman’s slacks.
She apparently knew Bill better than I did, and Bill’s
reaction to the changes she was imposing on Lou, subtle subterfuge that worked
on something behind Bill’s macho image, or perhaps reflected it. Bill’s tough
wall began to crack.
While Sue had introduced makeup early on, she had kept it
tame, just a touch of eyeliner and an almost clear pink lipstick. But as she
got more aggressive, so did the makeup, and soon Lou began to look like Sue’s
sister, rather than a potential lover.
Because Bill seemed so receptive to these, Sue changed Lou’s
attire, not only insisting on a skirt, but one that barely covered his bulge,
adding high heals to the mix.
By this time, the plan became obvious to me, but more appalling,
not to Bill, who suddenly seemed seriously attracted to his one-time best
friend.
When they greeted each other each time we met, Bill’s kiss
was more than just a kiss, and Sue liked this so much, she insisted they
continue the greeting several times each night, and when we parted company
later.
I was stunned when it became clear, Bill was kissing Lou as
if Lou really was a woman.
Sue took full advantage of this new-found closeness, and
insisted when we all went out or even hung out at the pool for our night cap,
Bill and Lou should sit together, often on the love seat she provided.
We all talked of the old days, about our man adventures
growing up. When she heard about how we used to skinny dip in a local river,
she insisted we all strip and skinny skip in her pool, but stayed back and held
me back, letting the two naked men go into the pool together, where Bill’s
attraction for Lou became way too obvious. You can’t hide a fully erect
nine-inch dick, even the dim pool light.
Bill was not the only one in this strange attraction. Lou was
memorized by Bill’s equipment.
I did not know until mush later that Sue – almost from the beginning
– had been feeding Lou hormones, and several times got Lou appointments for
shots—which she claimed were to build up his immunity. The hormones had allowed
him to do away with the phony breasts Sue had supplied him with earlier, and had
reshaped him a bit into something more like an hour glass.
Lou could not stop staring at Bill’s huge dick.
Bill laughed it off, claiming it was Sue that had inspired
his erection, although by this time, we all knew the truth.
Sue was thrilled and did her best to keep this going, insisting
we all skinny dip every night as long as the weather held out. She dressed Lou
in more elaborate female wear, including a two piece bikini which showed off
his breasts, even though she insisted he remain naked after we did our thing in
the pool.
Only later, did I find out how she managed to hide Lou’s
manhood, a private battle she won by said she would never see him again if he
didn’t put the cock cage on and keep in it on, day and night.
I didn’t see it when Lou and Bill were skinny dipping, but
if Bill saw it, he showed no sign of it.
Day by day, the whole thing got more embarrassing, as Lou
became fixated on Bill’s dick, and Bill seemed to love the attention.
Then one night, Lou asked Bill if he could touch it.
I started to intervene, but Sue grabbed my arm and said, “Don’t.
Let’s see where it goes.”
It went where we all knew it had to go, Lou touching the dick,
and stroking it, and then getting down on his knees go examine it better with
his mouth.
I was flabbergasted. Sue looked triumphant.
“I think they’re in love,” she whispered to me.
At that point, Bill or Lou – I don’t recall which – asked if
they could use her bedroom.
Sue was more than accommodating, grinning wildly as we
watched the naked couple walk hand in hand into the house.
“How can it possibly last?” I asked.
“It will,” Sue said. “I’ve already arranged for Lou to get
surgery.”
I glanced at her and shook my head.
“If they’re a couple, where does that leave you?” I asked.
“That’s why I have you,” said and squeezed my hand.
“You won’t like me. I don’t have a nine-inch dick.”
“You’ll do for a while, and when I get enough of you, maybe
I’ll buy you a dress.”
I nearly fell off the bar stool when Danny told me he had a
girlfriend
This bony redhead, who lived near me on the 3rd floor of the
rooming house in Montclair, was the biggest nerd I knew, more in love with his fish tank full of
guppies then he ever did a human being
I was his friend by
default
I had taken refuge in the rooming house after a hard break
up with a woman who had lived with for 3 years. I wasn't ready for a new
romance and felt particularly safe on the third floor or the other occupants
were just like me wounded souls in desperate need of room in which to heal
Along with Dan on that floor was Mike who I had gone to high
school with and Kevin a black kid already attending the local college
What shocked me more was the woman Danny claimed was his
girlfriend. the barmaid at the watering hole across the street from the rooming
house; she was a slim blonde with breasts to kill for but a standoffishness
attitude that frustrated the macho crowd that frequented the place
Everybody hit on her and got nowhere
Danny's presents at the bar surprised me as well, since
until then I'd seen them as recluse and with the social life that did not
extend beyond the rooming house kitchen. he was particularly shy around the
girls who occupied the second floor especially when they teased him about how
he dressed and of course his collection of fish
It must have been something to his claim because the
barmaid, Maggie, kept buying him drinks as if deliberately trying to get him
drunk. she kept teasing him asking him after each new drink which of the girls
in the bar he would like to fuck.
This only frustrated him more and he became flustered, a
condition that seemed to amuse her
The relationship, however, seem edto have a positive effect
on some aspects of his life; he abandoned the T-shirt jeans and sneakers for
blouse, slacks and flat heel shoes clothing These seemed a little feminine. I
later learned maggie had picked these out for him
He beamed when I took note of the change though it did not
stop there. he seemed less infatuated with his fish or at least he ceased
rambling on and on about them as he had in the past
He mostly spoke about Maggie and how she helped him to
improve his life, such as getting him to tidy up his room when it was
historically a pigsty
Only when I caught him one day wearing a French maid's
outfit and I got alarmed.
He said she said the costume would inspire him a bit of
roleplay
Then I noticed he had started wearing makeup, subtle at
first: a bit of eyeliner then eyeshadow then pink lipstick -- which he claimed
his girlfriend had helped him with to build up his confidence, each advance
with makeup came with an advance of wardrobe as well, more frilly blouses or
short skirt and girls shoes with heels
One night at the bar when Danny was not there I asked Maggie
about it
Are you trying to turn him into a girl, I asked
Not a girl exactly, she said; it's what he wants
I don't think he realizes exactly where you're taking him, I
said
Where do you think I'm taking him she asked me
If you're not making him into a girl then you're certainly
making him into a sissy
What's wrong with that
He is a boy, damn it
He's a lonely boy, she said. I'm helping him find a way to become less
lonely
What's next
You'll see, she said and grinned at me
I tried to talk to Danny but he was so infatuated with her
and her ideas he wouldn't listen to my words of warning
I discovered what came next when I caught Danny coming out
of Kevin's room early one morning makeup smudge especially the lipstick; he
didn't look at me but ran straight to his own room
When I saw him next in the bar Danny wasn't Danny anymore
Maggie called him Danielle and he was flirting with the
macho men who found him intriguing; indeed Danny looked much better as a girl
than he ever did as a boy
When Danny took off with a couple of the macho men, I
confronted Maggie
What have you done to him I asked
I've made him beautiful
Do those men know that he's really a boy
Of course, they do Maggie saudm although I've done my best
to modify that aspect
Modify how
For the moment he's got a cage so to make sure he gets his
pleasure elsewhere. I'm trying to convince him to take the next step so he can
become more of a woman
And Danny is okay with this
He loves it, she said and gave me an odd look: you sound jealous
Jealous of what
Of what Danny has, she said. he's no longer lonely and he's
no longer stays in his room playing with his fish
I don't have any fish, I said reading into her statement
what she implied
But you're lonely too. Danny told me all about you, she said
And you want me to become like Danny?
You too would make great sisters, she said. and I'm sure the
guys here would fall over you the way they do Danielle would you like me to
help you
No fucking way, I said louder than I intended
Well, think about it, she said with a seductive smile. you
know where to find me and maybe find yourself too
Summer isn’t over yet, yet it feels as if it is, different,
we brainwashed into back to school nonsense from when we were kids, and so must
live with this fleeting sense, as I stand down near where the river flows and
the churned up surface made by passing ferries, ferries rushing from this side
to the city that never sleeps on the far side, where the skyline rises, like
jagged vampire teeth, the sun – this late in the day – sparkling off the windows,
fire-like, blinding, as I cling to the remaining warmth in anticipation of
oncoming chill, this near where her street meets the overlook, and I imagine
her coming here to stare out at the river as I do, but up top, not down below where
I am now, and I think if I look up I might catch a glimpse of her as she
admires the river, the skyline, and the glinting glass, and wonder if she feels
summer slipping away, time passing with each incoming and outgoing tide, with
the chaos of the ferries, with the darkness that comes when the sun finally succumbs,
and falls too far behind the cliffs to give us any glint of glass
I feel the chill down deep into my bones, deep frost after
heavy snow, piles rising between each car, icicles dripping in the bright
sunlight, freezing again, indication of our dilemma when all we want to do is
feel warmth again, or a body to rub against the potato in the oven in the old
cold water flat, symbolic of something more than cooking food, doing what we need
to do to kill time until the potato gets cooked, though now, no longer able to
find someone to bake this potato with, to keep warm with, this chill so furious,
we need more than a groundhog to help us get to spring, here, safe indoors,
oven on, but no potato to rub against.
I know I don’t feel the same way she does, more remote then
hers, as if when it happened it happens to someone other than me,while the whole time I want it to feel close up,
where I have no control over the outcome, her fingers inside me, making me to things
as if I am a puppet, unimagined things I know she knows how to do when I only
dream them. I want her to make me feel it the way I know she always feels it,
every time, as if she’s practiced it for so long she has no other way to feel
it except for the way she does. I know she knows how to make me feel like that,
and all I have to do i let her take over, put her fingers up inside me, move me
around until it all comes out.
I recall the pictures of cherry blossoms (or were they apple
blossoms, I’m never sure) she took during her trip to Newark, back when she
still believed she could make her way in the world with her camera, pink
everywhere, and I was in awe, her world laid out before me like an open oyster,
making me ache for a taste, and now, this side of summer, we wait for the trees
to change, leaves bleeding and falling, autumn coming yet not quite yes, as if
we wait for the end of the world, tempting fate, and ache for an embrace, we
can’t hasten, or invite, scared to death of the consequence, the harsh reality
of our last fateful attempt. What do we do when none of the dreams of cherry
blossoms come real, and we live to watch the leaves change, summer into fall,
fall into winter, and then the cherry blossoms again, as I cling to old photos,
imagining her with her camera, snapping pictures of a dream that won’t ever
come true.
I want to be on the inside and outside at the same time, to
feel what you feel as I feel it, tender, then rough, to move and feel my
movement inside you, stirring something to life inside both of us.
I want to hear what you hear, what my voice sounds like in your
ears, not just the sweet talk, but the real talk we both need to hear.
I want to see what you see, through your eyes, not just when
you look at me, but at the world, what visions come to me at this time of day
or that.
I want to taste what you taste, the sip of wine, the kiss,
the oyster you take into your mouth whole.
I ache to be you, your mouth full of things I need, I need
to feel, see, hear, taste all you do, so, I might know you fully from the
inside out, the only way I’ll ever know who you really are.
In my salad days, I was green in judgement, perhaps cold in
blood, knowing that the stroke death is as a lover's pinch, which hurts and is desired,
and her music, moody food for us, who trade love, and I come to understand that
she makes the most hungry where she most satisfies, and I need use my lips to
gently pry her open, to lie beside her, with her, within her, knowing that when
she leaves this world so much vanishes with her going.
I have Immortal longings in me: The juice of Egypt's grape shall moist this
lip: I am fire and air; my other elements. I give to baser life. Come then, and take the last warmth of my
lips. While I continue to wrestle with you in my strength of love.
In time we hate that which we often fear. We are ignorant of
ourselves, begging for what harms us most, and our inner wiser nature denies us
these things for our own good, and so it is profitable for us to lose this
voice, those prayers, and for what good turn: “For the best turn of the bed.”
And when I kiss her, the first and last of many, I taste her
orient pearl, desperate to think that desolation does begin to make a better
life, and for her, now, seeing her true love vanish. Let him forever go.
This is when I miss Jerry Lewis most, seeing him exhausted,
the haze from the cigarette dangling from his mouth, reminding me of my life at
home with my uncles and the haze of cigarettes hanging from their mouths.
I walk beside the river and look over at the skyline and
that cluster of skyscrapers among which was one where the telethon took place,
recalling my Labor Day trips there, and my standing outside on the sidewalk
waiting for my group’s turn to go inside.
Now everything seems empty, someone else’s face where the
famous comedian’s once was, and I wonder at how we keep losing things we love,
how important pieces of our lives vanish, not appreciating them when they still
were here, love being the most terrible loss of all.
I stroll along the riverfront walkway at the bottom of the
cliffs, seeking out in this landscape for what was most recently lost, the
massive bulk of history hanging over me, the while house that leads to her street,
a forbidden zone I must avoid or come too close to, lost but not forgotten,
most acute at this end of season when all things begin to fade.
