"Let me say goodbye to people," I said, trying to gain more time to decide what I really wanted. And I really did wanna talk to Sinclair and Diva and Natt Nightly one more time.
I found Natt on the dance floor peeling of his shirt to show us his new tattoo. He was wearing a wife beater underneath.
Might I mention that Natt and Sinclair are the first two butches I have met in real life?
I totally forgot what I had come there to do and stared. This was how it had always been: me staring bug-eyed, tongueless with the kind of full-body surprise that comes over me at seeing these things, and ashamed of myself because of it. Stop staring! I think, and I can't. After an awkward second I came to myself enough to make my goodbyes and went back to the bar to find that the boy who had wanted to fuck me had disappeared.
I was both really pissed and kinda happy. Mostly embarrassed. But then it dawned on me: He might be waiting outside.
And he was.
He took me to Brooklyn. We cuddled up next to one another on the subway seat and I put my head on his shoulder. We looked at the Sugarbutch Star chapbook, read a few lines of The Diner on the Corner. At some point I started rubbing his thigh and he grinned at me like it was the best thing in the world.
We talked about Littletown, where I live now. I guess that's why I felt safe enough to go home with him, we were both from the same place. He was struggling to pay the rent, doing work for non-profits. I told him I wanted to try and live in NYC, someday. He told me that eventually I would tire of it. I felt a part of myself relaxing, eased after the stress of the party. It was nice just to lean my head on his shoulder...
Brooklyn. We got off, still talking, and I stopped for a moment to look over the railing before going down the stairs to the street. "Why does all of Brooklyn look the same?" I wanted to know. Those "Unisex" hair salons. That awning in the colors of the Italian flag. The outdoor produce...
"You want to get anything?" he asked, winking. He meant to feed him with. I looked at the rainbow array of fruits and vegetables and realized the prospect hadn't even dawned on me, the feeder. But then again, the kinds of things laid out weren't usually what people stuffed with. "We use soda, usually," I had told him, trying to act cool, like this was something I did every day.
"Yes, or milk." This was all new to him.
"Do you like watermelon?" I asked. He said he did. Watermelon was good, but could he eat half a one...
I looked at him and suddenly I couldn't imagine doing it to him, what I thought of as my fetish. He wasn't a feedee, really. I had known that, when I picked him up, because of his confusion. This wasn't a fantasy of his, he just wanted to get with me.
And I didn't want to force it on him, all that excess and strangeness and physical stress. Forget about it, I told him, we don't have to do that. Let's just do it the usual way....
More to come.