To return to the John D. Perkins memorial page, click here

MAELSTROM

Chapter one of a book in progress

By Edward Ditterline

Edward Ditterline and John D. Perkins were partners
in business and in life for 18 years before Perkins'
demise of AIDS in 1994. Photos by Edward Ditterline.

Upper East Side
New York City
3:30 pm
October 12, 1976

“So, tell me, what’s a pretty boy like you doing in a sleazy bar like this? You should be down the street at Uncle Charlie's with the other model types,” the voice to my immediate right said.

I turned my head slowly, to see who this creep was -- or perhaps to give him a shove backward off his bar stool -- and to my complete surprise, my icy gaze connected with the most handsome face I’d ever seen. Before or since. It was a movie star look, with killer chiseled features, framed by a mane of curly bronze hair, virtually the same color of eyes, and a deadly-smirky grin. All of which immediately melted my resolve to tell this guy exactly what I thought of him.

I could feel my face getting beet red. I wasn’t sure whether to get up and walk out of the bar in embarrassment or get down on the floor and kiss this guy’s feet for even noticing me. To be perfectly honest, any man in the place would have had to catch his breath just for the pleasure of being insulted by this guy.

Since I’ve never been my best at rapier-like repartee in social situations, I just swallowed my wounded pride and said timidly “So where’s Uncle Charlie’s?”

“Jeez,” he said, “What turnip truck did you fall off the back of? Everybody knows where Uncle Charlie’s is. It’s the legendary watering hole for pretty boys.”

Recovering slightly, I was now starting to do a slow burn. “By my count, you’ve already insulted me twice and I don’t even know your name,” I dared, with as impressive a scowl on my face as I could muster.

Holding out a meaty hand for me to shake, he said “Oh. Sorry. It’s Perk.” Greatly overcompensating, I returned the gesture and did my best to crack all the bones in his hand with my grip. He just smiled and nodded his head knowingly. He’d already gotten the best of me. And he knew it.

Then, it was my turn to return the jibe and I began a forced laugh. “Perk? You mean as in ‘perky’?” I gently poked.

“No,” came the response, completely unaffected. “Like in Perkins. It’s my last name. John’s my first.”

“Oh. My name’s Edward. Ditterline.” And out of habit I started to spell it for him. “That’s D as in David, i-t-t-as in Tom --”

“Glad to meet you, Ed,” he interrupted, albeit charmingly. So why are you so nervous about being in here?”

“I’m not nervous,” I managed to squeeze out the reply, like a squeaky little sneak fart.

“Well, you could have fooled me,” he said as his eyes squinted a bit and a big sexy smile spread across his face, completely melting my reserve.

“This is only the third time I’ve been in a gay bar,” I said, feeling myself whining a bit, hoping for some kind of slack-cutting.

He started to laugh and then he took a look at my face, which by now must have appeared more than just slightly wounded. He thought better of the laugh and cleared his throat instead.

“The other two times I came in here, too,” I offered by way of a truce.

“So I guess that kinda makes you a regular.”

“Look, I’m really new to this. So why don’t you just lay off?”

“Jeez! I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to be rude. It’s just you look so uncomfortable. Nice leisure suit by the way. Don’t think I’ve ever seen one quite that nice in here before. Usually people wear leather or Levis. It’s kind of a cowboy place, you know...or didn’t you catch that when you saw the name of the bar is Chaps,” he continued, definitely increasing the chance I was going to shove him off his perch.

How was I supposed to know you don’t wear a leisure suit in a leather bar?

I’ve never suffered fools lightly and in spite of the fact he was the best looking fool I’d ever seen, I’d had quite enough, so I decided to take off to the men’s room to see if I could rid myself of the pest. Handsome pest. Studly pest. Animal pest. Reeking-with-sex-pest. But pest, nevertheless.

In spite of the fact it was the middle of the afternoon, the bar was almost pitch black. And since I’m blind as a bat in dark places, I could hardly find the bathroom. The fact I’d already drank what had to be two glasses of the worst wine I’d ever put in my mouth didn’t help much, either. Barf! What an awful taste! Harsh grapey metal.

Not terribly charmed by the fact both bathrooms said MEN on them, I entered the first, already smelling an odd, olfactory cocktail of urine, beer and smoke. Inside, it was even darker than in the main bar area, if such a thing was possible.

As my eyes began to adjust to the darkness, I saw what looked like a long metal trough, much like ranchers use to water cattle. Only this was obviously supposed to be a urinal.

I really don’t believe this, I mumbled to myself and I turned quickly to leave, in spite of the rather severe pressure building in my bladder. As I made my exit, I ran directly into this hugely fat, bald-headed guy wearing a black leather vest and no shirt. His enormous belly protruded over his black leather pants, to the extent that I honestly wondered if the animal skins were going to explode and wrap themselves around my face. What an awful thought!

“Hi sweetie,” baldy no-neck greeted. “Why don’t you let me lay down in the trough and get comfy?”

It was at that precise moment I knew I was going to lose it. While I’d never thought of myself as a prude, the notion that someone would actually do what this guy had just proposed was well beyond my powers of comprehension.

Squeezing nervously around this individual, who seemed to be searching for his own peculiar fountain of youth, I got a whiff of him, which led me to believe he was a regular habitué of the trough.

I quickly swung the bathroom door as wide open as I could and I started high-tailing it down the hallway. However, as fate happened to have it that particular day, I had turned the wrong way coming out of men’s room number one and bumped into two guys who were coming out of men’s room number two. I thought to myself, surely, the second bathroom will be safe. And it will be used for the purpose for which bathrooms were actually intended.

Wrong.

My eyes almost popped out of my head as I walked into the second bathroom and saw two naked men in the middle of anal intercourse. One was grabbing onto the rim of the toilet, which had no seat, while the second one impaled the first with what was certainly the biggest penis I’d ever seen on a human being.

I should tell you to this particular point in time, I had seen only one other erect adult penis in my entire life, other than my own. And while I had always been quite pleased by the size of my member, I would have certainly have been no match for this individual -- who appeared to have been descended from some breed of small pony.

By this time, I was so exasperated, all I could think of was to get the hell out of this place as fast as possible. I immediately started haranguing myself for even thinking of walking into a gay bar. I felt dirty and ashamed. I was clearly in over my head. And my fundamentalist Christian upbringing was now clearly in overdrive.

As I rounded the end of the bar on my way out the door, Perk stepped directly into my path. “Where do you think you’re going?” he demanded.

“I’m getting the hell out of here. You people make me sick,” I said, immediately regretting my thoughtless remark, but still meaning every word of it.

“You people? So who the hell do you think you are? And what the hell are you doing in here, anyway?” he said angrily.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know why I said that. I guess I was just grossed out back there. Honest, this stuff is really very new to me,” I barked hoarsely, embarrassed to death by what I had just said.

He laughed a big, hearty laugh which seemed to rumble from deep inside him and he grabbed me and hugged me in this crushing, bear-like squeeze. I felt the air leave my body, but I couldn’t tell whether it was because he squeezed it out of me, or it left of its own accord when he put his hands on me.

Then suddenly, he disengaged himself from my crushed frame -- for which I was grateful -- and he took my hand and and led me over to a corral-type bar which was attached to the wall.

“Come over here, Ed. We need to talk,” he said with a voice which was so sexy and -- all of a sudden kind -- that I began to calm down a little. But of course, me being me, I couldn’t leave well enough alone.

“Edward.” I said.

“What?” he countered, somewhat perplexed.

“Edward. It’s my name. It’s what I prefer to be called. Edward. Not Ed,” I said as I sucked some wind back in my lungs and stood up as straight as humanly possible. I ran my fingers through my longish blond hair and tried my best to improve the posture on my tall frame. Since he seemed to be surveying me with a look which was definitely sizing me up, I continued “I need another glass of wine. Even if it does taste like the trough.”

“Jeez, you didn’t get into anything back there, did you?” Perk asked, genuinely shocked.

“Oh, please! No!” I started to laugh. “It’s just a figure of speech. Nevermind. Anyway, I don’t think I could drink another glass of their wine,” I said, suddenly realizing for the first time this guy was wearing a pair of bib-type overalls with only one shoulder strap hooked, and he had on no shirt -- and quite possibly nothing else -- underneath the overalls. Overalls? I thought to myself. Why is a grown man in Manhattan wearing overalls...?

But the look! Oh my God...the man fairly oozed a spermatozoic aroma which left me completely without benefit of balance.

I really did have to catch my breath. But something was a bit peculiar, because I was certain I would have remembered his beautiful, muscular, defined chest, with just exactly the right amount of bronze-colored hair. But then, I was so nervous when I was sitting at the bar I had probably just looked into this Perk guy’s face. Which is where I think I was supposed to be looking anyway. Wasn’t it?

Well, I wasn’t looking in his face now. Both he and I caught me admiring his pectoral muscles and immediately, I felt my face flush again.

“Well,” I said, trying to regain my near lapse of consciousness, “maybe you’re right. Maybe I should go to Uncle Charlie's. I think this place is a bit much for me.”

Strangely enough, though, Chaps was at least somewhat familiar to me, because I had been brought up in Santa Fe. In fact, the entire cowboy motif -- if that’s what you’d call it -- had always made me feel tight in the chest and definitely short of breath. I can only assume I associated cowboys with masculinity. Of course, to be perfectly honest, I also associated them with ignorance and boorish manners, too. But what did I know of such things at this particular moment in time? Absolutely nothing. There was not a thought in my head except I would like to throw this guy on the floor as hard as I could and jump on top of him and screw the daylights out of him.

And then, I temporarily came to my senses. And all that Christian choir boy training flew right up from my feet, through my groin, across my heart and directly into my face, giving the what felt like the reddest hue I have ever had in my life. Obviously sensing my discomfort, my newly acquired “friend” put a very muscular, hairy arm around my waist and made it clear he was quite happy I’d decided not to go to Uncle Charlie's. He showed his appreciation by grabbing my right hand with his left hand -- in some kind of complicated country western dance move -- and shoved it up against the crotch of his overalls, the fabric of which was extremely strained because of a very erect, girthy penis directly underneath.

I quickly pulled my hand away, still not entirely certain of what he was getting at -- at least not at that precise moment. I also backed away from him and firmly placed his arm on the fence post of the corral. I did this in spite of the fact that I wanted him to touch me more than anything in the world.

Now, at this point, I have to tell you, I have always had a terrible aversion to being touched. Not by somebody I love or perhaps even someone I feel really close to, but getting pawed by someone I have just met in a bar was a bit beyond me. But every feeling I have ever had about my body being off limits to a stranger just went right out the top of my head. Why? I couldn’t begin to tell you. I can only describe it as having been struck by a bolt of lightning.

“I’d just like to tell you I think you’re very sweet,” he said, I assumed, with complete sincerity.

Sweet? I thought to myself. Terrific! That’s right up there with “I like your leisure suit.” This guy is really an insufferable asshole. Why doesn’t he just leave me alone and let me get the hell out of this dump, I considered.

“You’re also the handsomest man I’ve ever laid eyes on,” he told me, giving me a beautiful smile and very warm stare that went straight to my crotch and seemed to catch everything within close proximity on fire.

That’s better, I thought, perhaps I should give him the benefit of the doubt. Maybe I would even forgive him for being so boorish when he first started talking to me.

“Seriously, tell me, why are you so up tight in here? Don’t you like it?”

“To tell you the truth,” I said, “I’ve been trying to gather up the nerve to come in this place for a month. Just in the past ten days I’ve managed to darken the door twice,” I offered, realizing for the first time this Perk character was somewhat shorter than I, which, for some strange reason, gave me a bit more confidence in dealing with him.

While it seemed we were pretty much polar opposites in terms of our personalities and body types, it was oddly comforting to me this guy was as attracted to me -- as I was to him. At 6’1”, with blue eyes and longish blond hair, and a tan body toned from fencing and swimming, I was quite a contrast to Perk, who stood about 5’10” and who was muscular, slightly vascular and ruddily complected. And muscular, I kept saying to myself.

I never knew I was attracted to muscular guys. Well, how the hell would I know what kind of man I was attracted to? Having almost no experience with men and even less understanding about what kind of look turned me on, I was at a loss to grasp why a shorter, hairier, more muscular person would even be of any interest to me.

Finally being able to find my voice, I continued my explanation of my nervousness. “I live nearby and I’ve seen really attractive men going in and out of this place. I guess somehow I just knew it was a gay bar.”

Oh you fool, you’re probably not supposed to to tell him that! What if he’s some kind of psychopath and he follows you home, the good little Christian, who was always sitting on my shoulder, said to me.

“Uh, actually,” I continued, “the first time I came in here I stayed about thirty seconds. I walked over to the bar, turned around and walked right out. I kept my eyes straight ahead of me and I could not have told you a thing I saw while I was in here.

“The second time I came was a few days later. I walked in, made myself sit down at the bar, ordered a glass of wine and promised myself I would finish it before I left. I had a hard time, not because I was so afraid, but because the wine was so awful.”

He just stood there looking at me quizzically, the dimples in his cheeks moving slightly. Now, I thought, I was beginning to get to him.

“What is it with you and wine?” Perk asked. “Don’t you know you’re supposed to drink beer out of a bottle in a place like this?”

“Well, I really can’t stand wine, but I hate beer even worse. Ever since I had to chug it during hell week at my fraternity in college, I can’t even stand the smell.”

“A frat man. God! I should’ve guessed,” he said.

“You have something against fraternities?” I inquired, wanting to pick a fight, while knowing full well all my family and friends hated fraternities, too. So I suppose I shouldn’t have been surprised he seemed to have a problem with them as well.

“No. Not at all. It’s just you’re so freshly scrubbed and midwest-looking. It all seems to go together.”

“Not Midwest. Southwest. Santa Fe.”

“I hear Santa Fe is a beautiful place,” he said almost wistfully.

“It wasn’t too pretty when I was growing up. Now, it’s become somewhat fashionable, but when I was a kid, it was just a little dusty, dirty town and I was the only blond-haired, blue-eyed kid I knew. So I got beat up regularly by the Indians and Mexicans.”

“Why? Were you the town queer?” he inquired innocently enough. But of course, I took complete offense.

“Absolutely not! I just looked different from everyone else. That’s why they always tried to beat me up. Besides, I’m not a homosexual!” I proclaimed. Uh oh, I thought immediately. Where did that come from?

“Really? So you must be in here doing research for a PBS documentary?” he cracked.

“Don’t laugh. I could be. I’m a writer.”

“Oh yeah? What restaurant?”

“Why are you such a smartass?” I really wanted to know.

“I’m not a smartass. It’s just I must hear that bullshit ten times a week in these places -- that some guy is a writer and on closer examination, he’s always a waiter,” he opined.

“Spend a lot of time in gay bars, do you?” I said, beginning to dig in.

“Yeah, and maybe you should spend a little more time in them, too. Then maybe you wouldn’t be such an insufferable tight ass,” he countered.

Whew, I thought, this guy is quick. And, of course, I was more intrigued than ever.

“So be honest. You really a writer? You really make your living at it?”

Well, I had to confess (to myself, at least) he had me there, but I was going to be damned before I told him what I really did for a living.

“I have my master’s degree in Communications from the University of Utah in Salt Lake City,” I ventured.

“I knew it! I knew it!” he chortled, hiking up the overall strap on his left shoulder with his right hand, revealing a still healthy-sized bulge in his crotch.

“What’s so damn funny?” I wanted to know.

“You’re a Mormon! I knew there had to be some explanation for you being such a tight ass. I mean, I ASSUME you’re a tight ass, anyway, at least you HAVE a tight ass is my guess, RIGHT?”

My mouth dropped open at his audacity. “As if you’re ever gonna get close enough to find out! Please tell me why I am standing here talking to such an insufferable prick?”

“Because I’m terribly charming. And I know you want to fuck me,” he winked. And a big loopy grin spread across his entire face.

“Don’t flatter yourself, Perky” I fumed. “And for your incredibly limited knowledge of things academic, you should be aware Brigham Young is the Mormon school. And it’s in Provo, not Salt Lake City.”

“The name is Perk. Not Perky. So when you gonna to tell me what you really do for a living? I know you’re not a writer.”

This guy was ruthless.

“I’m a model,” I whispered in a voice so low I hoped he wouldn’t hear.

“You’re a MODEL! Jesus fucking Christ! I KNEW you should have been at Uncle Charlie's! I was RIGHT!”

He said it so loud every person in the bar turned around to look at us. And although it was only in late afternoon, people had been streaming in, so there were quite a few smirks.

“Yeah. I’m a model! So what? And how do you make YOUR living...such as it is,” I said, eying his coveralls.

“I’m an interior designer,” he said. Now it was his turn to not want everybody in the bar -- who by this time all had their ears crooked in our direction -- to hear what he said.

“A DECORATOR?” I howled a little too loudly. “What do you decorate? BARNS?” I said, trying to embarrass his ass as much as humanly possible. I must have gotten him good because I distinctly heard a ripple of snickers throughout the front bar area.

“Wouldn’t you just know it?” I really started laying it on now. “A guy like you poses, acting like he’s Mr. Macho and he pushes off chintz on little old ladies for a living! Did you just come from a client meeting dressed like that?” I kept on, finally on a roll, wanting to put him in his place for embarrassing me in front of all these people.

“No,” he said somewhat deflated, I came from this apartment I’m doing on Lexington and 76th. “Actually, I’m not REALLY a designer any more than you’re really a writer. I was trained as a designer in college, but right now I paint apartments for a living.”

The tone of his voice told me he was totally mortified.

Good.

“So, what modeling agency do you work with,” he asked, attempting to recover quickly.

“Wilhelmina,” I said, trying, for some reason, to help him.

“I should have guessed,” he lapsed. “She only picks the tall, blond Aryan types, with the icy blue eyes and the ‘don’t touch my hair or it’ll break from all the spray’ type. Yeah, she’s REALLY into the Hitler youth look,” he said, recovering quite nicely.

God, I thought to myself, this verbal sparring is wearing me out.

“It may be hard for you to believe, but there’s a lot of demand for the ‘Hitler youth’ look, as you call it. And don’t knock Willie, she’s been great to me. She’s a wonderful woman.”

“Jeez, you’re touchy,” came the reply. “You always this sensitive?”

“I do have a tendency to go on the offensive when someone I don’t even know gets critical of someone I care for,” I said.

“Does that mean you’d look out for me like that, too -- if you cared for me?” he said, obviously wanting to know the answer.

“Something tells me you don’t need anyone to look out for you,” I said with a great deal of edge in my voice.

“You might be surprised,” came the reply, with what I perceived to be just a small look of hurt in those beautiful bronze eyes. But the look was quickly shaded over and he brightened again immediately.

“So what kind of modeling do you do?”

“Print, mostly. Though I’m getting a lot of calls for broadcast lately,” I said.

“For who?”

Whom, I thought, but I decided to let it go, being more concerned with how I was going to answer the question.

“Right now, I’m doing mostly young men’s underwear ads for Penney’s and Sears catalogs,” I replied quietly, staring down at my shoes, which all of a sudden, seemed to need shining badly.

When I finally had the nerve to look at him, I knew I shouldn’t have said a word. The look on his face was incredulous.

He started laughing so loud that everyone in the bar who had just been listening to our conversation turned around in their chairs and looked at me in total disbelief. Once again, I decided it was time for me to head out the front door of the bar. Even though I was incredibly attracted to this guy, I wasn't crazy about how loudly he spoke in what I wanted to be a very private conversation.

“You REALLY model underwear for Penney’s and Sears catalogs?”

“What? You have a hearing problem in addition to being afflicted with a loud mouth? Keep your voice down. I don’t want everyone in the bar listening to our conversation!” As if they weren’t already.

“Do you have any idea how many people have wiped their ass on your face?” he said, taunting me, just to see what I’d do.

“I beg your pardon?” I said, as the inflection in my voice rose rapidly and my eyeballs felt like they were going to pop right out of my head. I was so pissed at him.

“People use Sears and Penney’s catalogs in their outhouses.”

“So I assume you hail from Appalachia?” I replied icily. Well, my retort didn’t phase him a bit. He was on a roll, and now, and I was REALLY afraid of what was coming.

“No, I’m from upstate New York,” he said furrowing his brow, steeling himself to toss the next volley. All of a sudden, our harmless little exchange was beginning to turn into World War III.

“Same thing,” I offered snottily, not knowing what the hell I was talking about since I’d never set foot outside New York City since the day I had arrived by plane seven months earlier. “Obviously, you’re an expert on outhouses and you have no idea what models get paid by the hour for underwear shoots,” I said in as nasty a tone as I could muster.

“Three fifty an hour. With a four hour minimum, Hitler boy!” he fairly spit at me. And then, he shoved me up against the wall of the corral, grabbed my face, kissed me deeply and passionately on the mouth and stuck his tongue roughly as far down my throat as it would reach.

Immediately, my survival instincts kicked in and I felt the blood boiling up inside me. I felt like I had been violated. I pushed him away, so flushed I could hardly stand up. “What the FUCK do you think you’re doing, you asshole!” I asked furiously.

A quiet round of applause skittered delicately throughout the bar.

“I kissed you, silly,” he said, wiggling his eyebrows sexily. “And don’t TELL me you didn’t LOVE it!”

The son of a bitch. The truth was, it felt electrifying. I had dreamed all my life about a man kissing me passionately and while I would have never told a living soul at that moment, I truly felt faint. Faint and very, very angry. It reminded me of so many other times another very powerful man had forced himself on me. I had wanted to kill him. And now, I wanted to kill this prick Perk as well.

“Why don’t you keep your fucking hands off me. I don’t even know you!”

“Well, MY suggestion would be you take me to your apartment. Show me your modeling pictures. Nudes first, if you have any. And then, let’s get a lot better acquainted. Real fast. You and I both know know you want me in the worst way. And I want you to have me! Besides, you’ve given me blue balls so bad I can hardly stand it!”

Well, there’s a charming phrase if I’ve ever heard one, I thought to myself, feeling a hundred and ten million pins pricking the surface of my blistering skin. While I felt completely threatened by this man and I wanted to fight him with every ounce of strength I possessed, I also wanted to be so completely absorbed into every fiber of his being. I was on the verge of crying. And yet, at the same time, I felt insane with lust.

I’d never met anyone like this Perkins guy before. As I mentioned, I came from a very religious family and we were never demonstrative with our feelings. I never once saw my mother and father touch one another affectionately. Or hold or kiss one another. Or steal little secret romantic moments. All I had seen was year after year after year was yelling and screaming. And now, at the age of 28 to run into a person who was so completely and totally verbally, emotionally and sexually inhibited -- and in public no less -- scared me half to death!

Trying desperately to recover, I snapped “You’re really fucking stuck on yourself, aren’t you?”

Much throat clearing and tsk-tsking in the bar.

“No, not at all, I’m just confident of what I have to offer. I know you want it. And I want you. NOW! It’s THAT simple.”

“Fuck you,” was all I could muster and I bolted for the door again. But in a split second, something made me turn around and blurt out “Couldn’t we just go out to dinner and get to know one another first? I might decide I don’t even like you! Besides, I’ve never done anything like this before. I’m really nervous. And on top of everything else, my wife just left me about a month ago and I still completely overwhelmed by all of it!” I said starting to cry, while I heard the sound of barstools moving closer to us.

I wanted to laugh at the completely ridiculous scene I was a part of -- and yet, I would not have let anyone else play this role for anything in the world. Because, quite frankly, it wasn’t a role. No way. No how. It was the first honest, straightforward exchange I had ever had with another human being in my entire life!

I could tell that I had stopped him cold with the revelation that my wife and I had just separated. He dropped his cocky facade immediately and I imagined I saw his eyes get watery. No, I didn’t imagine it. There were exactly two tears that rolled down his handsome face. One on each cheek.

“My God, I don’t believe it. My wife and I split up about six months ago. I know how you feel. I loved her very much. I still do,” he said, as he moved close to me once again, and I felt myself back off slightly. “It’s been awful. I think a lot of times I made the biggest mistake of my life leaving her. Well, actually, she threw me out when I told her I had a male lover.”

“Imagine that,” I said as cold as humanly possible, being very careful to make note of the first sign of vulnerability I had seen in him.

“Yeah. The entire thing was awful. We lived in Sacramento, California, at the time, and on the weekends I would go to San Francisco to the bars and baths to let off steam.” He laughed at his own little unconscious joke. “I couldn’t help it. My feelings for men just finally began to overwhelm me. I felt like shit cheating on her -- I loved her so much -- but I just couldn’t help myself. I didn’t WANT to help myself. The first time I ever had sex with a man, I just knew...” his voice trailed off as he flipped a loose metal button on the front of his overalls.

“Didn’t she get suspicious with you being gone every weekend?” I asked, starting to warm up to him a little.

“No. I told her it was a design client and they could only see me on the weekends. I lied. I lied all the time and I hated it. I hated me. I hated lying and I loved her, but somewhere...inside...there just wasn’t this link, this fusion that I felt when I was with a man. The kind of fusion I feel with you, right now,” he said as he looked me directly in the eyes. And he sighed the biggest sigh I’d ever heard.

Certainly, there were many people listening to us because I was aware the bar was filling up, but somehow, Perk and I seemed to be separated into a crystalline sphere -- on an entirely different plane of space and time from everyone else -- and I had virtually no conscious awareness of anyone at that moment but him.

That being said, I was not about to let him off the hook. For some perverse reason, I was enjoying his misery, because, for a change, it was someone else who was saying all the things to me that I had said to myself about my wife and I and all the years we were together. I wasn’t even aware it had something to do with men. I just knew in my soul it didn’t have anything to do with her. And yet, I would have sacrificed myself for her at a moment’s notice. I would not have thought about it for a second.

“Didn’t your wife get even a little suspicious when you didn’t bring home any money?” I asked quizzically.

“I told her I’d be paid at the end of the project,” he said absently.

“Oh,” I said, feeling like I should be scratching my head in disbelief.

“The strange thing was...the guy who eventually became my lover, I met at the gym in San Fransisco, but he lived in Sacramento. After we got together, I stopped going into the city and I’d go over and see him every day after school while my wife was still at work. He was a teacher.”

“Well, that must have made you feel like shit if you really loved her,” I said, unable to keep my guilt in my own situation from spilling over into his.

“I did feel like a shit. I did love her. I still do. She’s a wonderful human being,” he said as he wiped the beads of perspiration from his upper lip with the back of his hand.

“What finally happened?” I asked, thinking of my own situation.

“It finally got to where I just couldn’t stand the deceit any longer. It was killing me. Denton, the guy I was in love with, was pressuring me to move in with him. And even though I was also in love with my wife, I wanted him more. Now, I realize what I had with him was just lust. It never was love. At least on his part. Even the lust didn’t last long. I should have never allowed it to fuck up my life,” he said as he leaned up against the wall, seeming to be exhausted.

“What?” I said, more than just a little alarmed. “Just stay married to your wife and see your male lover at the same time? That strikes me as being just a bit inconsiderate. How could you even THINK of doing that if you really loved her?”

Judging, I told myself. Always judging. Something I hated about myself, but I was truly working on not doing it any more. Why did I always seem to judge others when I knew in my heart I judged myself even more harshly?

Christianity I always told myself. It was all about judgment. Maybe that was one of the reasons I had never gone back to church after I left home.

“As it turned out, I couldn’t keep seeing both of them,” I heard him say as I was shaken from my own private hell I carried around with me. “I was finally in so much pain I had to tell her. She was devastated. She had no idea. I’ll never forget that day as long as I live. After I told her, I wanted to hold her and tell her how sorry I was and how much I loved her, but she got in the car and peeled rubber getting out of the driveway. She went over to live with her sister. She wouldn’t even talk to me.”

“You should be glad it wasn’t me. I would have just shot you in the balls and let you rot in the front yard,” I remarked, thinking proudly to myself what a nice Christian thing that was to have said.

I could tell how incredibly sad he was about the situation and even though I didn’t really understand the dynamics of his relationship, I still felt a comradeship with him. My situation had been nowhere nearly as dramatic, but there was no doubt the end result had been the same for both he and I. We realized we would spend the rest of our lives loving men. Whether we wanted to or not. And right now, I wanted to love him more than I had ever loved any human being in my entire life.

Because he had shown such vulnerability and had cut through his bullshit act of bravado, I felt much closer to him. I won’t say I fully understood the emotions I felt, but I knew I wanted to spend time to get to know him better. Whether it would or could involve sex now that I knew we shared the same guilt and vulnerability, I really didn’t know. That thought really confused me. For some reason, I really didn’t want to know him too well before I plumbed the absolute depths of his physical and emotional being.

What I did know was I was physically attracted to him, and somehow, since we now shared this common bond of love for our wives, he seemed even more desirable to me than he had before when lust had almost overcome both of us. I didn’t feel nearly as threatened by him and since he had stopped his predatory act. I felt we definitely had possibilities.

“How long were you married?” I asked as tenderly as possible.

“Seven years. You?”

“Ten...well, actually, we’ve been married eight years, but we were together for ten.”

Then, he brightened a bit “Living in sin for two years, huh? What did your Mormon folks think about that?”

“I told you I wasn’t Mormon. I’m Methodist. My dad’s a Methodist minister. I come from this ministerial dynasty that goes back generations."

“Well, that explains a lot.”

“What?” I asked suspiciously.

“Why you’re so up tight about sex and all,” he said, realizing he should tread carefully on this subject.

“I’m not uptight about sex at all,” I said more than just a little defensively. “I’m just nervous about being in a gay bar. I don’t exactly know how I feel about all this. I don’t even know if I’m gay or not.”

His eyeballs began to roll seductively, his brow furrowed, his eyes squinted and a huge devilish grin spread across his handsome face. “Trust me, you are,” he laughed delightfully and smooched the air loudly, as if sending me a big kiss.

“Well, screw you! Are we going to get into another conversation where we’re constantly picking at one another?” I asked, starting another slow burn.

“I’m sorry,” he said genuinely. “I just see a lot of myself in you. I see the hunger. The curiosity. The sexual frustration. Ed, you really need to get laid by a man, BAD!”

“And you figure you’re the man to do it?” I said, feeling that I was perhaps a little too genuinely interested in his response.

“Yes, I do, because I know you want to make love to me. Not just have sex,” he said tenderly.

“Oh brother, now you’re a mind reader! Why would I want to make love to you? I don’t even KNOW you,” I said, not meaning a word that had just come out of my mouth.

“I can feel the vibes. And I want you, too. Now. Right here. On the floor. In front of everybody,” his eyes narrowed to slits as he looked into my eyes as the coals from his soul briefly seared my brain -- which was again telling me to run like hell.

But, of course, I stayed.

“Now THAT’S what I call romantic. Here? In front of all these guys? You want me to fuck you right here? Give me a break, Casanova. I think you’re a little confused. One minute you talk to me like some matinee movie idol and the next, you act like some rutting barnyard animal,” I said, embarassed that I felt a severe tightening in my slacks around my lower abdomen.

“That’s what man-to-man sex is all about, Ed. It’s a curious mixture of love, romance and raw animal lust. That’s what makes it so powerful.” And the heat in my groin kept growing.

Finally, feeling unbelievably nervous, I looked at my watch, seeing it was 7:45 p.m. and said “I can’t believe it. It’s dinner time and I’m starving. Would you like to get a bite to eat?”

“I’d love to--”

“Good, what do you want...other than a big German sausage?” I asked boldly, proud of myself for my temporary rush of sluttishness.

“Really, I’d love to, but I can’t. I came over to see David, the bartender. He gets off work in a few minutes. We’re going out together,” he said somewhat sheepishly, checking for my immediate reaction.

Almost instantly, I felt a strange fury come over me. What had we been doing all this time? Why had we been dancing this sexual tango? Did it really not mean anything? I was hurt. And furious. And more than ready to leave.

I tried to cover up how I felt, which was something I had gotten really good at over the years, but for some reason, I found myself faintly jealous, something I don’t think that I had ever consciously felt before.

“Well,” I said, “I respect you for carrying through with your plans. I guess a lot of guys would have just gone ahead and done whatever they wanted. I would certainly never want to be left high and dry,” I said, wanting to club myself for making such a big deal out of the simple fact he already had plans.

I did, however, sneak a look at David, the bartender, who was cheerfully chatting up one of the customers, Mr. Big No-Neck Monster as it just so happened, who was ignoring David and leering at me lasciviously, quite literally licking his lips in the reflection in the large mirror behind the bar. Not wanting the Phantom of the Pissoir to think I had reconsidered his offer, I immediately lowered my gaze and looked over at Perk, who had this look on his face telling me he knew I had been checking out the bartender to see what my competition was like.

While David had a very nice face and a friendly, engaging manner, he seemed exceedingly short, slightly balding and not particularly well built. I knew that if physical attributes counted for anything with Perk that I had David beat thumbs down. Then again, I had very little confidence and even less experience with this man-to-man thing. So what did I know?

Shuffling uncomfortably, trying to figure out how to get myself out of this terribly embarrassing situation, I said, “Well, I better be going. I have a very early booking tomorrow morning and I don’t need to have bags under my eyes.” I looked at my watch again and was horrified to see it was only 7:49 p.m. Barely three minutes later than the last time I had looked.

“Oh, it IS early, isn’t it?” I said, trying to cover my ineptness. “Then maybe I should take you up on your suggestion and wander up the street to Uncle Charlie's,” I remarked, with just a bit more of a threatening tone than I would have liked.

“Hmmmm...Uncle Charlie’s is down the street, Eddie,” he mumbled. “You know, it really has been great talking with you. If you’ll give me your number, I’ll call you up. And we can go out for dinner. I’d really like to do this right. Although I must admit that even a quickie in the bathroom with you would appeal to me very much right this minute.”

And then, uncontrollably, it overcame me once again, that maelstrom of the blackest of emotion, that swirling whirlpool, sucking me down into the darkest place in the ocean of my intent. “If you’re really interested in having sex with me in the toilet, Perky, don’t even bother to call. I’m sure you’d be disappointed. Perhaps I’m a bit too conventional for your taste. And don’t EVER call me Eddie again. The only person who can get by with that is my mother and I’m not even thrilled when she does it!” I said threateningly.

How does this guy get my goat so easily, I thought to myself. He just makes fairly civil conversation and I take everything he says to heart and I want to fight him at every turn. Perhaps it’s because my attraction to him is so strong I can almost taste it. Or taste him. Which is what I really wanted to do.

If I could have been just a LITTLE more honest with myself, and if I could have broken out of the stranglehold of what’s proper and what’s not, I would have pulled that one hook from that one metal button which was all that was holding his his up his clothing and I would have let the overalls drop to his ankles. I would have spit on my dick and given him exactly what I knew he wanted. I needed him in the worst way. He needed me just as much. And I would have done it right there in the bar in front of everyone. Because while my experience with men was virtually non-existent, I somehow knew instinctively I wanted everyone in that bar to know that he was my prey...and my mate....and I wanted all of them to see me mark him as mine. Forever.

“I’m sorry, Ed. I didn’t mean to be disrespectful,” he said, waking me from my thoughts. “I really do want to see you. All of you. Soon. And...I think it would be a good idea for you to go down to Uncle Charlie's and check the place out. I can guarantee you won’t find anyone who comes anywhere near as close to turning you on as much as I do,” he said flatly.

Jesus, this guy is either so egotistical or else just so terribly self confident. I’m not sure whether I even like him, I thought.

Perk and I walked to the main bar together to get paper and a pencil to trade numbers and addresses. I thought I saw him give David a bit of a sheepish, quizzical look as if saying, “Well, what do you want?”

Strangely, I shook his hand, and as I turned to leave, trying to make as graceful an exit as humanly possible, I felt a tap on my shoulder. I turned around and Perk grabbed me in his arms and kissed me with an endearing tenderness I’d never known.

“Goodnight, Eddie,” he said grinning from ear to ear, “you’ll be hearing from me real soon!” And the door slammed behind me as I stumbled in a befuddled swoon out onto Manhattan’s Second Avenue in the frosty October air.

__________________________________________________________
©1999 Edward Ditterline and Lionfish Entertainment
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright
Conventions. This work of intellectual property may not be copied, duplicated
or disseminated in any form whatsoever other than to be used in conjunction
with the Tribute to John D. Perkins at the website of the KEY WEST AIDS
MEMORIAL.
__________________________________________________________