Chicago. Summer of 1980.
I was just an 18 year old kid
from the poor side of town.
I knew I was different, but
didn't know where to go to
find other people like myself.
The only queers I knew anything
about were the rich and famous
ones on television: Baby-voiced
Truman Capote. And maybe rugged
Rock Hudson (didn't he like to knit?).
So I got sick of being so lonely,
and when I heard about a gay
movie (CRUISING)
being shown at a theatre
downtown, I put on my finest jeans
and button-down shirt, and took
a bus all the way to State St.
I remember I was afraid of so many
queers in one place. It was a bit
overwhelming. And so many were
conspicuous and proud! While I'd
always felt ashamed of what I
was. And tried to hide in some
dark closet.
I don't recall much of the flick. That's
how nervous I was. And when
somebody suddenly put his large hand
on my innocent knee in the dark, I
jumped up to flee to the Men's room,
and was splashing cold water on my
face when Tom suddenly smiled at
me in the bright mirror: Thirty-something.
Long brown hair. Straight white teeth.
Dorky glasses. But with a jock's hard body.
He actually asked me if I needed a hero?
I followed him out of the theatre, and into
his car. He lived alone in an expensive
condo. After three glasses of white wine,
and a rough kiss on his couch, he suggested
I join him upstairs. In his huge bed beneath
a window of stars. I asked him if we
should at least close the curtains?
But why? He said. Then he kissed me
again, in front of the naked window. And
put my hand on his hard cock, as he
started to unbutton my impossible shirt.
And the straight world outside couldn't
stop me anymore.
Copyright © 2009 by Dylan Mitchell
