Date: Sat, 4 Jul 2015 21:49:33 +0000 (UTC)
From: Macout Mann <macoutmann@yahoo.com>
Subject: AT FIRST SIGHT 4

This is a story about a continuing relationship between two men in New York
City.  It includes explicit homosexual acts.  If you are underage or find
such material distasteful, please read no further.

If you are choosing to read the story, please let me hear from you.  Your
criticisms are really appreciated.  Write me at macoutmann@yahoo.com.

The people and events in the story are totally fictitious, but actual
locales are used to add realism.

Whether you read the story or not, please remember that nifty.org needs
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Copyright 2015 by Macout Mann.  All rights reserved.



                                    AT FIRST SIGHT

                                    by Macout Mann



                                         IV


I continue to work at Asti.  Wilbur is busy with his projects at NYU, and
he teaches one section of Basic Economics.  We often play from midnight
'til we're exhausted.  And on Monday nights we sometimes go to the opera.
Sometimes to the weekend matinee Philharmonic concerts.

I want to share my earnings from Asti with Wilbur.  He says no.  "You might
want to take some more voice lessons," he tells me.  "Put 'em in your bank
account."

Christmas comes.  I know Wilbur is an Episcopalian.  "Nobody who's not a
Whiskeypalian can live in Gross Pointe," he once teased.  "Just kidding.
More Romans there than anything else."

As I said before, I am not much for religion.  My father is a Christian who
stays away from church whenever he can.  My mom is a Southern Baptist with
a southern vengeance.  I fell away when I learned that folks like me, dudes
who like dudes, would go to hell, no questions asked.

Wilbur goes to church every Sunday, but he has never offered to take me
with him, so I am a little surprised when he offers to take me to Christmas
Midnight Mass.  "We'll go to the `Smokey Virgin,'" he says.  "It's called
that, because there's so much incense it hangs in the air all week.  It's
one of the highest churches in the country.  If you can handle it and want
to take more, maybe on Easter I'll take you to St. Bart's, where I'm a
member.  It'll seem low protestant by comparison."

The Church of St. Mary, the Virgin is on 46th Street, just off Times
Square.  Passing by at street level it doesn't really appear to be a church
at all.  Once inside it's something else.  It's about half the size of a
football field the ceiling is eight or nine stories over your head.  The
service is spectacular, despite the fact that to me it doesn't seem all
that Christmassy.

Afterward we come back to our place.  Wilbur has bought a bottle of VSOP
Cognac to celebrate the holiday with.  I have taken some of my bank
deposits and splurged on a Longines watch for him.  He relies on his cell
phone for the time, but I think guys ought to have a handsome watch.  My
dad gave me a Longines when I graduated from high school, and it's still
one of my proudest possessions.  Doesn't vary a second a year.

Wilbur gives me a gold signet ring, embossed with my initials.  "I didn't
think your folks would take to your wearing a wedding band," he laughs.

About three o'clock in the morning we hit the sack.  Fortified with just
enough brandy, we fondle each other's jewels.  That leads to serious
lovemaking.  After we have deposited our more intimate gifts in each
other's mouths and asses we drift off to sleep.

"Our first Christmas together," Wilbur whispers as we both lose
consciousness.



Miracles do happen.  Mine comes on New Year's Night.  We're not nearly as
busy as we were last night of course.  It's fairly late.  I sing my other
aria, "Largo al Factotum" from "The Barber of Seville."  In addition to the
repeated "Figaro...Figaro," it also has some spectacular Italian tongue
twisters in it, and always gets a good round of applause.

At one of my tables is a middle aged couple that I haven't paid a whole lot
of attention to.  As I am refreshing their coffees, he complements me on my
voice and asks, "Jack, can you say `Bravo, bravissimo,' three times fast?"

I manage, and he says, "Very good.  Have you ever done any Gilbert and
Sullivan?"

"No sir, I haven't."

"I have been engaged to form a new professional group that will start off
by doing Gilbert and Sullivan at the Brooklyn Academy of Music.  I haven't
found anybody who can do the patter songs.  We'll open with "Pirates of
Penzance."  Could I interest you in auditioning for the role of
Major-General Stanley?"

"Why...yes sir, I believe I would."

Ronald Maxwell gives me his card, and we arrange a meeting.  I can hardly
contain myself.  The Brooklyn Academy is one of the most important musical
venues in New York.  I can't wait to tell Wilbur.

Running through the streets of the East Village in the middle of the night
is not always wise, but I do it, arriving at St. Mark's Place in record
time.

"Break out the booze," I say.  "We've got to celebrate!"

I show Maxwell's card to Wilbur.  "American D'Oyly Carte Opera Company," it
says.

"Nothing like shooting for the stars," Wilbur proclaims.

"I just hope when I get there, the place really exists," I say.



The address turns out to be a loft building on West 23rd Street.  On the
fourth floor an office door says, "American D'Oyly Carte Opera Company,
Ronald Maxwell, Producing Artistic Director."  I knock, am admitted, and
find Mr. Maxwell and Arnold Cousins, the company's musical director and
conductor, inside.  He is about sixty, bald and a bit rotund.

They explain that the company is being initially being financed by a Wall
Street tycoon, who had loved Gilbert and Sullivan as a child and feels that
the operas deserve to be seen by a wider, younger audience.  It is the plan
to open at the Brooklyn Academy of Music's Harvey Theatre, and if the
production is successful, to later move to a midtown Manhattan theatre.
Other Gilbert and Sullivan operas will also be staged, beginning with "HMS
Pinafore" and "The Mikado."  National tours are also envisioned.  Yeah,
they're shooting for the stars, just like Wilbur had said.  They've made
arrangements with D'Oyly Carte in London to use the name and to have access
to the company's extensive archive.

I'm given the third degree about my training and experience.  Cousins, a
Brit, seems disappointed that it has been mostly collegiate.  Maxwell
points out that if I prove to be capable, I'll be less expensive than a
more experienced performer, and he adds that he was very impressed with my
performance at Asti.

We move into an adjacent loft, which will be the company's rehearsal hall.
It already has a seven foot grand piano in place.  Cousins says that he has
brought the piano score for "Largo al Factotum" and we can begin with that.
I do my damnedest, and they both seem pleased.  Although I have never done
"Pirates," I am familiar with the patter song, and sing with gusto, ending
with,

		"In matters metaphysical, both animal and mineral,
		"I am the very model of a modern Major-General."

We do it again faster, and I demonstrate that I can handle tongue-twisters
not only in Italian but in English.

Cousins then wants to test my acting ability.  I read a scene from
"Pirates" with Maxwell.  Then they set up an improv situation, which I play
out with Cousins.  I am someone who is lost, trying to get help from a guy
who is very much enjoying making my life more miserable.

They thank me and tell me they'll be in touch.



Nearly a month goes by.  I had practically forgotten that I had even
auditioned, when I get a call from Ronald Maxwell.  I will play
Major-General Stanley for a salary more than double what I am taking home
from Asti.  Rehearsals will begin in late April.

Wilbur and I celebrate, not only with champagne but with cum.

The folks at Asti are pleased at my good fortune and tell me that they will
gladly take me back, if the gig doesn't work out and they have an opening.

And Wilbur does invite me to the Easter Service at St. Bartholomew's.  It
is on Park Avenue, right next to the Waldorf.  We have brunch afterward at
Peacock Alley.