Date: Sun, 29 Aug 1999 09:08:35 EDT
From: Wilson583@aol.com
Subject: Adventure part two m/m vanilla

                         Adventure - part two

At five minutes before three I was sitting at the bar having
a beer thinking of this new adventure.  I hoped Mr Davis liked
me, but I knew I could get along with anybody.

Though the bar was all glass, facing the river, it was dark and
subdued.  The windows must have been tinted to cut the glare.
Typical of New Orleans, it was cloudy and threatening rain.
Every once in a while I could see a flash of lightning and a
rumble of thunder.  The storm must be far away, but I knew it was
approaching the city.  The somber atmosphere gave a warm and
comfortable feeling to the room.  No matter how violent the
elements outside, here it was calm and peaceful.

I sipped my beer, loving the fact that I could sit here in this
bar and enjoy it.

"Danny, I'm Mike Davis," he said in a low voice, tapping me
on the shoulder.

I turned around.  "Oh my God!"  I cried involuntarily, "Oh,
oh Jesus!"

He was taller than I would have thought, and sitting on a
stool at the bar I had to look up to him to see his face.
I scrambled off the stool and stood facing him.  He was not a
foot away from me.  A pleasant smile was on his handsome face
and I felt a great surge of power rush through my body, and
localize in my loins.

He put his head back and laughed outright at my confusion, "You
didn't know it was me?  How's that for ego building.  I thought
everyone in the hotel knew who Mike Davis was," and the twinkle
in his black eyes settled me down a bit.

He reached to my elbow, "Come, let's sit over there at that
table where we can talk and watch the storm."  A certain
pensiveness came over him and his penetrating eyes seemed to
unfocus a little.  "I'm going to miss the storms of New Orleans
I love their violence and fury, don't you?  Quite different
from the silent creeping fog of Frisco.  Like cats feet.  Isn't
that what they say?"

"Carl Sandburg," I said as he piloted me across the room.  "It's
one of his poems."

He looked at me with new interest.  "So the boy's a scholar
too," and in a louder commanding voice, he pointed to the end
of the table by the window.  "Sit over there so you can look
at the river and the Long Bridge.  I'd like to sit here so I can
see the city.  It's the last time for a while.  I know Frisco
is an exciting town, beautiful too.  I've been there many times
and I love it, but I love New Orleans more.  It has a sad
quality about it.  A certain lonesomeness like it's an
orphan or something.  A city that is just existing, not
vibrant and rich.  I almost feel disloyal leaving it."
He sighed a deep sigh.

I felt comfortable with him, listening to his meandering
talk, but a certain shyness crept over me that seemed to
inhibit conversation.  I simply did not know what to say.
I was dumbfounded by the fact that here, sitting at this
table with me, was the man who sang so beautifully last
night.  Who showed everyone in the room, so casually, his
body in all its' natural spendor.  With candor and delight he
revealed himself.  There was no shyness in him, and certainly
no shame or embarrassment.  There was no obscenity or lewdness
or licentiousness.  He simply sang of gay love and accented
his song offering his erect cock to those of us who wanted
it.  The only disconcerting part of his performance was that
standing there, naked, he seemed to be singing to me.

"Yes," he continued,  "Frisco is a gay town.  I think all
the gays have moved there.  New Orleans is Queersville, with
travestites and misfits and degenerates, but there's an
excitement here.  I'll bet there are more dungeons with
chains and candles in New Orleans than you'd ever find in San
Francisco."

I appreciated the fact that he maintained the conversation.
I was still tongue-tied, and all sensible thoughts fled like
a flock of birds.  As he spoke, and we watched the approaching
storm, I looked at him and marvelled at his beauty.

He was simply dressed.  A blouse-type shirt, cream
colored and open to the navel, tucked into loose fitting
slacks which were held up by an elastic belt.  They were
pale blue and blended well with the blouse.  He wore
topsiders and no socks.  A very simple costume and an
effeminate one, considering the silk fabric and the pastel
colors, but somehow, combined with his self-assured posture
and carriage, they accented his maleness.  Here was one who
was in control.  He smiled as he talked and his dark eyes
twinkled.

His face was handsome with definite lines and planes,
sharp, angular features.  He had not shaved, so there was a
stubble of a days growth spread over his face.  His black
hair seemed to be uncombed, but I realized it was meant to be
that way, tumbling over his forehead, his ears and down
his neck.  His lips were full, and when he smiled, which was
often, they revealed teeth that were so white and even, that
I concluded they must be capped.

He was a hairy man.  The black hirsute forest climbed up
his neck and crawled across his broad chest.  The shirt was
not open enough for me to see his nipples, but the impression
of them was clearly visible on the silk fabric.  They
resembled two large inverted dimples.  Looking at him and
listening to him excited me, blood rushing to my loins.

"But that's enough of Frisco and New Orleans.  What about
you?  Tell me, who are you and where do you come from?  Why
are you here?"

There was a loud roar of thunder as the storm arrived and
the rain pelted the window.  He pushed his chair back a little
and rested his hands in his crotch.  A boyish excitement
flashed over his face.

"Golly, I do love a New Orleans storm."  He stood up moving
to the window, and the soft material of his jeans hugged a
growing basket.  He touched my hand, just briefly though, and
then sat down looking at me with expectation.  It was my turn
to talk.

I told him about Tulane, looking for a school to go to, an
excuse to get by myself for a while, to sort things out, to
figure what kind of life I was to live, what life I was meant
to live.  His affable manner, pleasant and interested, seemed
to cause me to open up the dam and let words flow that I had
never spoken before.  A catharsis that tumbled out of a vessel
that had been capped shut too long.

"Yes," I concluded, "I know now that I'm gay, a homo, queer,
faggot, whatever you want to call it, that's me.  And I like
the thought of it.  I don't know what comes next, but whatever
it is, I'm going to jump in with both feet.  This is me and
it's my life and I'm going to live it in the way I'm meant to
live it."

I fell back into my seat and reached for my beer.  My hand
shook with emotion as I put the glass to my lips.  He said
nothing.  Just looked at me through his heavy dark lashes,
his eyes closed, and he reached his hand to mine and covering
it, squeezed it with gentle pressure.

"Perhaps I can help you.  That is, help you do what you want to
do.  I'd like that.  Bring you out.  Let you live your life the
natural way, the way you're meant to live it......It's not an
easy jump you know.  All your life you've been conditioned to
the straight world and then, all of a sudden, you're forced to
make a decision that's against everything you're taught to
believe in.  Then you worry about mother and dad, and how
they'll feel about you being queer, and your brothers and
sisters, if you have any, and all the other relatives, narrow-
minded and bigoted.  Believe me, they'll be the most critical,
those aunts and uncles.  "Danny a fag?  Oh, poor Danny's mother
and dad," they say as they cluck their self-righteous tongues.
Yes Danny, we've all been there," he said quietly and with a
saddening in his voice.  "Every fucking queer in the world had
to make the choice, and God help those who make the wrong one."

Then he stood up, Well, I'm off my soapbox.  For now at least.
Just one last word, and Shakespeare's the one who said it
'to thine own self be true.'  Whatecver you do Danny, don't
live a lie."

I looked at him, square and taut, "I've made my decision,"
and pulled away,  "I'm just not sure......"

"Of what, Danny?"

"I don't know.  I'm just not totally with it yet.  Take it easy
with me, Mr Davis,  I'm going to get there, I know.  I'm just
not sure when."

"I understand, Danny, and I won't push you.  We'll have four or
five weeks together, maybe more.  You don't have to be anywhere
until September and neither do I.  Who knows, maybe we'll be at
each others throat after the first two days, but I don't think
so.  We'll have plenty of time."

As he started to go, he turned toward me, "I'd like to leave
early in the morning.  Okay?  Maybe eight or so.  I'll call you
at six to be sure you're awake."  And with one of his broad
smiles that illuminated his entire face, he turned about, and
left the bar.

I ordered one more beer and watched the storm disappear into the
east.  "Well, I'm off on another adventure, that's for sure."
And I laughed with glee at the thought of it.


to be continued

I hope you liked my story
comments appreciated

wilson583@aol.com