For two hours I kneel beside a car in the dark and then near dark, waiting for my boyfriend to leave his apartment. The wind is bitter and I'm cold, just like yesterday, but he's well worth the chapped hands and stinging nose. Through the curtained window I watch his shadows dance from the coffee-maker to the microwave to the small table set against the wall, imagining him sipping his beverage while pouring over his most recent copy of the Village Voice, which I'm sure is his favorite paper. When he's finally ready and walks out of the apartment, I sink lower but still get a good look at him before he turns away from me and saunters down the street.

He looks incredible, dark and brawny. I experience my usual yearning for him; that feeling deep in my groin that almost hurts but I still love how it makes me feel. The hooded sweatshirt he's wearing makes him look too sinister, but he's really very sweet. If I told him not to wear it, I'm sure he wouldn't listen to me. He never has.

I follow from a block away and almost lose him when he ducks into a smokeshop. I briefly wonder if he realizes I'm here, silently watching his every move. If he knew I was supposedly 'stalking' him, he'd laugh heartily and throw his head back, as if the joke was unbelievable, almost more than he could handle.

When Daniel leaves the shop, I enter and head to the counter. "What kind of cigarettes did that last guy buy?" I ask the clerk.

"SamPoerna's," he says, cocking an eyebrow in the form of a question at me.

"I loved the smell of them when he passed," I lie. "Give me two packs."

You'd think I'd know the brand my boyfriend smokes, but that's one of the details that makes our relationship so unique; it's what keeps him one step ahead of me.

Back on the street Daniel has already turned off on a side block. I know where he's headed, so I'm not worried. Unlike me, he's too predictable, taking the same route day after day, never once interested in what he may find on some unfamiliar path. I, on the other hand, thrive on chaos. But even if I do lose him, I could definitely find him tonight at The Lure, his favorite bar in Chelsea. He's into the leather and the natural odors thing, which I can appreciate--on him--at least.

I jog a bit and cut through Sheridan, making it to Daniel's restaurant before he does. I sit on a bench and open the SamPoerna's just as he walks by. He's so preoccupied and perhaps tunnel-visioned because of the tightly pulled sweatshirt hood, he doesn't notice me only feet away. If he had, I'm sure he'd have sat with me, lit my smoke, and talked up a storm. Daniel loves to talk, and I love to listen to all the crazy nonsense that spews from him.

But I'm glad he didn't notice me today; today I think I'll finally catch him.

Daniel is a waiter at Shiraz, a classy Australian restaurant. I know he makes good money, even though he's never told me how much. I realize it's one of the many secrets he's kept from me over the weeks.

I met him at Shiraz one night. I had just been dumped by my last boyfriend--story of my miserable life--and was feeling pretty low. I stopped in and randomly sat in his section. It was a busy Friday night and he barely had time to talk to me, except to take my order.

"What'll you have to drink," he said that night, impatiently stepping from one foot to the other. I stared up into his beautifully smooth cocoa-cream face, at his deep black eyes.

"I don't know," I said, perhaps a little flustered, noticing how solidly built he was behind his black apron. "What do you normally drink?"

"Black Opal Cab--it's a nice, fruity red wine."

"That sounds great," I said and smiled. There was something about the way he knew what I'd like that made me connect with him. After being dumped so tragically by my last boyfriend, I didn't want to jump into anything too quickly, but the more I watched him glide through his shift, expertly interacting with all his myriad customers, the more my groin ached , and I realized how perfect we were for each other. He suggested what turned out to be an incredible entree and grinned comfortably at me while discussing the menu. For hours I listened to him joke with guests at tables around me. He didn't say much more to me that night, but like I said, he was very busy. When he dropped my check, he had written in shaky, almost romantic cursive, 'Thanks, --Daniel.' That was the beginning.

Today, though, that's all changed. I wait several hours outside Shiraz for him to finish his lunch shift. The SamPoernas he made me buy are cloves, which I've never liked. But if Daniel likes them, they can't be that bad. By the time he leaves the restaurant, I've finished the first pack.

I watch him stand by Shiraz' door talking to another server. They stand close, closer than is natural unless they're fucking. Then they both walk north together, away from me. That bastard!

I discreetly follow them, carefully watching for signs of attraction. The other waiter is smaller, compact, blonde with short hair and two small-gauge loop earrings; and he's just as handsome as my Daniel. I can see why Daniel might think he's attractive. They laugh and when the guy casually places his arm around Daniel and squeezes his shoulder, I almost lurch forward and jump in between. But the time is not right.

At 21st they turn toward the river, stopping at a patch of green with bushes and trees surrounded by large open warehouses. It's not really a park, more of an overgrown lot, and it's strategically deserted, as they must have known it would be. I have now been reduced to standing behind emaciated trees and graffitied light poles to continue my surveillance undetected. It's degrading.

They sit next to some bushes and I watch them kiss. Daniel closes his eyes and they wrap their arms around each other tightly. By now I'm on my elbows, laying flat next to wooden pallets, watching from as close as possible. Daniel always had good taste and this boy is no exception. The boy is passionate as he kisses, his eyes closed and lips eager, like he'd been impatiently waiting all shift to press them against Daniel. They squeeze each other and the boy slides his hand down Daniel's tight jeans. Daniel stops him and quickly looks around the lot. I duck so my head is resting on shards of shattered concrete. Seconds later the two are at it again, petting and kissing.

I aimlessly wander the streets minutes later, dazed and saddened. I put a lot of time into the relationship. I spent weeks doting on Daniel, putting his needs above mine, and before I knew it, I was in love. Again. Obviously he doesn't feel the same way. I figured he was cheating on me, but I had to find out for sure, and with whom, all the while hoping I was wrong. I'm usually correct when I feel my relationships are fading away; it's happened too many time to count.

I absently find myself near Daniel's apartment and decide to go in. The sign for the building manager points me up to the second floor.

"I'm moving in today, and I haven't gotten a key from my roommate yet," I tell the older man who answers the door.

He eyes me suspiciously but when I tell him the apartment number, he smiles. "Oh, you're moving in with Dan," he says.

"Daniel," I correct.

"You must be Dan's boyfriend," he says, lowering his voice just a tad, like he was used to telling secrets properly.

"Yes, I sure am. Do you have an extra key?"

Once inside Daniel's apartment, I am immediately struck by his smell: the overall aroma of his belongings, his living space, his air. The scent is what a rugged man smells like sans colognes and deodorants. Daniel's two rooms carry the slightly musty, racy-masculine scent of a man who works hard all day and night, then likes to relax naked, allowing his natural body odors to permeate into the cloth cushions on his couch. His odor instantly excites me, like flipping a light switch to my inner yearnings. I love him more than I can describe to you.

His apartment isn't very clean, a detail I'd have taken care of nicely if he'd let me. CDs are strewn everywhere, on top of their cases or loosely on the carpet. I recognize a few CDs I must have lent him, so I slip them into my jacket pocket. It's the least he owes me!

In his bedroom, Daniel's laundry lay in a pile by the closet. I want more of him, more than simply the air he breathes, so I uncover a pair of his briefs in the laundry, complete with yellow drip stains in the front. The briefs remind me of what I imagine Daniel smells like laying with me in bed; briefs he wore the night before while he ran around Shiraz taking orders, delivering food and clearing dirty plates, sweat dripping along his spine during the frenzy of his evening. I sniff the crotch, the ass, and leave the pair over my head, continually inhaling his raunchy odors with each breath. The more I inhale him, the more I ache to be with him, to rub my nose into the moist hairs of his armpit and lick away the sweat around his anus produced by our lovemaking.

I find myself stroking my now adamantine cock with one hand, while rummaging through his dresser with the other. In the top drawer I find lube and a jelly-like cockring. Looking through the leghole in his briefs wrapped around my head, I manage to slide the cockring onto my dick and around my balls. Pain shoots deep into my groin as I adjust the cockring, but I like the pain. I squeeze my balls like I imagine Daniel does to his new Boy, and fall onto the unmade bed, incredible pain searing deep inside me. Pain feels incredible when you can barely stand it.

I think about the two of them naked together in the bed and I squeeze harder. Daniel dominates, of course, while Blondie readily receives, perhaps his legs flipped over his head right where I lay. Daniel caresses his buttocks, preparing to penetrate with his tongue, as he'd done to me numerous times, pulling me into him and forcing his tongue into my ass. Then Daniel is on top of me, mercilessly, painfully ramming me, covering my mouth against involuntary screams. I never yell out, though, realizing how much I enjoy being ravaged by my Lover, no matter how much he hurts me.

I'm still squeezing my balls with a tight fist. Through the pain I see only shimmering waves of light, like looking across a pool from water level. I manage to stand and cum wildly onto Daniel's pillow and a little on the wall next to his bed, his smelly briefs filling my nostrils with his acrid anal stench. When I'm done, I collapse onto his pillow, my body shaking. Tears stream from my eyes like a religious epiphany before God herself. My gonads are tender when I move and the warm, unnerving sensation of blood rolls along my thigh from my ballsack. Fuck Daniel for betraying me!

What could have been an hour later, I slide off the bed and button my jeans.

The SamPoerna's are strong and I'm dizzy sitting in the cold outside Shiraz. Daniel and Blondie haven't returned yet and it's almost time for Daniel's dinner shift. I probably know his schedule better than he does. When they turn the corner a block away, I quickly step into the shadows along the building; now is not the time to be seen. They kiss openly at Shiraz' back entrance as other waiters shuffle past. Apparently I'm the last one to find out he's moved onto new territory. Typical for me. If I didn't love Daniel so intensely, I'd never tolerate how he treats me.

Blondie isn't working tonight and after they share a sickening embrace, he shuffles down the street. I follow. From behind, his large earring hoops wag back and forth with the movement of his ass, like he's grooving to his own inaudible show tune. I'd never been into blondes, but Daniel's attraction to Blondie is infectious and I find myself revising my plans with every choreographed step he takes. He enters a cruisy cafe I used to frequent when I was single. The food is horrible, but there's always cute boys engaged in staring contests. I finish a cig out front before going in.

"Ted," he says, extending his hand.

"Hi Ted." I shake, enjoying his firm grip and hazel eyes that don't leave my face. He had been staring at me since I entered the diner. At first I thought Daniel told him all about me, and he recognized his romantic rival. But Daniel must have fallen out of love with me so quickly, I wasn't important enough for him to mention. Fuck him.

"I know you from someplace," I say, feigning deep thought. "I think I've seen you at some restaurant. Where do you work?"

Ted straightens and involuntarily raises his blonde eyebrows. "Chianti's," he lies, "I've been there for years. Do you like that place?"

"Yeah. They have good food." I stare back at him and smile, and he pulls himself closer. The waiter wanders to the table but Ted waves him past, like eating food isn't high on his list just now.

Ted is built, and beautiful to behold. I find my anger at Daniel for betraying me ebbing away as Ted and I talk. He has charming dimples when he smiles and I can imagine the stubbly beginnings of his goatee rubbing fiercely against my cheeks. He doesn't take his eyes off me and I'm sure he can tell how much my groin aches for him. I could really fall for this guy.

We never order. Twenty minutes later we're undressing in his midtown apartment. The studio is barely big enough for a bed and hotplate surrounded by messy crates with smelly clothes. Ted's body is as I thought it would be: compact and tight, his chest glistens with a shiny blonde valley between firm pecs that extends to his belly and then disappears seductively into his pants.

I'd planned to mess with Ted, to either humiliate or hurt him, but immediately he's on top of me, forcing his tongue down my throat and his hand into my jeans. The familiar tingling sensation in my groin forces me to reassess my intentions. I don't close my eyes, instead I watch the passion play across his face as he kisses me, alternately rubbing his hips against mine while exploring my face with his tongue. We wrangle my jeans to my ankles and I find myself on my back, as usual, awaiting the pleasurous pain I know will endear Ted to me forever. Ted quickly maneuvers himself inside me and I involuntarily call out as someone shuffles by outside the apartment door. Ted panics, swinging around to make sure the door is closed and locked. By his reaction, I imagine he's often worried about getting caught. I pull his legs closer, and him further into me, and kiss his lips, so he continues thrusting. While he pounds into me, I'm lost in Ted's hazel eyes, intent gaze and bobbing earring hoops, imagining us together holding hands along West Village streets or smiling at each other over untouched food at our favorite restaurant. Minutes later Ted quickly pulls out and rolls off of me and comes in a spectacular stream onto my chest. Then he slides to me and grabs my penis as I come partially onto my chest and the rest on his bed.

"I'm moving down to the Village any day now," Ted says in an effort to explain the cramped apartment as we search for underwear and socks. "This place is too small."

"Will you be living by yourself?" I ask, imagining us together in a bigger place with an attentive doorman and a small dog.

"No, I'm going to have a roommate."

I suddenly realize who he's talking about and feel the need to be somewhere else. I button up and we leave the apartment.

On the street I light a cig and offer one to him. He examines it for a moment and then furrows his soft blonde brows as if remembering something important. "A friend of mine smokes these," he says absently.

I smile. "I got them from a guy who picked me up last weekend," I say, carefully watching his face. "I think he works at some restaurant called Shangri-La, or something like that."

"Shiraz?!" Ted says, staring up at me quickly.

"Yeah, that's it. Do you know it?"

He unconsciously takes a stagger-step away from me as if knocked along-side his head by a semi-powerful force. "Yeah," he says, "I know it."

It's cruel to play with him in this way, but I've grown to like him. I stare adoringly at his handsome face as I remember his stubbly goatee whiskers scratching against my cheek and chest. I ask, "When can I see you again?"

Ted is suddenly different: cagey, uncomfortable. He leans against the building door and half turns as if ready to go back in. "Um, come to Chianti's," he says, distracted. "I'm always working there."

Now it's my turn to feel uncomfortable. Ted has lied to me from the beginning; that's no way to begin a healthy relationship. Fighting emerging tears and the powerful urge to kiss him again before walking away, I say, "Yeah, I'll see you there. Bye." And I leave.

I walk the streets for hours in pain. My head hurts as I fight back a simmering fury from erupting. Daniel and Ted, two people I could have trusted, could have loved, have betrayed me, just like all my other boyfriends. I find myself in parts of the city that normally unnerve me, but today I want the fear. I want to be robbed, attacked, beaten, raped. I want to feel violently humiliated to somehow lessen the pain they've caused me.

I have conversations with myself where I try to rationally explain away the behaviors of others. But then the part of me that constantly gets hurt asserts how people are all so selfish, only caring about themselves, and I get angry. Then something inside me feels the need to explode and I find myself in bad situations. The more I think about Ted and Daniel, the more I feel the need to finally do something about it. I need to confront them.

Again I find myself waiting in the bitter cold, half hidden between two parked cars, staring at Daniel's dark, lifeless apartment. I know they are at The Lure. I'm not wearing any leather so I probably couldn't get in, except since I've been stalking Daniel, I haven't showered for a several days, so I might have had some chance at the door; but I can't stomach the place right now. The fierce wind cuts through me as if I am covered in nothing but thin paper. As I sit in the frigid darkness, I begin to hate Daniel and Ted more than ever. I keep telling myself that they're better off with each other, that I don't need a cheating, lying boyfriend to make me happy, but I love them so much!

What must have been past 1am, I catch them stumbling down the street holding each other as they pass into my view. They don't seem as drunk as they are cold, grasping each other for warmth against the sharp wind cutting into Ted's open leather vest and into Daniel's thin sweatshirt pulled tightly over his face. I stand, feeling my almost frozen legs snap as the joints do their thing, and light a SamPoerna as I walk toward them.

Ted sees me first and his recognition and reaction are instant: he stops and turns his head so I don't see his face, like a child who thinks they can't be seen if they can't see you.

"Hi, Daniel," I say, blocking them on the sidewalk.

Daniel stands for an unsure moment staring at me like he isn't sure what language I had spoken. He pretends not to recognize me, but that is for Ted's obvious benefit.

"I haven't seen you for a bit," I say. "That's no way to treat your boyfriend!" Outwardly I am calm, but inside I'm about to explode.

Daniel squints at me, still acting confused, like he doesn't know who I am.

"He's your boyfriend?!" Ted says, having regained his composure.

"No! I've never seen...wait...I know you!" He turns to Ted. "That's the freaky guy I told you about who sat by himself at Shiraz a few weeks ago, ordered everything I suggested and then stared at me for another two hours before finally leaving! He totally weirded me out! I had Oscar check the alley to make sure the psycho hadn't waited for me after the shift!"

Ted looked unsure.

"You've got to believe me, Sam," Daniel says. "The guy's a nutcase."

"You're name's Sam?" I ask, dumbfounded. "You told me your name was Ted."

Sam recoils and his compact frame seems to melt into a shell of his former mass. He looks sheepishly at Daniel as if he's just been a bad boy in need of punishment.

"How do you know this guy?" Daniel asks Sam, while pointing at me.

I smile and say quickly, "Oh, 'Sam' and I have been around. We used to date." Of course it isn't true, but Sam's expression is priceless.

"Oh fuck you!" Sam says, his cold red face deepening in color. He regains some fortitude and steps toward me, barreling his chest outward like a pack leader defending the female gorillas. Daniel steps between us.

"When did you know HIM?!" Daniel yells at Sam.

Sam shakes his head and mumbles something unintelligible about me smoking SamPoerna's, and that Daniel hasn't been faithful either.

Daniel furrows his brows, like I've imagined seeing him do a hundred times before, and glares at Sam. "You fucked him, didn't you?"

"Don't listen to anything he says, Dan," Sam stammers.

They're fighting with each other and I love it. I step back and watch the intensity play across their wind-bruised faces as they yell at each other. Even though they are both liars and cheats, I can't decide who I want more; maybe both of them at the same. My groin is on fire!

Finally Daniel turns to me. "Listen, psycho, leave us the fuck alone! You're obviously not right in your head." He steps toward the apartment, Sam quickly following like a sycophantic employee to a boss.

My stomach heaves--this isn't the way it is supposed to happen! I thought Daniel would have been a nicer person, but he turns out to be an asshole, just like all the others. And Sam turns out to be a weak-minded loser who hadn't even told me his real name.

I sit in my usual spot and stare as the light in Daniel's apartment springs to life. Daniel's large shadowy frame is acutely animated as he violently yells at Sam behind the curtain. I walk close enough so I can hear the shouts, but not the words. Soon Daniel is silent and to my surprise they are hugging, their combined body forming a grotesque shape engulfing the window frame. Then they kiss.

I imagine Sam's smooth naked body will soon be pressed against Daniel's, as they grope their way onto the clothes-littered floor. I can smell the raciness of Daniel's bedroom, the manly scents that permeate clothing and nostrils as soon as they enter. The light in the apartment snaps off.

My groin throbs. I can't get Daniel and Sam out of my pounding head. I love Daniel, love them both and I can't express it any other way.

"Daniel, I love you," I say, mostly to myself.

"DANIEL!" I hear, loudly this time, coming from deep inside me.

"DAAAAANIIIIIIEEEELLL!!!! DAAAAANNIIIIEEELL!!! I fuckin LOVE YOU!!! I fuckin LOVE you!!"

The sounds are much louder. I hear the intent, almost maniacal screams of, "Daniel, I fuckin love you!!' coming at me from all sides, assaulting me like too loud music at a rock concert. The cries resonate, each part of Daniel's name drawn out to its most basic component.

The apartment lights flick back on, along with lights next to his apartment, and lights from the floors above. It seems the whole building is suddenly alive as the thunderous sounds of 'Daniel, I fuckin love you!' loudly resonate off the brick facade of the building.

"Daniel I fuckin love you!!!" is all I hear now, masking the now silent sounds of the bitter wind and the cars and any other night noise, except approaching sirens. There is no other sound, no thought in the world except the fact that I love Daniel. Then there is nothing.

I'm on my back and tons of people with crazed, distorted faces encircle me. The people stare at me curiously, but I sense fear behind their late-night masks. On one side the building manager is staring down at me, next to strong men in uniforms.

"He's the boyfriend of a guy in 1B," I hear the manager say. "I bet they broke up," he whispers to the men, but the words don't register to me.

I look around and see Daniel at the edge of a growing, dumbfaced crowd. I still hear, "I fuckin love you Daniel," but now I realize it's just in my head, like the continuing echo in a vast but empty canyon. Daniel looks away from me, partly from shame, partly from fear, and walks back into the building with Ted/Sam in tow.

It's finally over between us.

I feel movement as the stretcher is lifted into an awaiting ambulance; I briefly wonder who it's for, but then remember the other times I'd been on a stretcher, carried helplessly away. I try to move my arms but can't. At first I think my arms must be frozen from my seven-day stakeout, but then I see the tight straps. A tall medic enters the ambulance and sits next to me, then the doors slam shut.

"How's it going?" he asks, smiling.

I don't answer. "Daniel, I fuckin love you!" still reverberates in my tired head like a dusty CD skipping to the same line over and over, pushing out any other thoughts or sounds.

"Had a rough night?" the medic says, and places his warm, comforting hand against my neck feeling for a pulse. I look up at him for the first time. He's handsome, young and stares at me like we've known each other for years. He's got a bunch of cute freckles that canvass the top of his nose like a barely-pubescent teenager. The relentless repeating phrase concerning Daniel fades away as I look into the medic's eyes. The badge attached to the pocket of his tight uniform proclaims what ambulance company he works for, and his name: Rodney.

I stare up at Rodney as the piercing wail of the siren cuts through the early morning cold and we cruise along the avenues.

 

©2002 Christopher Lucas - Contributor's Bio