I was waiting for the elevator late on Saturday night when these two guys came along, good-looking, smaller one dark haired with suit to match, shiny shoes, silk Versace-looking tie, a smell of cologne. The other, dirty blonde, designer sports wear. Casual but expensive. They never looked at me, or said anything to each other. I liked the smaller one, how he stood with his legs apart, leaning back on his heels. I’m a sucker for that look, that skin, those chestnut eyes glazing over as he’d…

They got on first, the blonde pressed 7, and I pressed 4. Never saw them before. Not your usual types found here, but that drug guy lives on 7 and maybe their supply is running out.

I stood at the back of the elevator. They stood at the side.

I felt the smaller one looking at me and of course I looked back. I swear I didn’t even lick my lips.

He stared at me, then squinted.

“What the fuck are you staring at?” he rasped at me.

I nearly looked behind me.

Then he reached across and punched me, real hard, right on the side of my nose.

I fell back against the wall and then he kicked my leg, right on the kneecap, real hard, I buckled up with the pain, sank to the floor. The door opened. He reached for me and threw me out.

The doors closed and I lay there, wondering what had happened to me. I staggered to the apartment, dragging the wounded leg behind me. My face felt like a mass of pain, and when I touched my nose it was sticky and wet.

Levit was at the pc when I staggered in.

“Hey dude! Something happen to you?”

“No Levit, I’ve just had a nose job that went wrong.”

Levit, unempathic, as ever, made no reference to the fact that my nose was practically extinct.

“Who did it?”

“Some guy on the elevator.”

“Better call the cops.”

Then he turned to re-enter his favorite chat room.

“They won’t do anything about it. Just another fag getting bashed,” I fired at him and started mopping up the discharge with a tissue.

“Go across to the hospital and have it seen to,” he shouted over his shoulder.

“I’ll have to wait all night there.”

“Hold on a minute,” He always said that when someone interesting came up on his monitor.

I knew that I could be holding on for the next hour so I went into the bathroom and looked with horror in the mirror. I was in shock. A bloody mess, that’s what I was but when I started to clean off the blood the nose reappeared and looked reasonably straight on my face—just widely bruised on the right side, still very sore, and some bloody clot which I didn’t disturb. Best leave it to get some air.

I could bend the knee without too much discomfort.

Why would he jump me like that? I wasn’t even really looking at him the way I can look at guys. Did I blink and he thought I was winking at him? He might have been hallucinating from dope.

I came back into the living room and shouted to Levit

“The nose doesn’t look so bad after all, now that I cleaned it up.”

“Mmmm,” Levit distracted, obviously on to some cyber specialty.

“But it hurts like hell.”

“Oh yeah?”

“I think the knee’s okay.”

“Cool.”

I waited for him to say something else; nothing came, so I decided that the time would be better spent in sleep.

Levit and I met at Registration for George Brown College when I was starting the Culinary Management Course. He was enrolling in Sports and Events and our eyes met, ran down the bodies and then back to the eyes, his then making a lateral slide towards the cafeteria. I nodded. Finished with Reg. I followed him out and when he saw me, he went into the washroom. We made out in a cubicle, me standing on the seat, and then went and had a coffee. We were both new to Toronto, he from Woodstock, and I from Paris Ont. so we decided to get a place together. It wasn’t love at first sight or anything like that but neither of us had much money and I thought that in view of the hot introduction that Levit could be worth living with, if not for.

“As long as you don’t snore at night, “I said, pleased that I had found a possible lover and a roommate all in one swoop.

“As long as you close the toilet door and turn on the fan.” He smiled.

“No problem.”

Not too many expectations.

It worked for a while and then he started running around with other guys, and dragging them home to our one bedroom which made for some hours of interrupted sleep on the couch and I’m never at my best on the day after.

"Do we have a partnership here or not?”

“I never thought that we had...just financial saving.”

“Ok then."

The status had been clarified but I was pissed off for getting myself into such a loose arrangement. I blamed it on Paris Ont. No preparation for real life there, nothing but marriage, children and mortgages.

After that I found that I was going around singing “Free again, back to being free again,” except I’d never sing the last sad line. I knew I was far from free again. I hated to admit it but I still wanted Levit, and he didn’t want me. I hadn’t enough money to get my own place, and I wasn’t willing to risk another room mate. Besides, the apartment was good value, and in a nice spot downtown closes to all the so-called gay amenities i.e. bar, baths and a bushy park.

By the time I got my nose bashed we were pretty well silent partners. All this makes me sound like I’m a bit of a martyr, but in fact I was having a pretty good time myself. It’s hard not to live the vida loca when the place is crawling with hot looking guys. It was a candy store, and, best of all, it wasn’t Paris Ont.

I had a restless night with the pain and what the psychologists would term post traumatic emotions, and blood all over the pillow didn’t help. Levit was gone when I finally got up, and I sat brooding at the kitchen table over a coffee that I couldn’t even smell.

“I’ll find the bastard and crack his skull.” But I knew I wouldn’t. My anger and pain wouldn’t carry me that far. I’d be too chicken to even try.

But as the coffee cooled and the caffeine took effect, I resolved to at least find him, and I couldn’t understand at all why I’d want to do that. Did I want to tell him he was a maniac and get another clobbering? I didn’t think so. Maybe I could hire some hit guy. Or seek some revenge like getting him fired from whatever job he did, or report him to the police for using drugs even if I didn’t know whether he did or not? Or meet him in a bar and lead him on, playing him along to come on to me at full strength, giving him the message that I was available, and at his moment of near success turn it all around and tell him what he had done to me and to fuck off…all in the safety of a bar. Then I’d watch him slink away, eyes lowered in shame and defeat and frustration. On reflection it seemed kind of pathetic, like something from a Boy’s Own Paper…The Bully Defeated, The Schoolboy’s Revenge. But I was certain that I wanted to find him, or to see him again. I’d easily recognize him with those chestnut colored eyes, and that skin.

So when I could see past my nose a few days later, I decided to check things out. I went to see Fred the Super who owed me for more than one favor rendered. Fred, sometimes silver, but a flaming ginger this week courtesy of Just for Men, liked me a lot, so I always played on that card.

“What happened to your snout?”

“I had a brush with death.” I knew that Fred would appreciate a bit of drama.

“Well you’re too young and pretty to die.”

“Well too young anyhow, Fred. Which reminds me, do you know of two good lookers living together in the building—on the seventh floor?”

“Hunting close to home now are we?” Fred's voice was tinged with green.

“No, just interested in who they might be.”

Fred went all coquettish. “Now why would you want such young ones when the experience of age is right in front of you?”

I did my dumb number and looked over his shoulder.

“Well Fred...you know that this will be just a passing fling like all the others, and I’ll come running back to you.”

He laughed, having had his weekly flirt, and decided to attend to the matter in hand.

“One of them dirty blonde?”

“Yes.”

“Labels on everything?”

“Yeah.”

“Good looking?”

“Well…”

“That’ll be the one in 708—he moved in last week.”

“Only one then?”

“If there’s two then I don’t know about it.”

“Thanks Fred, you’re a sweetheart.”

“Yes, but unfortunately not yours,” he whined, as he closed the door on me.

Having got the information I began to wonder what to do with it. I had rethought my need to find him but seemed no nearer a reason. Was this some kind of victim/persecutor syndrome? Surely not…didn’t one have to be long term kidnapped, or whatever, to suffer from that, like Patty Hearst. And is there one or two of them up there? Do I really want to know why they attacked me? What’s it all about? stay off I told myself…looking for trouble again.

i shouldn’t have done that, shouldn’t have hit that guy on the elevator, looking for trouble in a way but then the guy kept looking at me, I must get it under control, I’ll blow it before I’m really ready, just can’t seem to stop myself, see someone like that guy and I‘m straight into it, the way he looked at me, and then acting as if he was innocent, as if I couldn’t see what was going on, it’s going to be okay, just hold on a bit longer and when the time comes, and it is all worked out I can relax, the tension is getting too much for me, affecting my concentration, thoughts getting interrupted and fall to pieces, when I go out on the street even though I look good, smart, altogether, people, certain people, not everyone, can see there is something not right about me, maybe that guy on the elevator saw that…yeah, that’s why I hit him, he could see things about me, when I went up to the apartment with the guy I met at Soldiers I felt very nervous, but I knew the guy (was he called Joe?) wouldn’t tell anyone about the beating because he wanted me for sex so badly, I didn’t ejaculate, but the guy seemed to like what I did to him, afterwards when I was dressing, I felt very tense and wondered if I should be waiting so long, if it hadn’t been for what happened on the elevator I might have...

There was no purpose in going up to the apartment to confront them as it would surely lead to another bashing when the guy would immediately I.D. me, so I decided to accidentally bump into one of them on the street. That might take months, I thought, but it wasn’t such a huge building, and I was bound to see one or the other coming or going.

I didn’t have long to wait, about a week in fact. Arriving home one evening I saw Blondie coming down the sidewalk towards me in the same Polo shirt. We both turned into the circular driveway.

“Excuse me."

I could see that he knew who I was.

“Can I talk to you?”

He looked at me suspiciously, his eyes narrowing,

“Do I know you from somewhere?”

“You should, your friend bashed me on the elevator, and you stood by, or maybe that happens every time you step on one.”

“Oh, sorry, I didn’t recognize you.”

“I had a nose then.”

He smirked.

“What do you want from me?”

His cool uncaring manner bugged me and I strayed from my initial plan.

“I’m going to press charges.”

“Well good luck, but you’ll have to find him first.”

“You were a part of it all—an accomplice,” I stayed on the legal line.

He might have been worried by the threat, for his tone softened, and looking up at the building he said.

“Why don’t you come in and have a drink?

I hesitated. He glanced at me and said. “It’s okay, he doesn’t live here. I never met him before that night.”

I followed him inside.

He asked me very politely if I would like a drink so I had a beer. The first half bottle went quickly.

I watch a lot of Cop shows so I got into it straight off.

“Are you saying that you never met the guy until that night?”

“I’ll tell you all I know about him if you agree not to mention me in any assault charge against him.”

“Okay, I won’t, but he might, if he gets caught.”

“Yeah, but I’ll risk that. He picked me up about eleven in Soldiers. I thought he was hot, and invited him back here.”

I asked him if, to his knowledge, the guy frequented there.

“And, by the way, do you know his name?”

“Frank, I think—I’m Joe.”

He paused, stared at me, as if waiting for an introduction. Not getting it, he continued.

“I don’t know if he goes there often. I never saw him there before. He seems to be a bit of a loner.”

I pushed it further, bristling.

“So you were okay about standing by while he threw the punches around.”

“I should have intervened, but I’ll be honest—I wanted him.”

“Even with blood on his hands,” I sneered.

He looked at the floor.

“Well I hope your trick met your expectations."

“He did,” he answered, and that smirk came up again.

“Fuck you,” I said, looking him straight in his baby-blues, and left, thinking later that it could have been a statement or a question.

I shouldn’t have told Levit what I was going to do. From his sprawl on the couch watching The Godfather, his all-time favorite movie, he said that I was fucking crazy.

“I think so too, but for some reason unknown to me I want to do it.”

“You don’t know what connections he might have. He could get his evil friends in the Mob to wipe you out.”

“The Mob?”

“I’ll find your head in the bed some morning,” he continued, eyes fixed on the screen.

“I’d rather be blown up in a car,” I added.

“Hmmm,” he said, throwing peanuts into his mouth.

I waited until I had grown a beard, which took about two weeks for maximum coverage, and then shaved it into a goatee and stache. Pleased with the effect I decided that the following Saturday night would bring me to Soldiers. I spent a lot of time trying to get some plan into my head of what to do if I met Frank but I couldn’t remotely think what I’d do when I met him. I wondered if he’d be dressed the same, or standing like he did when I first saw him, with his legs apart and leaning back on his heels. I was even dreaming about him. He was standing over me, his tie undone, his shirt open, smiling down at me. I reached up to him and he moved my hand away from him. Then I woke up with a hard on, feeling frustrated that the dream had ended so abruptly. Jesus, I thought, what the fuck is going on in me?

I hadn’t seen Fred the Super for a while so he did a double take when he saw me on my way through the lobby en route to Soldiers.

“Hmmm. Looking very sharp indeed, sporting new facial growth.”

“Thanks Fred, thought I might slip by without you recognizing me.”

“Not a chance kid. I could smell ya coming.”

“It’s those sex glands Fred, working overtime when I see you.”

“Yeah. If only… Mattress dancing again tonight then are we?”

“Not “we” Fred, not tonight, I’m afraid,” as I smiled my winningest smile.

“Lucky bugger whoever he may be. I hope he appreciates gourmet sex from the head chef himself.” Fred chuckled.

“In training still Fred…but some day I’ll cook you a dish you’ll never forget.”

“You know I only eat the best,” he said, as he turned, bending over to clean the glass door.

Shades completed the disguise so well that when I saw myself in the mirror over the bar I thought I was looking at someone else.

No sign of Frank. I balanced myself against the wall, beer in bottle, in that ultra-casual pose of the not interested in being picked up but please notice me. Jeans and T were right out of place, and when a beefy furry guy in well worn leather and chains clinked his way over to me I thought he might be coming to tell me there was a dress code. He was on my case straight away, but not about what I wore—I looked hot did I come here often was I from out of town he hadn’t seen me here before was I into the leather scene and what did I do. I was about to say I was in the Chef’s course at G.B but recovered quickly to say “versatile”. He said he needed a total top, tossed his head which shook his curls over his forehead, and gave me his back

“May see you around bud—have to get home to do some laundry.”

After two more beers taken at snail pace, I decided that this was not Frank’s night for Soldiers and went home to Levit and Saturday Night Live.

“Did ya find him?”

“No, he wasn’t there.”

“That’s why you’re back here alive.”

“He can’t be that much of a maniac.”

Levit concentrates on SNL, then doubles over on the settee laughing and splutters “This dude here is soooo fuckin’ weird,” adding, as he turns to pin me with what he might call his serious look. “Ya just don’t know what goes on in people’s minds.”

I considered Levit’s cliché.

Right. I didn’t even know what was going on in my own.

I went to Soldiers every Saturday night for about a month. The barman told me that guys in suits didn’t come in much, but he could have come in when he wasn’t on. I couldn’t lose the taste of what I now considered bordering on obsession, so I decided to give it one more try and then give up on it if nothing happened—besides which, keeping the stache and goatee trimmed was becoming a pain in the ass.

It was raining, a light misty rain, when I left the apartment. A white limo hissed by. The smell of wet grass and gasoline. Somewhere down the street a child was crying. I walked the few blocks to the bar feeling as if this was a kind of routine check, not much excitement to it, not much point to it.

I shook off the wet, and sat on a stool at the bar and ordered a beer. The place was filling up, getting smoky, lots of loud talk, laughing, music from the DJ, a few dancing singly. I looked around, doing my usual scan of the place. Drank a mouthful, then another, mind sharpening.

 

the drizzle misting my hair, I don’t like that, irritates me, slippery fouled streets, shoes soiled, having to step off the pavement to let those jostling laughing girls pass, I should have forced it more, made them move for me, that white limousine going by, likely someone inside idly looking out at me making some remark to a companion about me, I should walk faster, get there before the rain starts to seep through, someone might be waiting, something might happen,

 

Another lost evening, I thought, as I studied my face in the mirror, asking myself what was happening to me, the haunting need to carry all this through.

 

a lot of men here tonight, not many alone, but there’s that guy with the goatee, jeans, T, slight build, see if he’s really alone, looking around now, seems restless, he must want…haven’t seen him before, I’d have noticed, I think he’s, yes, he’s alone…

 

Then someone brushing against my arm, beside me, the smell of cologne startling me, his face in the mirror next to mine. Frank.

“I haven’t seen you in here before.” I turned to look at him feeling numbed. “I’d have noticed you.”

I thought at first he was saying he knew who I was.

I grasped the bottle to settle my shaking sweaty hands. “Well I’ve been a few times lately but normally don’t come here.”

“I haven’t been here myself for a while either. Where do you usually go?”

“Oh, places like Pintos….I’m not much into leather.”

“As you can see neither am I,” he said smiling, inviting me to look over his plain black suit and colorful tie. “It’s my Saturday night look.”

His gaze pierced me but I now had a hunch he didn’t know who I was. I began to relax a little.

“So what are we doing here then?” I asked him, surprised to find myself loosening up so much.

“Probably the same thing as you. I thought I’d drop in and see who was around, but I shouldn’t speak for you. What are you doing here?”

“Hoping to meet someone.” I said looking straight into those eyes, dark chestnut eyes, under too finely sculpted eyebrows. Hoping to meet you.

I expected him to ask me what the fuck I was staring at but he laughed and said, “So we are both in the same boat. Can I buy you another beer?”

“Sure, thanks.”

The barman was chatting at the other end of the bar so he had to walk around to get his attention, giving me time to think how to handle this, and to let my panic and excitement seep through. Why hadn’t I though about what to do? I began to feel in a trap, say the wrong thing, and give the game away. Then he was back, smiling again, the smile that was becoming familiar by now, more like baring teeth I thought. I managed to smile back.

“So have you made up your mind what kind of guy you are hoping to meet?” he asked. I reckoned that he had decided by now that he would make the next move on me.

I told him that I was hoping to meet a guy in a dark suit, colorful tie, dark hair and brown eyes.

He looked blank at first as if his mind had not yet grasped what I was telling him and then the smile broadened.

“Ah, I see it now. Hmmm. So that’s the kind of guy you like,” he said, “This could be my lucky night, that is, if the other requirements you must have can be met by me.”

I noticed his perfectly white, perfectly even teeth, and as he leaned closer to me I saw how his tongue played across his lower lip, wetting it, and how pink it seemed, how pink and white it all seemed, how I kept my eyes on it as if it might without warning dart from his mouth and injure me, but I knew that it was an invitation when he said “Or do you have other requirements?” I thought that there was a tone of impatience in his voice, there probably was. He wanted some quicker action.

“Not really. I go with the flow as long as it’s safe.”

I moved back. Things were going a bit too fast.

We were facing each other, both taking swigs from our bottles. Summing each other up. The music seemed too loud.

“You live near here then?” he asked.

“Yeah, not too far.”

“Living with someone?”

“Roommate.”

“Or lover?”

“No, used to be. Not any more.”

“That can be tricky.”

“How?”

“I guess he could still be jealous if you bring someone home.”

He was closing in, pushing hard.

He moved nearer to me. I could smell him now, not just the cologne but his body.

When I said “I don’t usually bring guys home,” he put his fingers on my forearm, tracing some idle pattern there, veins on the back of his hand showing through black hair. He looked up to gauge my response. I saw his neck pulsing, his olive skin moist. He pushed it further.

“Is he there now?”

“I think so.”

“I see.” He paused. “You’re a very sexy guy you know.” He’d have said anything to get me then. The trump card being played.

He let his hand drop to my thigh, glancing over it, as if to reassure himself of my response, and my cock, anticipating it all before my mind, stirred for him. He looked up sharply. His breath on my neck now. A rush like poppers, my blood pumping. Jesus H. Christ, I thought. I just want him. Badly.

 

i know I have him now, the hot skin , his cockhead moving to my fingers, it’s often like that, having to wait through hesitation, doubt, I can be impatient, this one is easier, trusting, naïve, a stereotype of the lamb to sacrifice, I love quick surrenders, no need to spend much more time, move now,

 

“Well what are we waiting for?” he asked me with that impatient tone returning, now shades harsher.

I wasn’t ready to leave the bar. It seemed safe, secure, people there, noise, familiarity. His hand moved to my chest, through my shirt, across my nipples, checking out the goods. Then I thought of him naked, how his skin would feel, his lips, his tongue. This is the one who assaulted me, humiliated me, threw me out of the elevator, the one that Levit says may murder me? And none of that matters now. So this is who I am. Hurt, pained, angry, intrigued, and now hot for someone who slugs me. Just keep fucking me hard and if he does it again, I’ll still want him to fuck me.

 

the thin cord in my pocket exciting me, my body heating, heart pumping, do it quickly, be careful

 

“Do you have a place?”

“I’m afraid I can’t use it tonight,” he said.

I didn’t ask him why.

The rain had stopped now, leaving shallow pools on the pavement glittering the colors of the street lights. Close to me as we walked to the crosswalk, he stopped, turned to me quickly and said “I know where we’ll go.”

I followed him. A police siren shrieked, and then dissolved into the distance. Passing through the park he took my arm and steered me into an alley way that ran behind some shops. Behind a column of waste containers he pushed me up against the wall and reached down, unbuckling me.

“Hey, isn’t this is a bit...?” I began, but he kissed me, silencing me, claiming me. Rough, biting my lips, my cheek, fumbling with the button. I unzipped him; thrust my hands into his pants. He moved my hands away quickly. I stood, hands by my side, surrendering.

 

it worked the other times, so why not here?

 

He lifted my arms over my head and held them as he pushed himself against me, forcing one of his legs between mine, holding me firm with his thighs. I moved against his cock and he moaned and then his tongue continued to search my mouth and reach to my throat. I felt he was outside passion now with a force that didn’t allow any response from me. I was just a guy in a dark alley being acted upon by someone I met not even an hour ago. I’d been in this kind of situation before—he gets his rocks off and I go home for an “I with Me” session. Fuck this, I thought.

Releasing my arms he swept my body around, as if in a routine well practiced exercise, forcing my head up against the rough brick, my arms straight by my sides. Then almost in one movement he had my jeans around my ankles. I tried to say something but he pushed my face further against the wall. I heard him undo his belt, his cock pressing, big, against my ass, into my crack. I tried to move but he was prepared and thrust his leg between mine. I felt a thin cord around my neck placed so quickly that I had no time to shout out. It tightened and I reached to my throat to try to get my fingers under it, but only my finger tips made it and then he pulled my arms away and he tightened it more. I tried to shout but no voice came out, struggled to tear at the cord thinking ridiculously of some Godfather strangling episode in a car that Levit would know about and how Levit would tell me I had fucking asked for it.

I heard the hot breath of his voice on my neck.

“I’ve waited too long for this so don’t go spoiling it.”

Then he lifted his body into mine, his cock boring, rupturing me, but that pain was nothing to me now as the cord burned and cut into my skin and he was fucking me rhythmically and rapidly, whispering, panting.

“Men being hanged ejaculate at the moment of death, their penises erect, spurting, your final spasm brings me with you, preciseness, how rough and crude sex can be, but how fine it can be when we search for ways to raise it to a…and…you will feel me…I…”

Now his voice seemed to fade and become disjointed, my head seeming to almost burst open, and from somewhere I thought that if I didn’t break now I was never going to make it. I heaved backwards as he pumped me, my knees levered off the wall, until we fell together, me on top of him, pants around our ankles. He lost control of the cord, and it loosened, ripping my neck. Reaching out to find anything through the slime and ooze of the alley I gripped what felt like a brick. He didn’t speak, he never spoke. I slammed the brick wildly in the direction of his head but I felt nothing of the impact, I heard only a dull fleshy sound. He slumped to his side. I staggered a short distance to the end of the alley, wheezing, and then had to sit down against the wall looking in the direction of Frank, wondering if he would come to life again like they always do in the movies and rush at me again. I studied the blood on my hands, for I could smell it, and thought of the night on the elevator.

Levit told me in Emergency that I was found propped up against the alley wall as if I was sleeping, and then they found Frank unconscious about ten feet away.

“There’s a cop outside. He wants to ask you some questions,” Levit informed me.

“It’s hard for me to speak,” I croaked.

“Fuck, man I told ya not to mess with those guys. You were asking for it ya know. Those guys line up to strangle people.”

“You were right Levit...should have stayed out of it.”

“So what’s your next death defying act? Niagara Fuckin Falls in a barrel?”

I raised a wan smile and whispered yes through a raw throat.

My eyes were closing but I saw the cop move past the door slowly, looking in at us. The noise of a trolley trundled by.

The conversation dwindled.

A nurse came into the room to get a thermometer.

Levit eyed him, got restless, swung his head quickly around the room, taking it in with a sweep.

“They need to get a TV here,” he said.

He saw me smiling.

“What?”

“Nothing Levit, just very happy to see you.”

 

© 2005 Steve Nugent - Contributor's Bio