Oh. Fight Cub. How could I forget to tell you about him? No forgetting was involved; like most of my intense experiences with other men, they are simply left out of this space, and kept in a special place.
But sometimes they shake out of my special bin and crop up anyway. I'm not sure what it means that FC was in my dream about the churches of Manhattan. My therapist would say that my dreams are a representation of a psyche: every part of the dream is simply a part of my self. My dad, Sah, FC, all part of me. Manhattan, me. Canada? Me. Therapist would also say that the people who I see in a dream of majesty, power, and comfort are the parts of my psyche that bring that to my life.
I met FC the second night I went to Faultline, in Los Angeles last September. The first night, you know all about. Being the creature of habit that I am, I chose to spend my last night in LA doing the thing I did the night before: hanging with my peeps. I could savor the disappointment as I got close. The second time is never as good as the first. And, lo, I was right. Even though the place was full of hot bears celebrating Labor Day, the faces were the same. My disappointment rose in my throat, my eyes fell as I scanned the room.
So I did what I usually do in these situations: I hang around for a few hours, have a couple of beers, and savor the disappointment. After all, there is nothing more satisfying than being right.
Beer drinking, even in temperate "I must drive the rental car home" LA, always causes me to pee a lot. After my second beer, I ordered a third, and took the bottle with me to the bathroom. The Faultline has one lonely bathroom stall for a bar that, even in Manhattan, has like a dozen toilets. There is always a line. I waited, trying not to drink too much beer so I didn't get tipsy or need to pee before my time in front of the toilet. Whilst waiting and not-drinking, I slid away from the crowd, having seen all the faces before, and studied posters for various must-attend parties at parties over the next few months. Porn star appearances. Special costume nights. Drink specials. No sneakers allowed this night. I was amused: gay bars are the same shit, different day, everywhere.
The person ahead of me in line went into the toilet. I shifted positions and felt a hand brush my butt. Someone behind me said "sorry man". I turned around and the person there was a face I had not seen the night before. Bearded, hairy, my height, my weight, muscular. Some kind of Latin or possibly Turkish ethnicity. Brown eyes, thinning hair, but young. And, smiling a smile as clear as the sky had been that day. Nothing under it, nothing hidden. Eye to eye. No interference in the line.
All I could think to say was "hi" and smile back. I'm a dork.
We introduced ourselves, established our respective locations in the universe, and what we were up to. I asked him why his hand was near my butt. "I have a condition...I can't help it!" We covered other topics. I played rugby and like lifting heavy weights. He does BJJ/MMA.
I said "I find it incredibly bonding to grapple with a friend."
"I agree. It's fun and like I said I'm competitive. Just a natural reaction for me." Smiling. I kept checking to see if the smile was the bullshit smile most people give you when they want to hide what they are actually feeling. But my blinking insight was giving me a direct, unfettered line to him. He was happy. His eyes glinted in the low light.
It was my turn to go to the bathroom. I opened the door and stopped in the opening. I backed up a bit and looked over at FC and nodded my head for him to come in with me. He jumped and walked in ahead of me. He had been waiting for the signal.
"I don't have to pee, I just wanted to talk to you," as he walked past me. What a dork.
"Well, I do have to pee, so you'll just have to watch." I put down my half-empty beer bottle and unzipped my drawers. He moved to be next to me. I could feel his warm, furry forearm near mine. I let it rip: I really had to go. The stream was like a tap, flowing hard, and I looked over at my friend, who had unzipped his camo shorts and was pulling out his dick. He stroked himself a little and started to pee. He leaned forward and we kissed, peeing. For those of you that haven't done this, it's really difficult to pee hard and make out at the same time. I'm always worried I'm going to pee on my shoes. Yet the tongue and lips of this hot little cub was pushing the risk of urine-soaked footwear out of my mind. He tasted like beer.
After we finished peeing (he finished first) we left our dicks out and just made out until the banging on the door got really loud. We zipped and washed. "Let's go." He might have said 'Let's take an adventure trip to the ends of the earth. You will be the navigator, I will build the camps. And, at night, we'll make up new constellations.' He kept walking, making a beeline for the door. He grabbed my hand so I could keep up in the crowd.
I said "Go where?" and I said his name. I might have said 'I love adventure trips to the ends of the earth, as long as we travel somewhere new.' We left the bar.
"My place, follow my car."