Alexander and Rob Pt. 02
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We found the red VW out in the parking lot, back in the rows where Management wanted the employees to park. I loosened my tie, and then untied the half-Windsor knot and yanked it from my shirt it.
“Too hot for work clothes,” I said. “I wish I had brought something to change into.”
Alexander looked at me, nodding in agreement and shrugged off his sport jacket. We stood on both sides of the car, doors open, letting the evening breeze blow the heat out of the little red car. He folded his jacket neatly and removed his tie and placed them in the backseat. He unbuttoned the sleeves of his dress shirt and rolled them up twice with careful precision. He unbuttoned his collar and two more below it, tugging the shirt so it bloused and hung as though that was the way it was supposed to look all the time.
“It’s just a question of attitude,” He smiled. He pointed at the jug of home-made wine on the floor behind the driver’s seat. “What is that?”
“It’s wine my old man makes. He puts down fifty gallons every year. He puts it in any container he can, and he never can keep it organized. It is like a big likker lending library for me, and I always put one in the car in the morning if I am thinking about taking in a movie after work.”
“Is it any good?”
“Well, it is California concentrate and Illinois Concord grapes. It is a little sweet, but it seems to work.” He looked a little doubtful, and I realized Alexander was a man of taste. I should have had Korbel Champagne. “We’ll get ice and some cups at the drive-in,” I said. “This may be the Midwest, but trust me, it will be fine.”
I got the feeling that homemade wine in paper cups was something he made a point of not doing. I completed my comfort conversion by undoing the formality of my work clothes just as Alexander had done. We climbed into the car and I turned the key, fired up the little four-banger engine and turned on the radio.
“Pick any station you want,” I said. “Not that there is much to pick from. You can get both kinds of music here. Country AND Western.”
Alexander laughed. “Yeah, I get WLS from home at night when they clear the crap off the air at sundown and go clear-channel. It makes me homesick.”
“Me too. The Big City tugs at me sometimes. I can’t wait to get out of here and go to college this fall.”
We drove in silence with the tinny music from the speaker in the middle of the dashboard. It was not far from sundown now. I was suddenly aware of how close we were sitting in the front seat of the little VW. The failing light bathed his fair café au lait skin and brought out light highlights in his tight curly hair. I reached down to the great shift and brushed his arm as he was reaching for the buttons on the radio.
The touch was electric. For me anyway, though he seemed unconcerned. I wondered if I would have the nerve to mention anything like what I had been thinking about him.
I remembered the crush I had on Joe, the slim young man in my band class in junior high school. He had been everything that Alexander was not: he wore straight-leg corduroy pants, lace-up shoes and a cardigan sweater with plaid shirts in the winter. His skin was sallow and smooth, like a girl. He had big expressive doe-like eyes and a sort of sadness about him that I found touching.
The other kids made fun of him because he was slight in build and called him queer. For some reason that excited me, and I used to look at him as he fingered the big black barrel of his clarinet. I thought about what was in the trousers of the young man sitting next to me and I shivered despite the heat. Be cool, I thought. This is just a movie and some wine with a co-worker.
I always chickened out with Joe and never told him that I thought of him when I was in bed in the night. Now, here I was sitting with a beautiful young black man. I wondered if I should try to find out if he had any similar thoughts, and how on earth I could even bring up the question. I assumed I would chicken out this time, too.
Alexander was so cool looking, the girls must just fall on their backs for him. Still, there was the chance he shared the same desire that I did. But suppose I was wrong? The consequences of misunderstanding the sideways glances he gave me next to the stack of jeans at the store might have been innocent enough. Suppose he was just a nice guy and I didn’t understand his arch sense of humor?
If I was wrong, then the word would get out that I was a homo and the rest of the summer would be spent with icy coldness from my folks- or worse- and total isolation at work and the summer would drag on forever.
I decided it was better to just play it straight and put the homo business aside. It was such a hassle. That would be much easier. I could wait to explore this maddening compulsion at college, when I was on my own for real. I sighed, pleased that the decision had been made.
“What’s up Rob?” asked Alexander, looking over at me. “Something on your mind?”
I Eryaman Escort turned and looked at him. Damn, he was good looking. “Nah, I just have some things going on with my folks. I can’t wait to get going for college.”
“Yeah,” he said. “I’m eager to get on with it, too. I can’t wait to get to Howard and check out DC.”
“It is supposed to be a crazy town these days,” I said, and we started talking about the movie we were going to see.
We were rolling down 31st Street toward the expressway. “It is a western theme,” I said. “A double feature with True Grit and Butch Cassidy.”
“Maybe you better take me home now,” said Alexander. “I’m not sure I can do two westerns in a row.” I slowed as we neared the Expressway Twin Drive-In.
“Well, there is Midnight Cowboy and Easy Rider on the other screen.”
“Let’s do that,” he said. “Though I hate to pull you away from the horses.”
“Pull away, Man,” I said, laughing. “I have seen Redford enough. Let’s check out Jon Voight. I haven’t seen that one.”
I turned into the entrance lanes and pulled to the right side. There was a line of ticket booths, set up like toll-gates on the turnpike. The two on the right side served Screen Two, where Midnight Cowboy was going to show.
There were more cars in the Screen One Lot, which was on the other side of the Snack Bar that served both movies from its position smack in the middle of the compound.
The teenager managing the booth gave a cursory look in the back seat to make sure there was no one huddled there and I gave him three bucks for the admission. I put it in first and drove slowly along the perimeter road, looking down the lanes.
“Where do you want to park?” I asked.
“Not in the middle. Let’s get over to the side where we can drink in private.”
“Sounds good. Let me pull up near the Snack Bar and we can get ice and some cups.” I pulled up in the back row next to the entrance and we got out and walked in through the glass door. There were two girls working the counter and some kids running around with a harried-looking couple getting a cardboard platter of hot-dogs. Alexander rolled his eyes at me, as if to say “how pathetic.”
“We have to get something to eat with a drink or they won’t give us the cups,” I said in an aside. “I get the Sprite and pour it out and rinse the ice in the water fountain.”
Alexander nodded. When the couple got out of the way I ordered a hot dog and a big Sprite, plenty of ice.
“Make it two,” said Alexander. I could tell the girl was checking him out. He was a pretty exotic looking guy in this blockhead Dutch town. I envied him that.
We walked out of the Snack Bar, drank some of the Sprite and poured the rest out. The cool sweet liquid tasted good. I swirled water from the cooler over the ice and cupped my fingers over the top of the cup as I poured it out. He did the same and we climbed back in the Beetle. I drove slowly over the inclines until we were on the far left side of the parking area, well away from the knot of cars in the middle and not on the way to the Snack Bar or the bathroom.
I shut the car off, rolled the window up enough to hook the big gray metal speaker into the driver’s side. The speaker was big enough to intrude a little into the space in the tiny driver’s side and I had to squirm a little to get comfortable. I brushed Alexander’s shirt.
“I love this car,” I said. “But it is a little small. Could you reach the wine in the back?”
“Sure. But I don’t mind the size of the car. At least you have one.” He turned and reached between the seats. I looked down the past the unbuttoned shirt and got a glimpse of smooth hairless honey-colored chest and a nipple that was a dark assertive bud. I smelled him, too, something beyond the faint scent of his aftershave. Something rich and tinged with sweat and something else enticingly musky. He smelled delicious.
He unscrewed the metal cap on the bottle and I produced my cup from between my legs. He filled it half up and then he did the same for his. We settled in, and unwrapped our hot dogs.
It was not full dark yet, but the projector started and the screen was bathed with pale images of coming attractions. There were three or four of them, but I was fascinated by the way Alexander was eating his hot dog. He brought the bun to his lips and opened wide, seeming to tease the frankfurter with his tongue, and then gently and delicately severed it with his pearly teeth.
I shivered a little. It was so erotic. I ate mine without the same grace, but the symbolism was clear. I looked down at the cup between my legs and finished the hot dog in a couple gulps. I crumpled up the wrapper and tossed it in the back seat.
“Easy, Rob. You gotta make things last” he said. He resumed his consumption of the hotdog and licked his lips. I sipped the wine as the dancing hot dogs appeared on the screen. The speaker crackled and buzzed, since this segment Sincan Escort was shown over and over and the sound track was worn on the film. Alexander took a sip of wine, grimaced at the taste, and then said “Well, at least the price is right for this crap.”
“Aw, c’mon. It’s not that bad. It will grow on you, promise.”
The dancing hot dogs finished counting down the ten minutes to the feature film, and the wine began to spread a warm glow through my middle. I thought the dancing dogs looked just like thin erect cocks in warm little bun-jackets. I didn’t say anything. I wondered what Alexander was thinking.
“Have you seen this movie before?” he asked. “I enjoyed it.”
“No, I haven’t seen it. Dustin Hoffman plays a real scumbag. I heard it was kind of dark,” I said. “I mean, you know, depressing,” hoping I hadn’t said anything to offend him.
“Stop it. Don’t be so sensitive. It is a real story from the big city. Jon Voight is just like one of the blockheads from here who gets to the big city and has to do what he has to do. Ratso is the Dustin Hoffman character. He teaches Jon the ropes about how to survive in New York.”
The theme music and the credits started. “Everybody’s Talkin’ `Bout Me” sang Nilsson. I liked the song. So far nobody did talk about me, but maybe that was going to change if I hung around with Alexander.
Alexander completed the line: “Can’t hear a word they say!” He smiled. “Do you smoke pot?”
“I’d like to,” I said. “I tried it before we moved here and it felt pretty good. I think it was, anyway. We were pretty drunk. I don’t know anyone who has any around here.” Alexander squirmed around in his seat and produced his wallet. He extracted a thin hand-rolled cigarette.
“I only brought a little with me from Chicago, so I only get to smoke one a day. I might be able to find more, but it will take a while to make connections.”
He punched in the cigarette lighter on the dash. When it popped out it bathed his face in red. He applied it to the end of the joint and inhaled deeply. “You ever had a Chicago Shotgun?” he asked.
“A what?” I asked apprehensively.
“Don’t worry. Here, let me show you.” He took the joint from his lips and inserted the lit end into his mouth. The butt end protruded from his lips and he leaned over to me. I was startled and drew back in surprise. He touched my shoulder and brought my face close to his. He began to blow through the joint and an intense plume of smoke came out. I got the point and leaned in close and began to inhale.
Our lips were so close it was almost a kiss. The smoke was cool and rich and thick. I sucked it down deep into my lungs. When I had a chest full, he stopped and delicately removed the joint from his mouth. “Now THAT is a shotgun,” he said with a smile.
I was stunned at the intimacy of the ritual. I wanted to do that again. I wanted to see those lips that close. I exhaled slowly, the sweet smoke leaving me giddy.
“That was fantastic! Can I do it for you?”
He smiled and passed me the joint. I inserted it in my mouth as he had, backwards, and leaned close to him. I looked him deep in the eyes and began to blow air into the joint as if I was whistling. A thin rope of smoke came from the butt and he gulped it in eagerly, our lips nearly touching. When he was full I leaned back, and realized my hand had brushed his thigh. I looked down and in the dim light of the screen I thought I saw there was a bulge in his crotch.
Alexander let the smoke trickle from his mouth. “Yeah, that feels good. Very relaxing.”
We passed he joint back and forth and smoked it normally in smaller puffs until it was too small to pass. Alexander inhaled deeply and popped the tiny roach in his mouth.
He gestured to me to lean over toward him and I did. He closed his eyes and began to exhale the last cloud from his lungs into mine and I drank it in, getting closer and closer. Close enough to kiss him.
The sweet smoke from his sweet lips was overpowering.
His eyes opened, and then he pressed his lips against mine and blew out the last.
He pulled away and breathed in deeply.
“So what do you think about the Chicago shotgun?”
My head felt pleasantly expanded and all my nerves tingled. “I like it a lot,” I said. “I’d like to do it again.”
We sipped some wine and let the buzz take hold. I was sitting next to this handsome man and I needed to do something, but I didn’t know what. He had as much as kissed me and I had desperately wanted to kiss him back. It seemed like now or never. I thought of an excuse to brush his leg, or something, but with the single joint gone I was not going to get another chance for a shotgun unless I tried it with one of my Marlboros and that sounded gross.
Up on the screen, Ratso was trying to convince Jon to do something in Times Square. I felt dreamy from the marijuana and relaxed from the wine. “So why was it Etlik Escort that your family exiled you from Chicago and made you come here for the summer, Alexander?”
He pursed his lips. “Well, it is a bit of a long story. But I can make it simple and short. They did not like my choice of girlfriend.” He looked back a the screen where Jon Voight was wearing a little cowboy hat pushed back on his blonde hair that made him look the opposite of a tough Westerner. Dustin Hoffman looked skinny and pale like a junkie
My stomach knotted at the words. I had been on the verge of a huge mistake. God, I felt like such an idiot. The closeness had only been a way to smoke the pot. I could have made myself a complete fool. My stomach sank. Thank God I had not given myself away!
I didn’t say anything, and took a sip of wine. I tried to sound sympathetic, though my stomach felt like I had been kicked. “Was it a white girl?” I asked.
He shook his head. “Nah, the problem was that she was a white guy.”
I spit out some wine. “What?”
He reached over and put a hand on my thigh. “Yes, you heard me right. I got beat up at school because some of the brothers called me Queer and I told them to go fuck themselves. I tried to keep the folks from finding out why I got smacked down, but Daddy got on his high horse and went to up to the school and the counselor told them the word was that I was playing with another guy. That I was a pansy. A fruit. They decided to get me out of there so I wouldn’t get hurt.”
“Jeeze,” I said lamely. “That is terrible.”
“Oh, there is worse I suppose.” I touched the back of his hand, stroking it gently. “It must be terrible to be treated that way.” I thought back and wondered if I had just looked on passively when cute little Joe was teased in junior high School. Allowed him be made fun of for being queer when I really liked him, and I was exactly the same. I felt awful.
“Have you always liked boys? When did you know?”
“I’ve always known I was different. I always was more comfortable with the company of the women in the family, and I liked the girls at school. I just wasn’t attracted to them sexually. As soon as I started to mature I knew what I wanted, and it was other boys. When did you know?”
I was stunned. “Well, I’m not sure I do know.”
“Oh, come on. You are as queer as I am. I could tell the moment we met. Us queers can tell. It is called Gaydar for a reason, you know.”
I sat quietly. “I have been trying to figure it out. Lately I have been thinking of men when I jerk off. And when I met you…I don’t know. I thought you were very attractive. Beautiful, even. Does that make me queer?”
“Well, you asked me to the Drive-in Movie where we could be alone,” he finished for me. He raised his glass to me and took a drink. “So what do you want to do about it? Here we are.”
“I don’t know,” I stammered. Alexander laughed and leaned over and kissed me full on the lips, lingering.
“Now you know,” he said. And then he kissed me again, and I felt my lips open and my tongue touched his. It was like velvet, and the taste was sweet from the wine and rich with the marijuana. I felt his arms come around me and I leaned into him and I could feel something like a freight train in my head.
And it literally WAS a freight train, since the tracks ran not far from this side of the drive-in. But when the ground shuddered I could not tell if it was from the movement of the train on the tracks or my heart thudding against my rib-cage. God it felt good! My mouth was open wide to him as his tongue probed my teeth and my palate. I sucked at his tongue, trying to capture it and hold it. I twisted in his embrace so that I faced upward to him. My arms clung to him for support and I felt I was falling upward into his eyes.
I don’t know how long we made out but Nilsson was singing “Everybody’s Talking At Me” again and the movie must have ended. Alexander looked up and said the dancing hot-dogs were on the screen again. I squirmed around, still leaning against him. The arc lights had come on at the base of the screen to show people the way to the snack bar. I screwed up my eyes against the sudden brightness.
“Do you want anything to eat?” I asked.
“I think we are just fine right here,” he said. I heard the sound of a zipper opening and I shivered. He pulled open the front of his trousers and skinned them down with his white briefs. He reached for my hand and drew it toward him. I could see him in the darkness, dark flesh much darker than his skin.
It was the first erect cock I had ever seen, other than my own Old Faithful. It was long and narrow, curving slightly up the right. He was uncircumcised, the tip of his proud helmet just protruding from the foreskin. Something on the tip glimmered.
I gently placed my palm on the side of it, toward the base, and slowly wrapped my fingers around it as if I were griping a bat. He squirmed. I took the pressure off my grip and ran my hand gently upward. He had to be nearly eight inches in length, but his cock was as slim and expressive as his fingers.
The story seemed to be true. I continued to gently, so gently, run my hand up and then down the length of his cock. I leaned over and kissed him again, and then looked down at the precious dark lance protruding from my hand.
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