Sparkle: The Queerest Book You'll Ever Love (40 page)

Number two, bless his heart, did send a picture. And, for what it’s worth, he was exactly my type. Too bad the picture was at least ten years old. Norman apologized immediately and claimed that he rarely took photos of himself. Guess why? Apparently, years of working as a restaurant manager had taken its toll. He had had one too many turfs and clearly not enough surfs. I felt sorry for the guy and doubled up on the scones before summoning for help. I politely excused myself, and when I came back out of the office, Norman was gone. He seemed really sweet and I did feel a twinge of guilt, but I wasn’t fooling myself; I knew what I was looking for, and sweet/roly-poly was simply not it.

Now, number three seemed promising. He sent a recent picture, was clearly attractive, young, and had a beautiful smile on him. An added bonus, he sent a picture of himself shirtless from the waist up. Neil had pecs of death and a sexy-ass smattering of chest hair. The single nipple piercing was icing on the cake. In his letter, he said that he was a down to earth romantic who just didn’t have the time to find Mister Right and was constantly forced into dating whatever he could find at the bars, those few times he could make it out to one. The reason he was seventh on the list? I didn’t want to date anyone that was even busier than I was. Still, I couldn’t wait to meet him.

At three o’clock, he walked in the shop, and my heart promptly sank. When he wrote
down to earth
, he was being literal. He couldn’t have been more than five-foot-three, and that was in boots. He was devilishly cute, though, with a perfectly cut Vandyke on his chin and hair cut short in a near Caesar. I could see the pert nipples popping out of his tight tee, and he had just about the cutest little ass I’d ever seen. I kept picturing him bouncing on my knee. (Or, better yet, my lap.) I asked him to take a seat, quickly following suit so as not to call attention to the obvious differences in height. Honestly, I don’t think his toes even came close to touching the floor. It took every ounce of restraint I had to not ruffle his hair and pinch his cheeks, he was that adorable.

What he lacked in size, however, he made up for in conversation. He was quick and witty and obviously well-educated. There was immediate chemistry in those first few minutes and no need for Sharon to come to my rescue. We made a dinner date for that very night. I planned on wearing sandals to lessen the difference in height, though. But short of him wearing stilts, I would surely be towering over him. Naturally and unfortunately, I was correct.

I met him at The Metro for a before-dinner drink. They have high stools there, and I figured every little bit would help. But when I got there and he hugged me hello, I knew we were in trouble. He barely came up to my chin, and, what was worse, he wore a really cheap smelling hair gel. Meaning, I ordered a double and hoped for the best.

Two doubles later, we still had barely broken the ice. That’s when Neil shattered it.

“Um, Bruce, you seem like an awfully nice guy, but… (I sat up straight and waited for the but)… but you’re just too tall for me.” (I hunched back over.)

“Oh, come on now. No I’m not,” I protested, though I have no earthly idea why. I guess I just hate rejection, even when I’m practically begging for it.

“Really? Well, then I’m game if you are.” Damn my mouth. I was that close. (Picture me holding my fingers barely a few centimeters apart.) So I had no choice, and suggested that we head on out to dinner. Then it was time for some chicanery.

During the entire six-block walk, I intentionally stood very erect and talked straight ahead and somewhat whisperish. The effect?  I had to keep leaning down and repeating myself. It didn’t take long before Neil repeated his objection, and, this time, I fully agreed with him. I know, it was a mean, low-down, dirty trick. Sparkle would’ve been so proud; I, however, was not. That’s why I paid for dinner and a cab home. And… er… well, had sex with him. Guilt can do strange things to a man. Guilt and three double gin and tonics. (Fine, guilt, four double gin and tonics, and no sex for the last month and a half.)

Besides, when you’re lying down, height makes very little difference. And, it figured, the sex was fantastic. He was short, yes, but he was spry and limber as all hell. The little guy completely wore me out. We agreed, when it was all over, that it had been nice, but it simply would never work out. I almost objected, but he hugged me again and I knew to keep my mouth shut. Shame really. I know it seems like such a minor inconvenience, but I was looking for that perfect somebody, and that perfect somebody isn’t able to shop in the boy’s department at Macy’s. So full steam ahead I went.

Number four?… see number five. Seems they were lovers, both of them ad-dating behind the other’s back. I guess they figured that it was easier to break up with someone if there was someone else waiting in the wings. Needless to say, I was a bit shocked to be driven back to the same apartment two nights in a row. Not shocked enough to not have sex with both of them, but shocked enough to not make a second date with either. I’d let them work out their own problems; I had enough of my own to worry about.

So there I was, five down and five to go. Granted, I was having more sex then I was use to, but it seemed like a hollow victory. Partly because it wasn’t getting me anywhere on the boyfriend front, and partly because I couldn’t gloat to Sparkle. I couldn’t even tell Peter. The two young lovebirds were keeping themselves busy studying and fixing up their apartment. Well, at least that was working out. I was glad to not have to worry about Peter’s love life on top of my own. Yes, I realized that ignorance was bliss, but I was only up for opening one can of worms at a time. Luckily, Sparkle took to dropping in on them unexpectedly, and that kept the boys on their toes and Sparkle out of my hair.

I took a day’s rest and then moved on to number six. Sadly, that one was a closet case. True, he was cute and successful. And it didn’t bother me so much that he was in the closet at work. I mean, it’s difficult to be out in the business world sometimes. And it didn’t bother me all that much that he was closeted in public either. After all, not everyone likes to show affection in front of others. No, what really bothered me was that he was closeted with his wife. Granted, that didn’t stop me from having sex with him, but, after the third date, I put my foot down. (Better late than never, right?) And, I hate to admit it, but I kind of liked having sex with a nearly straight guy. Talk about your novelty items.

Well, after six failed attempts, Sharon and I decided to retool. It was time to come up with a more practical, less ideal personal ad, and throw away the responses from what could only have been more disasters. The new ad was blunt, honest, and as foolproof as possible. After all, I was getting awfully tired of the false starts and was eager for a real relationship. This is what we came up with:

GWM, tired of the bar scene, liars, losers, and letches. Looking for that special someone to wile away the hours. You MUST be between 25 and 35, slim, trim, and moderately cute to handsome. Please be well-educated, financially secure, and emotionally stable.
(I’d have settled for best two out of three.)
Wackos, winos, and wedded need not respond. I’m worth it, please be the same. Recent picture only for consideration.
(Bitter, yes, but I wasn’t taking any chances.)

Well, my plan backfired. I’d left a very narrow window open, and only a handful of men responded. I suppose it was for the best, though; at least I could be reasonably sure to be getting what I asked for. Still, it would’ve been nice to have a ton of choices like from my first attempt. What I was left with, when all was said and done, were only two candidates.

Both seemed ideal. Both were young, my age exactly, and had decent jobs and educations. Both were bright and witty and charming, too. But only one sent me a photo. The one who didn’t send a pic signed his letter,
Looking For Love,
and said that he hadn’t taken a good picture in years, but promised me that I wouldn’t be disappointed. The other, who did send a picture, was cute, but looked a little too Sweet Polly Purebread for my liking. So, against my better judgment and Sharon’s numerous objections,
Looking
was the one I chose. I figured that if he was ballsy enough to send a guarantee, he was at least worth a shot. Plus, he said that he had three tattoos and a nipple piercing. As Goldilocks would’ve said,
Juuust right
. (If you’re thinking that it was Sparkle that I was responding too, you’re wrong. True, that would’ve made for a funny story, but real life doesn’t work out that way. Real life, as it turns out, is stranger than fiction.)

On the day of our coffee date, I was in my office on the phone when Sharon came back and mouthed that my mystery date was waiting for me in the front of the store. I mouthed,
Is he cute?
Thankfully
,
she nodded in the affirmative and gave me a two-thumbs up. Needless to say, I quickly got off the phone, prettied myself up in the mirror, and hurried out to greet him.

He was, absolutely, positively adorable. He also looked vaguely familiar. As I approached, his face went from polite and inquisitive to outright beaming. And that’s when I placed him.

“Chuck!” I screamed.

“Bruce!” he screamed back.

“Chuck!” I screamed again and drew closer.

“Bruce!” he volleyed back and stood within inches of me.

“Chuck,” I said in a normal tone, not wanting to shout in his face. And then I hugged him, long and hard and with gusto.

It’d been years since I’d laid eyes on him, and I hadn’t even heard his name mentioned in all that time, owing much to the fact that Sparkle was no longer on speaking terms with anybody in Chuck’s circle. As a matter of fact, I’d completely written off all hope of ever seeing him again, and, yet, here he was, firmly in my grasp. This time, I wasn’t about to let go.

“Oh my God,” I said, pulling back after the longest hug of my life. “You look terrific.” And I meant it. He did. His boyish good looks had matured into adult sexy. His beautifully hairy, golden arms were now ripped with hard, little muscles and his strawberry blond goatee was flecked with gray. In other words, he was all man and, if I had anything to say about it, he was all mine.

“Oh my God,” he said, echoing my sentiment, “you look great, too. It’s been forever. I can’t believe we haven’t even so much as bumped into each other… oh, wait… are you still hanging around with William?”

“Uh huh,” I grimaced.

“Then I
can
believe it. None of my friends will go near him anymore after our last run-in. Shame really, I always liked him. True, he’s a mean, twisted fuck, but he’s never far off the mark. How is he anyway?” he asked as we took a seat.

Actually, I had to sit down. Seeing Chuck like that made me all weak in the knees. “Same. Mean. Twisted. Fuck. Whatever, you name it, he hasn’t changed one iota. As a matter of fact, if we can keep the how-tos of our meeting up again a secret, I would really appreciate it.”

“Understood. Besides, I’m just glad that we did. Meet up again that is,” he said and sat there grinning and staring at me. I did the same in return. It was just so damn good to see him again that I didn’t know what to say.

Luckily, I didn’t have to say anything. As we sat there, staring into each other’s eyes, our faces drew nearer and, before I knew it, we were kissing. A warm flush ran through my body as I remembered that night, so many years earlier, when we’d crossed paths in the bathroom at Badlands. I was thrilled that those paths had finally run full circle. (Jeez, did that sound like it came right out of a soap opera or what? Sorry, I’ll try to keep the schmaltz to a smidge.)

I stopped kissing Chuck long enough to introduce him to Sharon, who, bless her heart, told me to go take an extended break. I gave her a peck on the cheek, grabbed my jacket, and tore on out of there with Chuck in tow. Walking down the street, arm in arm, I couldn’t have been any happier.

First thing we did was catch up. Funny how you think your life is just rolling along, uneventful and boring, but when you start to recap, it suddenly sounds so lively and full. Least that’s how I made it sound. Anyway, we also found out another reason why Chuck and I never ran into each other. See, after finishing his biochemistry degree, he started working nights in a hospital lab and rarely had the energy to go out on weekends or during the day. He’d finally switched to a day shift when, as luck would have it, he spotted my ad. And, voila, there we were. (It only took ten minutes to get back to my house, two to undress, fifteen to do the nasty, and ten more to lay there in complete and utter bliss.)

***

We started seeing each other from that moment on. He was the first guy I’d dated in years that I had any real fondness for. I think I was just going through the motions with everyone else, but I could’ve taken or left any one of them. I wouldn’t say that I was finally in love, but I was head over heels in something with the guy, and I could tell that the feeling was mutual. Sparkle, not surprisingly, was less than ecstatic.

I mean, don’t get me wrong, he liked Chuck. It was awfully hard not to. It was just that we were spending every spare moment together. I did try to include Sparkle in most everything we did, but he felt like a third wheel and usually declined our offers. And, try as I might, I just couldn’t feel guilty about that. After all, I’d waited so long for Chuck to come along that I wasn’t about to feel miserable over it. On the contrary, I was walking on Cloud Nine. Heck, Ten and Eleven, too. I mean, Chuck was so full of life, just a bundle of energy when we were together, and it completely wore off on me. Truth be told, I felt like running a marathon whenever I was with him.

But, since I had flat feet, I settled for painting my home instead. I enlisted the help of the boys, who had already finished painting their own apartment. Chuck helped out most every night we painted, and even Sparkle wet the brush a few times. It was a real family project. Between the five of us, it only took a week. I did have to run the store as well, and I felt bad asking anybody to paint without me, otherwise, it would’ve only taken a couple of days, as Chuck painted twice as fast as anybody I’d ever seen. As a result, we took to calling him Whirlwind. Lucky for me, he wasn’t so fast at
other
assorted tasks.