Sparkle: The Queerest Book You'll Ever Love (3 page)

Another quick martini later, Kiki was ushering me out the front door. He kissed Larry goodbye, while I politely shook his rather plump hand. And then we were off. And I was, believe it or not, really and truly happy. Here I was, twenty-one and ready to be gay. I was going to a gay bar, with my gay friend, who had a gay lover, and lived just outside the gayest place in the known universe. Honestly, I felt like Mary Tyler Moore getting ready to through her hat up in the air. And I could turn the world on with something more than just a smile… probably… I hoped.

Of course, it was just a Monday night, when gay bars in San Francisco, apparently, were and still are not known to be very full. Then again, that was really for the best, because my joy quickly gave way to an acute case of stage fright. A gay bar quickly gave way to A GAY BAR! Before, I was just gay in my own head, something I knew I was, but had never actually acted upon. And now I was about to step foot inside a true gay bar, that was full (well, not empty, anyway) of gay men.

Kiki, noticing my obvious apprehension, quickly shoved me through the door and ordered us two more martinis. (To this day, just the sight of a green olive makes me immediately relaxed.) So here I was, in my first gay bar, drinking a very dry martini and feeling quite gay. By the way, did I mention the name of the bar? No, I guess not. It was Badlands. Ever been? Certainly not as tragic as the other bars in The Castro at the time. In fact, it had a certain ambiance to it. On a side note, did you ever notice that gay bars always have the butchest names? The Spike, The Stud, The Eagle, and even Badlands, all have these macho names and all are frequently full of affected queens drinking lite beers and white Russians. Kind of ironic, huh? But I generalize, grossly. Please forgive me; it’s been a trying day.

In any case, looking around, I could’ve been in any bar in the world: license plates filled the walls, with antique over-head lamps from one end of the bar to the other, lots of wood benches, a pool table in the back, and cases of beer scattered throughout. Of course, the two guys in chaps making out just a few feet over from us made it a bit different. Yikes, two guys making out in public. I had a feeling I wasn’t in Kansas anymore. Did I mention I was from Kansas, by the way? Topeka, born and raised. Sort of makes for a funny coincidence. You know, what with the whole Dorothy landing in Oz thing and all. Only, instead of Toto, I had Kiki.

Trying not to look around anymore, lest I should see something more dazing, I concentrated on my newfound-friend, who, three martinis later, was getting more fascinating by the minute. And it wasn’t very long before he had me telling the whole story about meeting William and him inviting me to the party on Saturday. It certainly felt good telling someone about it, even if it was someone I’d just met that morning. And even if that someone was someone who just happened to have massacred their hair that morning. No matter, I had a gay compadre. It wasn’t much, but it was a start.

“Oh, Honey, your first queer crush, how adorable,” he teased, while I turned three shades of red. (Wait, I’m gay… they were scarlet, crimson, and rose. It’s so great to be gay. And useful.) And he continued. “I remember my first crush. He was the captain of the varsity basketball team in high school. Jerome was his name. He was six and a half feet tall and as black as the blackest night sky. He also had the hugest fucking hands I’d ever seen. One could only imagine what he hid under those skimpy, yellow nylon shorts of his. Well, I mean, one had to imagine
for a time
, anyway.” Kiki suddenly had the slightest impish grin on his adorable face.

“You didn’t?” I gushed, in amazement and awe.

“Boo yeah, Sugar. Kiki saw the whole miserable, little, shriveled, barely cause to remember prick she’d ever seen. ‘Course, I was only sixteen, so I had little to base it on. But I knew they came much, much,
much
bigger than that. And it was easy as pie getting in to see it, too,” he said, while I slid in closer, not wanting to miss one delicious word. “See, I was walking home one night from my friend Tommy’s house. We were watching
Chico and the Man,
and he was just standing there on the corner. Just standing there alone, not doing anything.” My heart was suddenly racing as Kiki took a swig of his drink and continued with his tale. “Anyway, Jerome looks down at me and says, ‘Faggot, why don’t you suck my big, black dick?’ And who was I, this runty, little Jewish kid to argue? So I said, ‘sure’.”

“You said
sure
?” I gasped. I mean, this kind of thing had never happened to me growing up. Well, maybe once in the men’s bathroom at the Jiffy Mart, but that didn’t count, because the guy was really old and fat and nasty, and I ran away for dear life.

“Sure, I said sure,” Kiki replied, clearly lapping up the attention. “I’d wanted to do just that for the last six months, and there I was, being told to do it. I might be nelly, Honey, but I ain’t stupid.”

“And you just, you know, sucked it right there on the street corner?” I barely whispered.

“Well, of course not, silly.” He grinned and tilted his head down. “We went behind the bushes. And that’s when I saw it. But just barely. Because, as I mentioned, there wasn’t really much to see.” Kiki giggled and began talking like Jerome. “‘Yeah, come on, faggot, suck that big, black dick,’ he’d commanded; only, this time, it was more pleaded. And, naturally, I obeyed. But, all the while, I was thinking, well, it is black, but I don’t know where he keeps getting this
big
thing from.” Kiki was clearly loving his tale, or maybe it was that fourth martini. “‘Yeah, bitch, suck that big dick,’ Jerome moaned. ‘You like that, big, black dick, don’tcha?’ Okay, I had had enough of that shit, so I looked up from his sad attempt for a boner and I said, ‘Jerome, could you, like, stop with the idle chit-chat, please. And while you’re at it, maybe look up
big
in the dictionary; I think you have it confused with another word.’ And, just for a second, he opened his eyes and looked down and he just stared at me. I don’t know if it was disgust or disbelief, but he looked at me in the funniest way. And then he zipped up his pants and walked away, mumbling ‘faggot’ as he did so. End of story.”

“That’s it? That’s the whole thing? Did you ever see him again? What happened to him?” Suddenly, I felt like Rona Barrett. (What ever happened to her, anyway?)

“Shit yeah. We were in the same school and all, but he never spoke to me ever again. Poor guy. I mean, you have to feel sorry for him. He’s probably this total closet case living in this big, black macho world of his and he, like, not only can’t ever come out to his friends and family, but even worse,
much
worse, he’s got this little, itty, bitty black dick. Poor Jerome. I mean, look, I’m not much of nothing, but I’m here, I’m queer, and I’m going on my fifth martini. That’s a hell of a lot better than Jerome’s probably got going on. So here’s to Jerome,” Kiki proclaimed, lifting his glass up high.

“To Jerome!” I bellowed. “May his little black dick find happiness some day.” We drunk to that.

Actually, we were drunk to that. And then Kiki taught me Gay Rule #1. He said, “Honey, always remember this, because it will get you far in this big, bad gay world of ours: the fantasy is
always
way better than the reality. And that’s Gay Rule #1.” I nodded and hoped that I’d never have a Jerome in my life. Or at least a little black dick in it. Kiki patted my head. “You know something, Bruce? I like you. You’re okay. And your hair looks so much better,” he told me, a smile spreading wide across his face.

I looked in the mirror behind the bar, and, you know, my hair did actually look quite nice. And that’s when I knew that I was on my
last
martini. “Thanks, Kiki. You’re right; it does look, um, better. And thanks for taking me to my first gay bar, even if we’re just about the only ones in it,” I told him, really and truly meaning it.

And Kiki looked me in the eyes and put his hands on my shoulders and blurted out, “Then kiss me, Bruce. Let me be your first gay kiss. Most guys are schmucks. You’re better off having your first kiss be from a friend who won’t treat you like shit and then dump you for the next better thing that comes along, right?”

Well, I thought about it for a split second, and it sounded good to me. Of course, my logic was a bit impaired by the drinks, but, I figured, it would be a lot easier doing it for the first time with a friend. And I was certainly ready for it. Twenty-one years ready, as a matter of fact. And Kiki
was
looking rather adorable sitting there. In other words, I did it. I leaned in real close to him, looked him deep in the eyes, and then I kissed him. I kissed him for a really long time, in fact. His lips were so soft and sweet, with just the slightest hint of vermouth, and, for that brief moment in time, everything else around me had ceased to exist. And I kept thinking to myself,
I’m kissing a man. I’m kissing a man. I’m kissing a man!
All with fireworks fairly bursting from behind my eyelids.

“S’how was ‘at?” Kiki slurred, dreamily.

“Well, you just broke the first rule, because
that
lived right up to my fantasy,” I replied, but didn’t slur. In fact, I suddenly felt wide-awake and sober as all hell. That is until I got up to go pee; then I knew how drunk I really was. Suddenly, I was on a Tilt-A-Whirl.

It was quite a challenge, actually, to make it from the barstool to the john. And even when I finally did make it, I was ill-prepared for what I found: a trough. In other words, I had to pee in a drain next to another guy. Now, I wasn’t normally pee shy, but I had, until just a few hours prior, never been to a gay bar or kissed another man before. Suddenly, I had to pee next to one. And, just as I was getting ready to go, the guy peeing next to me nodded and smiled. My heart started to race and then I really couldn’t pee. I managed a smile and a nod and looked straight down. Damn, this wasn’t good at all. I was just getting used to the whole adventure, and now a new obstacle was in my way.

Suddenly, I could sense him looking at me and I noticed that he wasn’t peeing anymore. I don’t know if it was the alcohol or the nerve that I acquired from kissing Kiki, but I looked over at him again, and, sure enough, he was looking straight at me. (Well, straight at me and down a bit.) And he was cute, too. Jeez, he was cute and young and nicely packaged, and getting nicer by the second. Just then, Kiki walked in and stood on the stranger’s other side. Cutie-pie looked back down, I looked back down, and, rather quickly, all of us started peeing.

Truthfully, I didn’t know if I was relieved or upset that Kiki broke the spell, but it didn’t really matter; the moment was over. The three of us finished and made our exit. Kiki went first, then me, and then the stranger. And that’s when the dude grabbed my ass. I turned and he winked at me and pursed his lips a little. I nodded and smiled, and the whole thing was over. He went left to sit on a bench, while we went right, back to our stools. In any case, by then, I was feeling shit-faced drunk, and Kiki looked pretty sloppy himself, so, perhaps, I figured, it was for the best. (Don’t worry, this all has a point. Just be patient. Fate, you see, sometimes takes its own sweet time getting around to things. Apparently, my little world wasn’t high on its priority list.)

“C’mon, let’s get out of here; I think we’ve had enough for one night, and I have to work tomorrow,” Kiki groaned. I was luckier; I didn’t work on Mondays or Tuesdays, so I could sleep it off. Which was great, because I was pretty wiped out from all the excitement. Then I thought, if this was only Monday, what was I in for on Saturday night when I’d be surrounded by gay, attractive men? I gulped, feeling a sudden rush of adrenaline, and then, before I knew it, we were back at Kiki’s.

“You might as well crash here,” Kiki said, while opening the door. “We have a spare room upstairs, and you’re lookin’ pretty schnockered.”

I had to admit, the thought of walking home was a bit daunting, and I certainly couldn’t afford a cab. But I hardly new Kiki, all things considered, and felt a little hesitant. In any case, I’d barely managed an answer either way when he grabbed my arm and dragged me inside. “C’mon, it ain’t safe for no pretty, little gay boy out here this late and this drunk,” he said, and I agreed.

We walked up the stairs and Kiki pointed out my room for the evening, then his and Larry’s room, and then the bathroom, should I need to pee or anything. Then he walked down the hall – well, stumbled was more like it – and I flopped down on my big, cozy bed, smiling all the while. So much had happened to me in the past few hours and I felt, just, so free. And then I fell sound asleep with my happy gay thoughts spinning around and around in my happy gay head. Or maybe it was the room that was spinning that way. Hard to tell. Whichever it was, I was on cloud nine.

Waking up, of course, was a different story entirely. Cloud thirty-seven, the gray one far to the back, was much less enjoyable. Because
happy
had been replaced by nauseous sometime during the night. My head was pounding, my mouth was as dry as the Sahara, and I felt like I was going to puke. I looked at the clock by the bed and it was already ten o’clock the next morning. Thank God I didn’t have to go to work, as there was no way I could be gracious and accommodating for eight solid hours; that was hard enough to do when I was stone-cold sober. Plus, I was having a difficult enough time just throwing myself out of the bed and going down the hallway to go to the bathroom. And I’d just remembered that I kissed Kiki the night before.
Ugh
. Then I was peeing like a racehorse and wondering how I was going to face Kiki or, worse, Larry, when I heard a knock on the door.

“You okay in there?” Larry asked, sounding concerned. God, I felt guilty. How could I have kissed a married man? Oh, how the mighty have fallen!

“Um, well, I’m fine. I’ll be out in a sec,” I answered, my voice cracking just a hair. Damn, damn,
damn
those martinis.

Larry was waiting outside the bathroom door when I finally stumbled out. He was already dressed for work and looking quite the professional. “Coffee, Bruce?” he asked.