back. He secreted his folding money and identification in clever pockets on the sleeves so no wallet bulge marred the outline of his buns. His jeans were too tight, anyway, to give room to a wallet. Ben had dressed to bait a mate for the night.
On the Street he drew stares and whispered comments from passersby as he strode toward his first objective, the bright neon sign of the Carmine Canine Saloon. He was aware of the stares that came his way; he could not hear the whispered comments. It was as well. Ben’s seduction garb was not suited to the City in that season; the Western look had been passé two seasons back.
This was his first foray into the mad world of boy finds boy for the evening. He entered the Carmine Canine Saloon. The bouncer summarily asked him to leave at once. A large man with muscles on his muscles indicated to Ben in very plain English that only beachwear was permitted tonight. Western wear would be permitted only on the second Tuesday of next week. His face as crimson as the roses embroidered on his shirt, Ben left, and returned home crumpled in spirit and trampled in ego.
Ben didn’t leave his rooms for the rest of that weekend. During his workweek at the mailroom his co-worker, Minerva Vann observed his sadly deflated demeanor. On Friday she invited him to share a lunch break with her. They bought the sack lunch at the company cafeteria and took them back to their cubbyhole office. As they opened their brown paper bags to gnaw on dry sandwiches and weary apples, she said, “What’s up with you? You’ve been gloomy as a rainstorm all week.”
“Sorry,” Ben said. He brushed his dark brown hair back from his eyes where it liked to fall.
“What’s got you bummed? Tell old Minnie.” She shifted her considerable middle-aged bulk on the wooden desk chair seeking to be more comfortable. The chair groaned. It had been groaning for years when Minnie sat in it. Minnie took a bite of her sandwich and chewed on the dry bread and juiceless tuna salad with persistence.
Ben considered a moment. His need to connect with other human beings was so strong he chose to confide in Minnie. He looked at her round face and read compassion and mild concern in its lines.
“I went out last weekend,” Ben said around a mouthful of dry sandwich. “I just wanted to meet some people, since I’m new and all. It didn’t work out very well.”
“Wrong place, wrong wardrobe, wrong timing? What?” Minnie crunched on her red apple. Her bite left a white scar that rapidly began browning as she laid the apple on the napkin.
“Wrong wardrobe, for starters. I got thrown out of a bar for inappropriate dress.” Ben hung his head, his partly eaten sandwich trembling in his hand.
“Forgot to wear leather to the leather bar? Didn’t know to wear skimpy trunks to the Carmine Canine? Something like that?”
“Something like that,” Ben said and blushed.
“You just need some information. You said you were from Colorado?”
“Yes.”
“The City has its own set of codes about what to wear where and when.” Minnie leaned back in her chair. It creaked and threatened to crack. She took another huge bite of her sandwich. “You need to do some research,” she said.
“How do I do that?”
“Get a copy of the Street Rag. There’s a column inside the back section that tells which bar is requiring what costumes for the week. Lots of good ads, too. For a man new to the City it’s the best source.”
“Where do they sell it?”
“Not for sale. It’s free in any bar, or any other business along the Street. Just pick one up.” Minnie attacked her apple with a series of small bites that quickly reduced it to a spindly core. For some reason Ben thought of piranhas in a nature movie he had seen in grade school.
“Thanks for the tip,” he said, and fell to work on his sandwich. Large mouthfuls of tea helped him get it down.
“Want my apple?” he asked Minnie.
“Sure,” she said, and quickly reduced it to a spindly core as well. The half hour chimed on the clock.
“Back to the mail room,” Minnie said. “Time to get the afternoon shipment ready for the post office. You can take it, if you don’t mind; my feet are sore.”
Ben smiled. “Of course, Minnie,” he said. Ben liked going to the post office. It was a four-block walk, and on the way he crossed one of the busiest intersections with the Street. Unless the afternoon’s incoming mail was a large bundle, he could loiter for a few minutes of window-shopping among the studs parading up and down the Street. Maybe he could even find a copy of the Street Rag. He took up the basket with the outgoing mail and left the mailroom with a lighter heart.
Later he wrote to his old professor in Colorado.
July 12, 1977
Professor John Dilbert Doe
1868 Forgotten Lane
Greeley, Colorado
Dear Dill,
Summer here is very cool. Fog comes in every afternoon and stays around until midmorning. The weather forecasts here speak every day of “fog and low cloud moving inland night and morning.” I’ve decided there must be a dragon off the coast, called “Falcminam” that breathes in and out, moving the fog ashore. No one here appreciates my fantasies.
I’m delighted to hear Highland Ewall has moved in with you. Hi is a wonderful guy and I hope you two will be very happy. How clever of you to have an apartment to rent to him with a connecting door! I hope the carpenter that modified the house was “understanding” about men’s needs.
I have had several brief liaisons with guys I’ve met in bars. Nothing serious, just good sex. I admit I’m a little lonely. Someday I want to settle down.
I’ve found a permanent job with an insurance company. I’m a mailroom clerk. More later.
Ben
Ben’s Mr. Right Is All Wrong
Ben had learned the dress codes, thanks to Minnie Vann. Tonight he wore jeans a size too small, carefully abraded to show wear in the proper places. A tank top completed his ensemble. The tank top was faded (several turns in the washer with strong bleach) and too small for Ben. His brown hair was carefully cut in a current fashion, with slightly curly sideburns. He showed everything he had to offer. At this point in his life, he was still slim, with a reasonable Vee to his waist, tight buttocks, moderately broad shoulders, and an air of mystery in his gray eyes. More than one head turned to look at him.
Before hitting the bar scene, Ben deemed it prudent to take a little something to eat. He chose to stop at the Fegele’s Bagel for a plain bagel with cream cheese and chives. When he walked into the brightly lit shop, he stopped, cold, in the doorway. A vision of power and beauty stood at the counter.
The man’s face was bent over the trays of bagels, searching for the best choice. His shoulder and back muscles rippled under his faded orange Tee shirt as he bent from side to side to survey the shop’s offerings. His butt was small, but so perfectly formed, it almost sang symphonies. All this body stacked on two muscular legs that stretched the faded denim covering them to thread breaking. Ben forced himself to start breathing again.
As nonchalantly as he could Ben walked up to the counter to stand beside this god in human flesh. Ben pretended to study the round breadstuff on display. He bent his head to check out the god’s package. It was, like his legs, strong and muscular. Ben felt his heart slipping from him. The blonde turned and looked at him, and smiled. The man’s teeth sparkled, and his soft brown eyes drew Ben’s soul in.
“Hi,” the man said. “Do you know anything about these bagels? I’ve never had one. I don’t know what to order.”
“Well,” Ben said, “you could start with a plain one, and put things on it you like, like cream cheese, or tomato, or even lunch meat and mustard.”
The man turned to him, standing upright and displaying his flat stomach and broad chest. Ben noticed especially how his large nipples filled out his Tee shirt. Ben tried not to stare. “How do you have your bagel?” the man asked, smiling shyly. He pretended not to notice Ben’s interest in his body.
“I usually have a plain one, toasted, with cream cheese and chives.” Ben looked at the man’s chiseled chin and shapely nose. The brown eyes drew him in again. Ben wanted to plunge into them and swim for eternity.
“That sounds good,” the man said. “That’s what I’ll try, too.” He signaled to the scrawny girl behind the counter. “I’ve decided,” he said. “I’ll have a plain bagel, toasted, with cream cheese and chives.” The girl turned to start preparing it. Ben looked at his feet, wondering how to continue the conversation.
“I’m Justin, Justin Thyme,” the blonde said, and held out his hand. Ben took it. His hand felt dwarfed in the blonde’s hand.
“I’m Ben, Ben Soul,” he said.
“Are you doing takeout?”
“No, I’ll eat my bagel here.” He turned toward the girl. “I’ll have a plain bagel, too, with cream cheese and chives.” She nodded, took out another plain bagel, sliced it, and started both bagels through the toaster. Then she went back to slicing tomatoes.
“Do you live near here?” Ben knew his opening was lame, but he couldn’t think of any other way to prod the conversation along.
“Yeah,” Justin said. “And you?”
“About six blocks away. I was on my way out for a night on the town,” Ben said. He felt a rush of excitement swirling in his throat and chest.
“So was I. Do you have a favorite hangout?” Justin’s smile dazzled Ben again.
“Not really, not yet.” Ben
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