Henry's End

by Julie Richman

  Henry was thankful for his suit jacket.

  As he headed down to HR, he knew exactly where he was going to tell them to look for a place for him. Hillcrest. San Diego’s gay mecca was the neighborhood of his dreams, just as San Diego, with its proliferation of military bases and hot military men, was the city of his dreams.

  Thank you, Monica. Enjoy being a mommy. Maybe now I’ll meet the man of my dreams.

  Sailors and Airmen and Marines… Oh my!

  San Diego’s gay nightlife in the mid-90’s was legendary and thriving. It was also hot, nasty and absolutely perfect. Henry had to walk mere blocks from his apartment to be writhing shirtless under a disco ball, feeling anonymous bulges pressed against his ass crack on a packed dance floor regularly raided by the Fire Marshalls for being over-capacity. Tall and handsome with his strawberry-blonde hair, Henry was not lacking for dance partners or dates.

  Bears and cubs and aunties, Chapstick and diesel dykes were all living openly and harmoniously in Hillcrest. AIDS had ripped the community apart and glued it back together with a renewed mission and purpose. Dancing and drinking were the escape from the still harsh reality, as friends and lovers fell by the wayside. A single purplish-black skin lesion became a signed death warrant, and even the most prolific of debaters couldn’t talk their way out of its verdict. And so they fell, from waiters to lawyers, 20-somethings to 60-somethings. This plague did not discriminate, as it washed through the streets, with its tsunami-like voracity, smoking out victims living under bridges, in stucco’ed mid-centuries, renovated Craftsman cottages, and the stateliest of Victorian homes.

  As a culture was torn apart by this common foe, a solidarity formed right alongside it. Strangers helping their new, unfortunate brethren, lawyers and laymen waging battles against everyone from local politicians to big Pharma, in an attempt to stem the toxic tide. Amid the relentless torrent, a voice was found, loud and proud, in what once was skirted in hushed hallways. And in death’s wake, a true community arose, fueled by loss and the resolve not only to survive, but to live grandly.

  Henry met him in a dark club. Leaning seductively against the bar, his long, tanned frame relaxed as he blew wisps of white smoke into the air with the finesse of a Forties matinee idol. Supposing he was close to fifty, Henry was amused at how openly the old queen was checking him out.

  His smile was slow and more than slightly predatory as he bared overly white, straight teeth. “You have one fine ass,” he drawled with a prevalent southern accent.

  “So I’ve been told,” Henry matched back his audacity.

  The approaching bartender laughed, “This one is not going to be so easy, Edwin.” Turning to Henry, “What can I get you?”

  “Gin & Tonic.”

  “I haven’t seen you here before. Are you visiting?” Edwin was now shoulder to shoulder with Henry at the bar.

  “No, but I just moved to the area a few months ago.”

  The bartender set down Henry’s glass, “Five-fifty.”

  As he went to reach for the twenty dollar bill he’d shoved with his ID into his back pocket, Henry felt a hand just above his wrist.

  “I’ve got this,” Edwin shook his head, laying a ten on the bar. “Keep the change, Sean.”

  “Thanks, Edwin.” Sean smiled brightly at the older man.

  “Thank you,” Henry offered, pleased to get a free drink, but wondering how he was going to get out of it. Old guys were not his deal. Airmen, SEALS, Sailors, Marines – that was his weakness and San Diego had no shortage of them. “So, how long have you been in the area?” Henry attempted to make polite conversation over the din of the music.

  Edwin leaned in, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Twenty-six years.”

  “Wow, that’s as long as I’ve been alive.”

  Edwin smiled and there was nothing lascivious or leering, “I’ve seen it all in this town.”

  He was definitely aging movie star handsome, and Henry imagined he must’ve had a wild time when he was young with his leading man looks.

  “I’ll bet you’ve got stories.” Henry smiled and took a sip of his drink.

  “Sweetheart, I could bury half the politicians in this state and identify their dicks in a line-up!” he ended with a flourish, brushing away a lock of dyed black hair, the cuffs on his white silk shirt flowing open.

  There was something so likable about him. He’s everything I’m not, Henry thought, over-the-top, flamboyant, outspoken, fearless. “I want to hear your stories,” Henry confessed. And suddenly the excitement was no longer on the dance floor for Henry, it was with this man, this treasure trove of local lore and wanton tales.

  More than a little drunk after several hours of Edwin’s generosity as he regaled Henry with local legend, he was not upset to be leaving the club without a conquest, for he knew he’d found a friend in the most unlikely of characters, and that Edwin would be around a lot longer than his usual Friday night companions.

  With plans to meet for pancakes Sunday morning, Henry felt closer to the scene around him than he did when he’d walked into the club. Oddly, tonight’s meeting had left him feeling like a true Hillcrest resident. As he reached his apartment, he was finally able to put his finger on what it was – he belonged. After being different his entire life, he was no longer different. He fit in. He blended in. No one was judging anything but his damn fine ass.

  Locking up his bicycle, the cool breeze off the ocean chilled his skin and caused it to tingle as a slightly sweaty Henry removed his helmet and gloves. Taking in a deep breath of sea air, he stretched his muscles and made his way into The Menu Restaurant.

  Walking in from the bright morning sunshine, Henry immediately swiped his Ray-Bans off his face, momentarily blinded as his eyes adjusted to the dark hues of wide planked wood paneled walls and terracotta tile floor. As soon as he regained his focus, his attention was drawn to the curved planked wood ceiling that made the space feel like an airplane hangar.

  Waving from a table at the back, Henry made his way toward where Edwin sat, admiring the framed photos of San Diego sunsets and surfers decorating the walls.

  “Good morning,” Henry greeted, happy to see the older man again.

  “You rode a bicycle here? I would’ve picked you up if I’d known you didn’t have a car.”

  Laughing, “I have a car and I spend way too much time in it during the week. I really don’t get to ride my bike enough and the weather was perfect for it this morning. It’s just really good for my head and my legs and my ass, too,” Henry added as an afterthought, knowing Edwin would appreciate it.

  “But it’s far.” Edwin was shaking his head in disbelief.

  Picking up a menu, “No, not too bad, seven or eight miles and the Ocean Beach Bike Path by Sea World brought me right here. I need to get out and ride more.”

  After giving their orders to the waitress, Edwin looked seriously at Henry, “How would you like to ride your bike every night?”

  “I’d love to. It would be like when I was back in college. My friend Schooner and I ran the track every night. I have never felt so good, both body and mind.”

  “I can trump that,” Edwin bragged. “How about body, mind and heart.”

  “I’m intrigued. Go on.” Edwin had piqued his curiosity.

  “One of the things I do for the community is work for Auntie Helen’s Fluff and Fold laundry service.” Edwin locked eyes with Henry.

  “I’ve heard of it. That’s the place in North Park that Gary Cheatham runs. I saw him on the news. What a great thing it is to take care of the laundry for people no longer well enough to do their own. That is really cool.” Cutting into his granola crusted French toast, Henry looked back up at Edwin. “So, you work with them?”

  Nodding, “I’ve been helping Gary since it was operating out of his little one-car garage.”

  With a smile, Henry shook his head, “Edwin, I have the feeling you will always continue to amaze me. So, what is it I can do to help?”

  “Get on your bicyc
le and do pick-ups and drop-offs to clients.” Edwin was very matter of fact.

  “I can absolutely do that. Actually, I would love to do that.” Just the thought made Henry feel as if he were a part of things, a member of San Diego’s gay community and doing his part. “When can I start?” Henry was eager to meet the people who needed his help.

  “I’ll talk to Gary today and we’ll see if we can get you scheduled this week.” Edwin paused, his perfectly tweezed brows coming together to form an almost perfectly straight line. Cocking his head slightly, he looked up at Henry as he reached for the bright blue pack of Galoises sitting on the table, extracting a cigarette, and lighting it with dramatic flourish, “Did you say your friend’s name was Schooner? Is that like some Biff, Buff, Skippy type nickname?”

  Laughing, Henry shook his head. “No, that is actually his real name.”

  “What the hell were those parents thinking? They should be shot.”

  Henry’s smile remained bright as he spoke of his good friend, “Believe it or not, it is the perfect name for him.”

  “A large sailboat? Does he have a big mast?” Edwin laughed at his own joke, blowing a plume of white smoke toward the arched wooden ceiling.

  “It’s ummm, sizable. He’s a big guy.”

  “Tell me more. Were you two …”

  “No,” Henry waved his hand. “He’s straight. And actually married with two kids, his wife just had their second baby.”

  “So, you are friends with a married, straight guy?” Stubbing out the French cigarette, Edwin leaned into the table and looked Henry straight in the eye. “Why?”

  Henry shook his head, laughing. “We’re an unlikely pair, but he’s like a brother to me. He’s never judged me or looked down on me for being gay. He didn’t care what other people thought about our friendship – and he lived in the all-guys jock dorm when we were in school. But he’s kind of a larger than life character, so no one was going to bust on him about it.”

  “He’d have to be larger than life with a name like that.”

  Smiling at his new friend, Henry laughed, “It actually fits him.”

  Biking southbound on the Ocean Beach Bike Path, Henry made the split second decision not to go directly home. Meeting Edwin and now about to become part of Auntie Helen’s laundry crew, he realized that this weekend was the turning point. He was no longer just a commuter, he was now a resident of San Diego and a proud member of San Diego’s gay community. Up until this point, getting Monica’s old sales territory producing had been his singular focus, and he’d made good headway, enough to start exploring expanding the social areas of his life.

  It was that decision that propelled Henry’s muscular legs to cycle down Nimitz Blvd. and hang a left onto Chatsworth Blvd., cycling with fervor toward Portal Loma, home of The Hole, a legendary gay dive bar famously known for its popularity with hot military men and sun-bleached surfers. Located across from the Naval Recruitment Center, Henry had, up until now, avoided The Hole, knowing it could easily become an addiction. The bars and clubs in his Hillcrest neighborhood were generally frequented by the ‘pose and be seen’ crowd, and although he might find a hook-up for the night, those men were not his Achilles’ heel. The military men of The Hole were another story and he knew it.

  With his heart racing nearly as fast as his feet pounded the pedals, Henry locked up his bike and descended the staircase down into The Hole. Literally laughing out loud at the sign, “Only Sailors Get Blown Off Shore,” his smile was bright as he emerged onto the patio packed with gorgeous guys and everyday Joe’s. Peeling off his cycling gloves, he made his way to the bar where a bare-chested hunk of a bartender met him with a heart-stopping smile.

  “Great day for cycling,” he acknowledged. “What can I get for you?”

  Henry noticed everyone was drinking out of mini-pitchers. “What are you known for?” he yelled across the bar.

  “Well, Sunday is our barbeque and beer day. Is this your first time here?”

  Henry nodded at the tanned cutie. “It is.”

  “OK, well I’m going to make you something special then.” He turned toward the bottle lined shelves, then over his shoulder called, “On the house.”

  Vodka. Rum. Gin. Tequila. Triple Sec. Midori. Stabbing a pink straw into the pitcher, he slid it across the bar to Henry with a sex-on-a-stick smile. “Welcome to The Hole.”

  “Wow. Thank you. What is this?” Henry took his first sip through the pink straw, immediately feeling the concoction of liquor coursing through his blood stream with a bang.

  “It’s a Tokyo Tea. You should head out to the patio, that’s where all the action is.”

  Leaving a healthy tip for his new favorite bartender, Henry negotiated his way through the crowd to the strains of Gloria Estefan’s Everlasting Love and out onto the circular tropical patio packed to the gills with bears and cubs and Marines. Oh my.

  Sunglasses back firmly in place shading his eyes from the bright sun and inquiring eyes, Henry wished he had a wingman with him.

  “Nice ass,” a bear, with a warm smile, commented.

  “Thanks,” Henry looked down at his butt and realized he was wearing his second skin black bike shorts, leaving very little to the imaginations of the throngs of men surrounding him on the palm-lined patio. Well, if I’m going to make a splash into San Diego gay life, this is the way to do it, he smiled to himself.

  As he made his way over to a wooden railing to set down his mini-pitcher of Tokyo ‘kick-ass’ Tea, he saw a guy across the patio leaning against the bar, beer in hand. Tall and muscled, from both his regal bearing and short hair, as well as his observant eagle eyes scanning the crowd, Henry surmised that the guy was military. If he were to define his guess a little more, he’d venture to say he was a bona fide Marine. The man was hot, yet aloof, making him even hotter. He took no part in the conversations, laughter or dancing that was taking place all around him. Henry could feel his balls tighten just looking at the guy and had to turn away before he was sporting a semi in bike shorts and embarrassing himself publicly.

  “New here?” a voice beside him asked.

  Turning to see who was talking to him, Henry nodded at the guy. He appeared to be young, early twenties, maybe. Again, the short hair was a dead giveaway. Military. Yes! The place was crawling with them.

  “Just moved here recently on business,” Henry offered as he took another sip of his now half-empty mini-pitcher.

  “Oh, a pink straw,” the guy commented on his drink. “Someone behind the bar thought you were a hottie.”

  Laughing, “Seriously, color-coded straws?” It was then that Henry began to observe the patterns in the straw colors and their respective sippers. “Hottie, I’ll take that.” He smiled to himself.

  “Come dance with me.” The guy grabbed his hand and pulled him to the center of the patio, “I’m David.”

  “Henry,” he yelled over the music, immediately taken away by the beat, as the undeniably masculine scent of sweat and alcohol, and of the men dancing irresistibly too close on the packed dance floor, transported him somewhere, nowhere, just where the music was, as the warm San Diego sun beat down on his face.

  With eyes semi-closed, his too tight from cycling shoulders loosened as he rhythmically stretched them with the lithe grace of a cat. I belong, he thought. I totally and thoroughly belong. And he wondered if he’d ever had that actual thought pattern before – that his belonging and acceptance was so total. Only once before in his life, during a magical month freshman year in college, when he’d worked day and night on a project with three friends, was this feeling approximated. They’d lived and breathed in their own cocoon for those four weeks, baring their souls, and irrevocably becoming one, even though missing members were later nowhere to be found.

  Lost in the perfect memory and the déjà vu of finding Moksha again, he enjoyed the contact of the hot, sweaty bodies strafing him from every direction. Free and relaxed, with more than a slight Tokyo Tea buzz, the bright San Diego sun warmed his
fair skin, and Henry knew that he was exactly where he was supposed to be. Everything had led to this moment in time. His moment.

  Prying open his eyes, as if willed by some inexplicable dominant force, and ripping him violently from his reverie, the assault was completed as Henry locked eyes with the aloof Marine. The man’s pale blue Husky-like eyes were trained unwaveringly on Henry, taking a slow, leisurely stroll all over his body, leaving him feeling both assaulted and aroused. Even halfway across the patio, the man sucked the oxygen away, leaving Henry gasping for air. His look was confusing, appearing almost angry, angry that Henry was dancing amongst a throng of boys.

  Holding eye contact with the man, meeting the challenge head on, Henry didn’t flinch. He wanted him to know that he was aware that he was being watched. The energy between the two was sharp and direct. There was no mistaking that contact had been made, and Henry could feel his stomach cramping with excitement, and his balls tightening with desire. This was a man he had dreamed about his whole life. He exuded absolute power. Envisioning him in uniform made Henry inexplicably ache even more.

  Definitely a Marine, he thought. A lieutenant? A captain? This man gave orders and expected them to be followed. He commanded. Demanded. And received.

  Turning away, Henry made his way through the crowd in search of the bathroom. Mostly he needed his air back and a moment to process what had transpired. He knew that wasn’t all in his head.

  The man hadn’t just cruised him.

  He’d claimed him.

  Heading into the bathroom, the site of an open stall door felt like an immediate godsend and he needed to get behind it, alone. Quickly.

  It happened so fast, he wasn’t quite sure how it occurred. Entering the stall, he turned to close the door but was propelled against the metal stall wall to his right, knocking the air out of him. He heard the muffled sound of the stall door latch being locked. The larger man pinned him with his body, his muscular chest pressing Henry flush against the cold metal. The cool smooth surface felt good against his hot, sunburned cheek. Henry could feel the man’s cock pressed against his ass crack on the outside of his bike shorts and wondered if the guy’s cock was still in his pants or not. It wasn’t until that moment that he realized the man had him in a loose choke hold. He didn’t feel fear, and somehow instinctually knew this guy wasn’t going to hurt him. He was establishing his control and position.