A Man Named Taurus

The past couple of blogs have got me to reminiscing about my days hanging out in gay leather bars.  There were several in Los Angeles:  The Spike, The Eagle, The Gauntlet, Cuffs, Faultline...

One night, in the late 90's; 1997 to be exact.  March of that year to be exacter; I was out at the Faultline.  I had just left my job (not really fired but "this just isn't working out...") at L____________ Entertainment, which was housed on the Paramount lot.  For four years, Paramount and its environs were my world (during the day).  It was wonderful for most of that time; but towards the end of 1996 and into 1997, things were going South.  But that's another story; maybe a book.  Did you know that the northern border of Paramount Studios abuts the Hollywood Forever cemetery?  It does.  When I worked there, it was just the "Hollywood Cemetery."  I always found this the height of irony.  Valentino found fame on the lot and then ended up on the other side of the lot; for eternity: mere feet from his former stomping grounds.  Still a draw.  I can recall right after the Northridge quake, walking through the mausoleum, utterly alone.  Some of the crypts had cracked open and there was police tape.  I recall being drawn past the tape and then running, terrified, out into the cold Los Angeles sunshine.
But I don't want to wallow in morbidity.  This is a story of uplift!  Yes, it's about ghosts; but it's uplifting!

The man above is a model.  Yes, he is a real person; but he is not the person of this story.  However he is a representation.  He is a...oh, what's the word...an icon?  A ne plus ultra?  Maybe?  But put him in a room with a bunch of gay men who are like-minded and he's the one that everyone is going to want.  To want to be.  To desire.
That night, when I was at the Faultline, there was a new icon on the scene.  He was the cocktail waiter.  He totally gave off the vibe of the dude above.  He was all muscle and mustache and squeezed quite fittingly into short-shorts and a tank-top.
Every man in the room desired him.  He was the Object of Desire.
He approached me and asked if I wanted a drink.  Of course I did.  I was in a bar.  I ordered a beer.  He was so physically imposing I was intimidated.  When he returned and handed me the beer he smiled.  This was someone else. He was not trying to live up to the machismo he naturally gave off.  I flirted with him; but I flirt with everyone.  I figured he'd leave; but he lingered.  Was he flirting back?​  I mean, guys like him rarely hit on me.  Oh, once or twice maybe; but it was rare.  I forget the specifics of how it happened; but he ended up coming home with me.  Here he is, the morning after:

You can't tell in clothes, but he was all that without them.  And why did I take a picture of him?  I hardly knew him.  And I wasn't in the habit of photographing my paramours du nuit.  Did I mention his name was "Taurus"?  Like the zodiac sign?  Like, just "Taurus."  Stand alone.  Like Cher or Madonna or Charo.
So here's the thing.  We slept together.  Yes, we slept together; but we didn't have sex.  I was going to say, "make love" but the phrase is corny.  In a way, though, we did make love. If you consider skin contact and interest as kinds of love (and I do). We laid on my bed together.  I'm not sure we were completely naked.  For some reason I recall us both in our underwear.  I expected him to be the aggressor.  I assumed he would "take" me.  But he didn't.  He seemed tired.  Sleepy.  I considered being the seducer for once.  Oh, yes, I touched every glorious inch of him; but the idea of having sex was...daunting.  He was just too much man for me.  And I'm not talking about his manhood (although there was plenty of uncircumcised that).  Let me put it this way: the idea of mounting him (literally and metaphorically) would have been like trying to scale Mount Everest without a Sherpa.  It was just so nice laying next to him.  I felt protected and safe.  Next to a perfect stranger. He smelled like spices from some densely peopled land. I forget the specifics of what we murmured about in the half-light (L.A. is never completely dark).  I probably asked him a lot of questions about his life...but maybe I didn't; because I don't remember any of the answers.  The next morning we went to a coffee shop in Silver Lake.  The name escapes me; but it's long gone now.  I remember one time I was there and Carrie Snodgress was in the booth behind me.

I mean, she wasn't there when I was with Taurus.  I remember sitting there with him...that warm, safe feeling already falling away, in the unforgiving flat light, because I was jobless and had very little on the foreseeable horizon and I was scared and I knew this would be the last time I saw Taurus.  We had little in common; but for whatever reason, we were drawn to each other that night.  He bought me breakfast and gave me what reassurance he could.  I remember he had a steak and eggs for breakfast.  A big, thick steak for a big, thick man.  I mean, what else would someone called Taurus have for breakfast, besides steak and eggs?

I'll admit I'm a magical thinker.  I'm superstitious.  I believe in ghosts.  I believe in a little of everything.  I think maybe I was meant to meet Taurus.  I think Taurus, who was all in white the night I met him, was maybe an angel sent to help me through some dark night of the soul.  Maybe his words that I can't quite remember were words of wisdom I was meant to hear at that time and place.  Maybe that's the only reason I'm sitting here, now, typing this.
I wonder what became of Taurus but I also don't.  Because, in a way, for me, he only existed that one night and I can't wonder what happened to him because the whole encounter was so strange that...how could it have been real?
But I've never forgotten him.
That coffee shop is gone now; like so many others.  I'm pretty sure every single one of those bars I mentioned is gone now.  Gone.  Like torn down.  So even the ghosts can't go back.

But I still have that picture of Taurus.  That picture I took because...?
I think I'll frame it.
​See, I told you this would be uplifting.

​CFR  12/29/22