But I don't want to wallow in morbidity. This is a story of uplift! Yes, it's about ghosts; but it's uplifting!
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:
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 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.
I think I'll frame it.
See, I told you this would be uplifting.