the night a hookup saved the canyon

.

[usually there's a trigger, a song or something, but not tonight--this one just arose from the depths of my memory spontaneously and unbidden.]


in the world of mkf, there's two kindsa fuckbuddies:  (1) the dime-a-dozens who wait for my call, and (2) the one-in-a-millions i drop everything for. darrin fell into the latter category, which is why when he booty-called me at around three on the monday morning in question, and even though i was well into mkf cocktail #2, i without even a moment's hesitation topped off my drink and hit the road.

an artist of sorts, darrin lived in a dingy hollywood loft near western & santa monica, which location presented me with the eternal dilemma:  go south and then east via sunset to save time, or take the long way up through the valley to the 101 and thus dodge the cops?

as always when even mildly shitfaced [and unlike oliver stone and countless other idiot celebrities whose hubris overcomes their common sense], i went with plan b--a decision which on this particular night would prove to have ramifications far above and beyond my successful avoidance of a DUI.

pitch-black and deserted as always at this hour, which is why i chose this route--i loved the canyon like this.

rounding the hairpin at the nature conservancy, i saw something alien and unexpected up ahead--looked like a harmless little campfire burning brightly on the side of the road, but the sight of it was sufficient to drive all thoughts of darrin from my head, bring me to a screeching halt, fumble for the phone and dial 911 for the first time in my life.

while waiting for the cavalry to arrive, i clambered outta my truck and tried to stamp it out--hell, even went so far as to pour my drink on it--all to no avail.  in what seemed like no time [thanks, i'd find out later, to gasoline], the little campfire exponentially grew, worked its way under the chain-link fence next to the road and started licking at the brush surrounding a big, dry tree on the other side.  i remember thinking, "nice knowing you, little canyon."

on the phone with 911 again, stamping for all i was worth and screaming for backup, i remember feeling it before seeing it--the heavy diesel rumble coming down from the fire station at the top of the hill--and then, finally, blessedly, the flashing lights rounding the curve.

they'd sent the big one, complete with lotsa hot firemens hangin off it.

once it was out, the captain told me that if i hadn't happened along right behind the arsonist, this coulda been a really bad one.

"god sure had a plan for you tonight," he said, and smiled.  [when he asked what had brought me out at such an odd hour, i gulped, mumbled something about being hungry and oh thank heaven for 7-11 whilst trying to avoid either looking him in the eye or breathing directly in his face].

darrin, whom i'd forgotten about in all the excitement, was rightly pissed and having none of my lame-ass heroics--until i finally got to his place, he got a good whiff of me and we had us some of the most smokin' make-up sex ever.

two morals of this story:  (1) if you're gonna keep a category-2 fuckbuddy waiting, you'd better have an excuse at least as good as this one; and (2) next time you're confronted with a foaming-at-the-mouth fundamentalist who claims gays and their unnatural perversions serve no useful purpose in god's plan for humanity, point 'em to this post, ok?