[i suppose this could be considered a sequel to this post]
i remember the first time i laid eyes on him, this slim, impossibly cute eurasian boy, as he pulled up to the curb in his shiny red jeep and jumped out to check out our "mike's moving out" yard sale.
i remember literally running over paul (who had already spotted him and was moving fast) and a dozen or so middle-aged russian-immigrant babushkas in order to get to him first.
i showed him everything we had to offer, but he saw nothing he wanted, except me.
the look paul gave me when i called out, "take whatever you can get for my shit" as vince and i piled into his jeep and peeled off into the sunset: priceless
i remember i shot three times that first night, and vince not once. i remember that never having happened before, but not caring, because i was smitten--that boy was something.
a senior at USC and a virtuoso trumpet player in its band, vince was possessed of that ineffable musician-cool that carried him through every situation seemingly untouched, and made me melt from day one.
my second-favorite vince memory: from his balcony overlooking a pool party below, he tosses a water balloon into the chattering midst of a speedo-ed gaggle of weho muscle marys, and, as they shriek and scatter in every direction, looks at me with a twisted grin and says, "not so hot now, are they?''
i remember the last time i laid eyes on him--about three weeks in and we're high and i slip a couple fingers into him as a preliminary to the fucking and he asks for a third and then begs for a fourth and before i know it i'm deep inside him in a way i've never been inside anyone before and everything i hadn't understood about vince--23 years old and already ruined--suddenly becomes clear.
i remember he looked up at me, eyes on fire for the first time, and said, "fuck me, mike", and i did, and he finally came.
* * * * *
my favorite vince memory: he and i on melrose in that open jeep on that first day with the sun on his face and the wind in his hair and all the boys looking at him and him rolling his eyes at me, saying, "i feel like i'm on a parade float when i drive this thing", and his song of the moment blaring outta the speakers
[to be truthful, this one wasn't exactly an "it came up on shuffle"--i heard it at the grocery store tonight for the first time in years and it brought it all back]
6 comments:
Well, I remember the song really well. It was just a great song to dance to.
But, that's another story.
As for Vince, part of the problem when you are young and gay and have the world at your feet is that you get older. Some guys handle it well, but most don't.
On the other end of that decline is just a little tougher than I ever expected it to be. I have to say, however, that it's better than the alternative.
noblesavage: while there have been many fresh-faced burnout cases cross my path since, especially as the drugs really started to take over, vince was my first, and i'll always remember him with a pang.
The question I have for you is were are these guys at 50? Or even 40?
Some clean up their act. I have seen that. A few don't make it. I have seen that. And then there are the majority that seem to lurch from crisis to crisis with drama all the way. I see lots of that.
But like an incredibly beautiful but fragile orchid, these guys have their moment in the sun when everything is right and perfect. That's how I choose to remember so many of the guys I have known like Vince.
It's sure a lot more difficult to remember the much more complicated story of a guy who has so much going for him that takes a turn for the worse and never seems to get back on solid footing.
noblesavage: well, that's the problem, isn't it--i mean, when you've maxed out all your pleasure centers by 25 and there are no reserves to dip into, what's left, really?
But the cause of the pleasure isn't just physical. It is often, and sometimes mostly, in the style and technique of the partner--assuming one isn't so totally jaded and cynical that all men are reduced to anonymous numbers good for getting off but little else. That's the real tragedy in my view.
From what I can gather I've a got a good fifteen and maybe even twenty years on you guys, but I can still get a huge rush from a mew man crossing my path who unexpectedly excites receptors in me I didn't know I had or hadn't visited recently. And suddenly it's a whole new thrill.
i love your blog. i'm saving fisting for my 30's.
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