Sunday, November 14, 2010


I was about to give Jonas a ride home, he’d left his bike back at his place because it had snowed the night before. He had The Office DVD boxed set I had loaned him in one hand, and a substantial black leather and chrome harness in the other. “Want a bag for that,” I asked what I hoped sounded casually, pointing at the more forbidding of the two items. “No. No I don’t,” I had anticipated his matter of fact, non-negotiable response.

I think maybe we can make it into the hall, into the elevator, out of the building without being detected, pressing the lit down button frantically like a mad predator was gaining on me, but it was just my weightlifter hulk of a boyfriend humming mindlessly next to me. The elevator door opened, we had company for the long ride down: the roly-poly gay man from the 5th floor, and my neighbor Paul, who had married Lauren, an almost friend of mine who had a penchant for babbling other people’s business. Jonas entered first, with the ‘clank, clank’ of The Ghost of Christmas Past. I entered after him, pretending that his BDSM ecoutrement was no more noticeable than if he’d been carrying the Arts And Leisure section from The Sunday Times. “Hey, Claud,” Paul said half impressed, half aroused. The meek gay man stood silent, eyes popping and fixed on The Terminator to my right. Introductions were in order, “Paul, this is Jonas,” I said with a lilt, like I was introducing the boy I'd met him at the country fair. They exchanged hellos, Jonas looking straight ahead, not extending a hand. I didn’t know if bikers did’t subscribe to the school of basic common courtesies, or if shaking Paul’s hand would have required him to place the confining leather and stainless accessory into his other hand, which was already occupied with the lighthearted English comedy DVD. Paul mumbled something about he and Lauren heading off to MOMA, never once taking his eyes off my mighty date. Jonas outweighed him almost 3 to 1, and seemed to have Paul considering a first time homosexual encounter. My roly-poly gay neighbor had stopped breathing, and appeared hurt by the fact that I hadn’t extended an introduction his way (I had never learned his name), but was nonetheless getting a good eyeful of Jonas who was winding up his intimidation stare for the 2 block walk to my car in my quaint Brooklyn neighborhood.

The elevator door opened, Jonas thudded out first as usual, giving no thought to me, Paul or Lauren, or the tiny, stout gay man who was clumsily fighting off the closing elevator doors in an effort to keep up. The whole motley bunch made its way up the long ramp to the building’s front door, following Jonas’ lead; his mammoth leather jacket implying the slaughter of at least 4 animals, their fates delivered by Jonas’ own bare hands. Once outside, Jonas shifted his harness to his boxed set hand, taking my small hand into his death grip paw with tenderness. “We should go to MOMA sometime,” he said, wistfully – a small girl on a tricycle had to swerve out of his Frankenstein path, her mother averting her eyes, guiding her child out of harm’s way. I suspected there would be no MOMA in our future, they didn't serve shots of Jack, but Jonas was good times all the same. We grabbed some croissants, a pack of Camels; breakfast of champions for the ride home. Jonas rode shot-gun, quietly staring out at the gray February morning chomping on his chocolate croissant with childlike abandon, the XXL sex shop harness a-tangle at his feet.


  1. Completely off topic:

    Merry Xmas. Friend.


  2. HAHAHAHHAHAHAAAAAAA!!! Guess I'm not the only one missing the good ol days hahhahaaaa

    good festivus to you, too, friend!!