CHAPTER FOUR

"This is Al and Walter interrupting our regular scheduled programming to bring you the latest Psychic Activity Report. Heaven and Hell are in an uproar with the recent awakening of a primordial force.

Since Michael, a human, has been overshadowed by an Uthra, there have been numerous skirmishes between the worlds of light and the worlds of dark. Upon his recent ascension to becoming a Male Mother, Michael has been approached by many Beings vying to father a child of light to seed light into their world.

As we all know, a Male Mother has not been in this sector of creation for eons. It was the hopes and dreams of the Mu Universe that we would finally ascend from this dark section of creation back into the worlds of light. Therefore, a representative of the Mu Universe has been sent to become the consort to the Male Mother.

Now we are returning to our ongoing programming of Michael's journey through light and darkness, "A Whore of the Heaven."

It was a Friday night. Michael and his roommate, Byron, were in the West Village in New York. They were at a leather bar near the pier called "Rough." This was a leather and jean bar. It was a place for rough sex, leather queens, S&M and anything that would leave you dark and damp. It was still early, so the pier was not happening with men who cruise for anonymous sex. Byron and Michael arrived at the Rough about ten o'clock. The serious ones hadn't arrived yet. There was still too much fresh air filtering through. A man, wearing faded jeans with holes around the crotch and ass, sauntered by eyeing Byron. Michael shrunk a bit like a seven day old flower. His confidence had not arisen yet; he was still on his first beer. Other men wore pins in their nipples, leather vest, uniforms, dog leashes and tattoos of every description. Byron felt right at home. Michael felt dangerous since he wore a t-shirt that said "Moist and Easy."

"This beer's on me," Michael said handing a bottle to Byron diverting his attention momentarily from the bear cub that was giving him attention.

"You sure you don't want some," Byron remarked sitting down on a stack of beer cases and offering a small vial of the white lady. "Bathroom's clear. You can do a quick toot."

"Makes me you know," Michael replied shyly. "Be a shame to waste it though."

"You never know until you try," Byron said placing a small bottle in Michael's shirt pocket.

"I don't know."

"It's not like you're starting a habit. Relax. You're uptight most of the time."

"It keeps me safe."

"This is not a bar to be safe in."

The smell of male flesh tickled Michael's nose.

What could I lose? It's just one night. It's not as if I was signing up to do this permanently. Maybe some man will notice me and I leave footprints on his ceiling.

"So are you going to sit there posing in your thought or let fun take a hold of you? There are too many fine men sitting here just waiting for our attention. I say let's give them what they want."

This image, well tacky image, flashed across Michael's face. He's wearing a tight leather outfit, there is a collar around his neck with a chain hanging from it which he spins it around as he is strutting on the bar, growling at the patrons. Strip and search music is blaring in the background. In his mind, he leaps into the throng of waiting arms after he tosses them his last article of clothing.

"What the hell," Michael claimed. "One more time can't hurt." In the bathroom, a piss smell slaps him back and forth across the face. Posters with nude males in various graphic suggestive positions were enticing his thoughts. His eyes tried to avert the face in the mirror. In the mirror, he sees the reflection of condom ads – the words "No Glove, No Love" blare out at him.

His reflection spoke. "Do it quickly. Don't think about it. Tilt the bottle, take it up slowly, that's it, not to fast, now breathe in hard, that's the way. Now, let's do the second nostril, and with this one, let's take a little more. You never know if the other one will kick into high gear soon. That's right. Oh baby, doesn't that feel good. Now shake it into your system. Don't frown. Smile baby. Lay back those frustrations and kick that sex drive in gear and let's go work some of that pretty ass that's been calling out all night to be kissed."

Michael smiled when he discreetly handed the bottle back to Byron. "You'll be surprised what this night will bring us." A wicked grin spread eagled itself across Michael's face. "I feel the need to get low and bare to the bone."

"I see you're running hot tonight."

"Let's see whose first."

"I'm in the mood for rough, lay me down and fuck my brains out."

A pain registered in Michael's eyes but he hid it. If he wasn't going to have fun, he was surely going to fake it.

"You like these kind of bars?"

"People know why they are here. Damn a conversation. Man that torpedo. Invade me."

Wish I was home back in the safety net mode of depending on an old boyfriend for emotional support and to get laid. I should have called Lazarus but he doesn't care about me. Matthew would have been better than this. But I'm here. There's no substance here only a convenience he thought.

"I'm going to walk around a bit, do you want to join me," Byron asked?

"No, I think I'll sit here awhile."

"It's okay to have fun you know, not be glued to one spot and one facial expression."

"I'm fine with the same spot and the same position." Hope it sound cheerful he thought."

Byron walked away.

He's definitely on the hunt he thought.

They had been roommates for several months. Both were recent additions to New York. Byron had no friends here. Chance brought them together. Now what keeps them together he wondered. I'm lonely, trying to repaint and repair this old house called me while Byron is trying to lose the child he is and be an adult.

"So what are you doing here," the man asked interrupting Michael's train of thoughts.

Michael sized him up quickly. The man was about 5'9", shoulder length brown hair, worry thick glasses, slight pouch, way too much cologne and a leather vest with no shirt, revealing a hairy chest that made him think of a lawn that needed trimming. He smelled of cigarette smoke and had stale beer breathe.

"I am waiting on my roommate."

"A lover?"

"He's just a roommate."

"So what really brings you out tonight?"

"This is my roommate's scene. I'm tagging alone for moral support."

"Well, aren't you just the special friend. So, who supports you...morally?"

"Not into crutches."

"You play games I see."

"Not really. I'm not athletic."

"You interest me."

"Would you excuse, I see my roommate."

"I'm sure he can handle himself."

"I'm sure he can. Nevertheless, we are sort of joined at the hips this evening. We came here together and we'll leave together."

"I'll be here awhile. I am an oral kind of guy if you want to step into the back room."

"The crowd is not here yet. So I'm sure someone will answer the call of your wild."

"I live near here."

"I hate to disappoint you but we're not happening."

"You want to break my heart."

"Those are the rules when you mess with Pandora's Box."

"You're interesting."

"It makes up for being appealing."

"So does that entitle me to a consultation prize?"

 

The man leaned over to kiss him. Michael pulled back. "I'm not into harvesting this encounter. Casual talk is not a signed, sealed delivery. Happy hunting," he said as he walked quickly away, maneuvering through the crowd as if it was an obstacle course. The smell of liquor singed his face, hands grabbed at his ass and crotch, voices tattooed conversations in his mind."

Michael didn't see Byron. He found a place to stand in the part of the room that was very dark. Another hell hole I'm entrenched in he thought to himself. And another internal monologue begins. "It's no one's fault but mine. Byron didn't tie my hand behind my back and lead me here. Bars are where I run to when I see my rules of life get so regimented. God, I want to like looking in the mirror. Remember this dream where I'm standing there looking in my mirror. My reflection moves to the left as I am standing there. Then my body's reflection twist and I stand still. My mind is saying I can't accept this. My neck then stretches my head upward. My head is bent backward. I stand still saying over and over, "This is not me." My head starts turning like the girl in "The Exorcist." Still I do not move. There's no comment. I sensed my eyes giving a defiant look for my reflection to reflect me and not these distortions. I have problems accepting I might have some validation in the things I want to do. So I go stepping into someone else's reality. I'm shadow dreaming. There's a cold dark unseen force holding me. But I say what the hell, for the price of a smile, I've been everywhere, everything, everyone and wind up late at night struggling for a good-bye conversation as my body is driven back to a destination where I can again be pre-packaged and hand deliver myself because of a smile and/or a casual glance at the sound of liquor being poured into a bottle. Why do I stand here half wishing for a rape. My body has become a decaying temple since I drown myself constantly in the sweat of nameless men who cruise without any sense of direction."

"Child there are some men here," said Byron walking up to Michael.

"Really, I've heard nothing but barking."

"What's wrong with you? You want to leave."

"No, this is amusing." He thought differently. The truth is, this scene reminds me why I want to give up the bar life. But I can't say that to you. You'd get upset. Then you'd say I'm trying to set myself to be higher than everyone else. I just think I need to lock it up and pocket the key until I find a clean place to sit my thoughts so they can grow in some fresh air and sunlight. "No, we can stay."

"You look bored. Have you tried talking to someone here?"

"Not yet. I'm still four beers low."

"I met some guy with a production company. I just wanted to see if you needed a beer or something. Need another hit."

"No my head is already high stepping."

"I think I'll probably spend the night with him. He's not my type but what the hell, I'm not asking him to marry me."

"Well, does he have potential, a good conversationalist?"

"He's all right. He doesn't have that dangerous quality I like. But, it's a fuck and that's what I'm in the mood for. Maybe he'll surprise me and get me to that edge where I want to be."

"Falling down isn't my style."

"We both are here for the same thing. At least I don't pretend."

The words stung.

"May your children be cute," Michael replied.

"I'm not going to marry him."

"Guess I'll get my bridesmaid outfit out the mothballs."

"See you at home tomorrow."

This is what Michael imagined Byron thought. "I don't want to feel bad about walking out on Michael. There are no rules in a place like this. There is no written guarantee Michael and I would spend the night together drinking. He always has that look like he can see right through me. It's unnerving. It's like he is always analyzing my words. He seems so calculating when he responds to me. Why can't he be comfortable with him self. I suspect he still imagines more with me than possible. It is only wishful thinking. I explained how it is with me. I don't date black guys. Yeah, so he gave me a blowjob that one night, and I gave him one. It was a tender moment. He'd been giving me back massages to help me sleep. Damn, his hands did get me excited. But I told him, what happened, happened and don't try to make a novel out of it. His eyes are always glistening when I am flirting with someone. He stands there like he is being hung from a tree and this is the last moment he will take with him before his neck snaps. Well if he wants to zone out on fantasy about us being lovers or fuck buddy, he will go crazy on his time and not mine. Really not into black guys, though he acts more white than some white guys I know; I don't do chocolate unless its cake or candy. He's nice. He goes out of the way to help, to accommodate, make me a part of his life. I didn't ask him but somehow he just steps in, punch buttons, pull levers and he's rerouted your circuits into his main control. I can't be his lover. I'm just a roommate, and I don't want privileges. I have to see him different. He's not from my world. He wants me so bad and I don't want the love he has to offer. It's like you have to be truthful all the time. He'd see through every move, comment you make and you would feel like you're under a microscope. Still don't mind him massaging me and then I go to the bathroom afterwards and jerk off. Don't want him to realize how excited it gets me. He has great hands, and that mouth, what a cave to get lost in but I'm not going to be anything special to him. We're just roommates for now until I can find a better situation."

The crowd in the bar would not move. Possibly it was an act of defiance, or a poor man's attempt of planting a stance of temptation. Hands carelessly touched shoulders. Mouths mumbled excuses. Legs rubbed silently against each other. Cigarette smoke hung like a veil across eyes. The heat of bodies sent a musty smell up noses. Sweat was like an aphrodisiac that most of the patrons were willing to sample as the music gyrated the crowd while conversations were like sweltering waves. Bodies were becoming incoherent to peripheral vision. The sound, the smell, the darkness of the moment was taking his mind into wanting dark passions. A warm flush covered his hand like a glove. His body maneuvered deliciously between patrons. Some violated his space and were quickly ticketed with a smile, a mislaid gesture while bidding their trespassing hands adieu from between his legs. A kiss was exchanged as a summons for further deliberation if the night did not yield a favorable judgment. His true feelings were on recess.

"Thought I wasn't coming back I bet," Byron said putting a hand on his shoulder.

"It's so easy to lose someone in a crowd like this. Even this room was suddenly flooded, no one would notice," Michael tried to hide the warm feeling coursing through him from Byron's touch.

"Would we like it if it was less than this," Byron asked. Knowingly, a sea of men was what he dreamed of drowning in. Society was going downstairs anyway. It didn't matter how one got there. Everyone was headed there it seemed. "I am just checking in. See you later." Byron rejoined the guy he met.