These Curious Pleasures

by Sloane Britain

  I've heard the same story from many gay boys. They start out looking for beauty and love and after a while they become so bitter that the only thing they're interested in is sex. It's the loneliest state imaginable. There are thousands of queens all over the world who have given up all hope of companionship. The only thing they're interested in is the physical attractiveness of their lovers.

  Mike was agreeable enough though hardly stimulating. We had a few rounds of drinks and then settled down to dinner. Allison had spent the afternoon in my apartment preparing the meal. Luckily, she had prepared enough spaghetti for eight people. Mike ate four platefuls.

  After dinner we went back into the living room. I put some records on the phonograph and brought out the bottle of Drambuie I had picked up on the way home.

  Mike said he didn't care for any liqueur. He would stick to Scotch. Allison, Sylvan and I split the bottle among us. It's potent stuff. By the time the bottle was empty we were all feeling no pain whatsoever.

  Mike was sitting in an armchair with Sylvan curled up at his feet. Sylvan kept caressing Mike's thighs and blowing kisses up at him. Since they were being so uninhibited, Allison and followed suit. We sat on the couch with our arms about each other. It was a nice relaxed evening.

  For a while it was. Up until the time Mike finished the Scotch. We all felt like having another drink by then but I had no more booze in the house. I did have a half a case of beer in the refrigerator and we all decided to switch to that. Mike offered to help me get the beer and glasses.

  We went out to the kitchen. The kitchen was located next to the living room. An open archway connected the two rooms. From the living room one could see the stove but the refrigerator and sink were at the opposite end of the room, shielded from view by a folding screen.

  Mike got the cans of beer out of the refrigerator while I took the glasses down from the cupboard. I was opening the cans on the sink drain board when Mike came up behind me and put his arms around me.

  "What the hell do you think you're doing?" I asked him, trying to make my voice as icy as possible.

  "Come on, baby, they can't see us in here. How's about a kiss."

  "No. I..." Mike shut me up by pulling me to him and kissing me. His mouth was wet and sloppy. I thought I was going to choke.

  I pushed him away. "Look, Mike, let's just bring the beer out to Sylvan and Allison. We'll just forget that this ever happened. Don't worry, I won't tell Sylvan."

  "Aah, who cares what that queer thinks?"

  "Queer? What do you think that makes you?"

  "I ain't no fruit," Mike protested. "Just 'cause I go for a little of it once in a while don't make me no pansy. It ain't for me. I go for women. This here guy Sylvan, he come up to me one night in a bar. I was just in there for a drink. I didn't know it was a queer joint."

  "You didn't have to go with him," I said.

  "It was late at night. I didn't have no dough. He told me I could stay at his place. So I went with him. Like I told you, I like to have it that way sometimes. But that don't make me no queer. This guy Sylvan, he'd be all right. He's got a nice soft body, like a woman, ya know? But he's always trying to kiss me and all that. I don't go for that."

  "I don't want to hear about it! You're not fit for someone like Sylvan to walk on and you have the nerve to talk about him that way!"

  "O.k., baby. I didn't want to do no talking anyway." With that he grabbed me again and brought his mouth down toward mine. I twisted my head violently away from him.

  "You're forgetting that I'm one of those 'queers' you're contemptuous of!"

  "You ain't no queer," Mike said. "Trouble with you is at you've never had a good man. Just relax and I'll show you what you've been missing. I've known lots of dykes. After they been with me they didn't want no more girls." The same old line. I'd heard that one all my life. I suppose it's true in a few cases but it wasn't in mine. Why do all men think that all a woman needs is a good roll in the hay and she'll be cured of everything from homosexuality to scurvy?

  Mike tightened his hold on me. He had one massive arm around my waist. It was like steel. I couldn't break his grip.

  He kissed me hard. He hadn't shaved closely and the bristles burned my face. I tried to pull my mouth away but he was holding me too tightly. I couldn't move an inch.

  He was plastered right up against me, his body flush with mine. Mike was at least a head taller than I but I'm long-legged. That made it convenient for him.

  He caressed me with his free hand. I guess he thought it was a caress but it felt more like punishment to me.

  Against my will I was getting aroused. It wasn't just that he was touching me. Mike was a slob but he was manly in his love-making. Too many men made passes at me as if they were afraid that I would submit. I went for girls but that didn't mean that I couldn't respond to a man. The difference was that one thing was emotional and the other a matter of glands.

  My body was getting limp. I wanted to get away from him, to escape from his brutal touch and his bruising mouth. But I felt myself beginning to tense and release rhythmically against him.

  "What's keeping you two? We've been waiting for those beers. I..." Sylvan's voice broke as he saw us.

  Mike looked up in surprise at the interruption and I seized the opportunity to break away from him. I ran to Sylvan.

  "Come into the other room with me," I told him. "I want to talk to you. Mike, you stay here."

  Allison was in the john so Sylvan and I could talk alone in the living room.

  "I'll kill that bastard," Sylvan said.

  "Oh, stop being dramatic, Sylvan. He didn't hurt me. Besides, Mike would brush you off like a gnat if you tried to attack him. You must have known that he was bisexual."

  "Yes, most trade is. But I thought he'd restrain himself because you were friends of mine. I know he's just been using me." He stopped and looked away. When he turned toward me again there were tears in his eyes. "I've done everything for him and this is the thanks I get. My God, what does he want from me?"

  "His kind doesn't know the meaning of gratitude," I said.

  "You should see him, Sloane. Sometimes he gets me all worked up. Then he says he's tired. He makes me plead. Other times he goes on all night. I can hardly keep my eyes open at work the next day. I thought he must like me. Otherwise, why would he be so passionate?"

  "You answered that one yourself."

  "That isn't all," Sylvan went on. "I've done lots of other things for him too."

  By this time Mike had come out of the kitchen and had seated himself in a chair facing us. We ignored him.

  "Sylvan, have you given Mike any money?"

  "Not much. Just a few dollars. He told me he was broke."

  "Are you telling me the truth? Are you sure that's all?"

  It was too much for Sylvan. He began to cry openly.

  "That's what I thought." I said.

  "He said he needed the money to buy clothes. He said he didn't have anything besides his uniform."

  "And has he brought these clothes that he supposedly bought back to your apartment?"

  Sylvan dumbly moved his head in negation.

  I got up and crossed over to Mike. As I walked across the room I noticed that Allison was standing in the doorway observing us. I didn't know how long she had bee there.

  "Do you have the money with you?" I asked Mike. "I want you to give him back every cent you haven't spent. If you don't, I'll call the police in on this. I'm not kidding!"

  Mike looked up at me with a poor attempt at an expression of candid honesty on his coarse features. "I don't have it no more. Look." He pulled a wallet out from the waistband of his trousers and showed me it. "See? I've only got a buck left. I need that to get back to my ship."

  "What did you do with the rest of it?"

  "I sent it to my mother."

  At least it broke the tension. Allison, Sylvan and I collapsed in laughter. Mike stared at us blankly.

  When I had recovered myself, I asked Sylvan, "
Does he have anything back at your apartment?"

  "No. He just had the clothes he's wearing on him when we met. He's been using my shaving things and everything."

  "Probably got his kit in a locker somewhere. I'll bet that's where the money is too. How much money did you give him?"

  "Twenty bucks," Mike said.

  "A little over a hundred dollars," Sylvan said.

  "Not enough to risk making a scandal over." I put the rest up to Sylvan. "After what you've seen tonight I don't suppose you'll be wanting this character around any longer. But that's up to you. You have to make the decisions. I can't run your life for you. Just let me say that as your friend I wish that you'd get rid of him as fast as possible."

  Sylvan got up off the couch and walked over beside me. We were both standing in front of Mike.

  The sailor tensed and seemed to be gathering himself together as if he expected to be in a fist fight shortly.

  Sylvan just looked at him as if he were a complete stranger. There was no anger in his face and his voice was gentle as he said, "Mike, I'd appreciate it very much if you'd leave right now. I'm going to stay a while longer. I don't know when I'll get home. When I do, I don't want to find you there. I think it best if we never see each other again."

  The sailor looked bewildered. He had expected Sylvan to get violent. He didn't know how to cope with the other man's calmness.

  Mike got up slowly as if he were in a state of confusion. He walked to the door and opened it. He walked out to the hall but before closing the door, stuck his head back in and shouted, "Goddamn bunch of perverts! You queers all ought to be put in jail. You're a menace to society!" Then he slammed the door shut behind him.

  "I'll make coffee," Allison said. "I think we could all use a cup." She went out to the kitchen.

  "I'm sorry, Sloane. I'm ashamed to have involved you and Allison in this sordid business," Sylvan said.

  I sat down on the couch and gestured to Sylvan to lie down. He stretched out and put his head in my lap. I stroked his hair. It was damp with perspiration.

  "Forget it," I said. "You had no idea this would happen. You're the one I'm worried about."

  "Don't worry about me. I admit that a hundred dollars is a lot for me to throw away that way. My salary isn't all that big. But the hundred isn't going to break me."

  "It isn't just the money. Sylvan, do you have to go after these casual pick-ups?"

  "Use the Y.M.C.A. method, you mean? Cold showers and volleyball? That sublimation idea is no solution."

  "Yes, I know," I said. 'There just is no substitute for the embrace of another human being."

  "Hear! Hear!" Allison said as she came into the room. She set down the tray she was carrying and placed the cups of coffee within our reach.

  "We were just discussing Sylvan's problems concerning meeting a better type of man," I told Allison.

  She giggled. "I'm sorry, I couldn't help laughing. It's just that this reminds me so much of the sort of discussions straight girls are always having among themselves. 'Where can we meet eligible men.' But in this case, I wouldn't advise a trip to Grossinger's."

  "Hardly," I said. "It's a real problem. Sylvan can't just keep on picking up trade in bars. Look what happened with Mike. Yet we can't expect him to stay alone all the time."

  "I couldn't stand that," he said. "You don't understand. I'll do anything for companionship. I really need that more than sex. But I settle for that because it's easier to come by."

  "I do understand, Sylvan," Allison's voice was sadly tender. "I know what it is to be so lonely you'd sell your soul for someone you can really talk to."

  I stared at Allison but she lowered her head and projected complete absorption in her cup of coffee. She refused to look at me.

  It hurt to hear Allison say that. Stupid of me but I had taken it for granted that Allison had never experienced the emotional horrors I had. Oh sure, I knew that something must have gone wrong in her childhood. That was implicit in her aberrant sexual preferences. But I had thought that I was the one who needed a wailing wall. I can be terrificly obtuse at times for someone who's supposed to be perceptive. Lots of people are like me. They make the one they love into some sort of near-inhuman symbol of perfection. And ugly things like loneliness don't happen to perfect things.

  We talked until nearly dawn without reaching any conclusions. Sylvan just had to keep going to the places where fairly intelligent people congregated—concerts, adult education classes, lectures, etc.—and hope that someday, somehow he would meet a man who would be both a lover and a friend to him.

  Sylvan slept on the couch in the living room that night. It was too late for him to bother going home. He'd just have time to reach his apartment before he'd have to turn around and go to work, anyway. I had a man's white shirt which fitted him so he could go to work without stopping at his place to change.

  In addition, I was worried that Mike might be waiting at Sylvan's place. That blockhead was just the type to think that he had some sort of score to settle with Sylvan.

  Amy Ferguson came in late in the day after finishing her show. She looked awful. Things weren't bad enough, she informed us in a tired voice, her husband was giving her a real rough time.

  By this time everybody concerned was losing hope for placing her nighttime series. Laurie Nelson's pilot had made a hit and was already scheduled for showing in the fall. Happy was still showing the Ferguson pilot to possible sponsors but word had gotten around that it had been turned down. The suspiciousness of show people was working again. Too many of them were afraid to trust their own judgment. They believed that the show was no good for them because others had felt it didn't suit their purposes.

  Amy's husband was in his hey-day. The jealous nogood-nik reminded her constantly of her mistake in selecting the script. He was undermining Amy's confidence in herself. It wouldn't last, Amy just wasn't that shaky about herself. God knows she had enough reason not to be. Every actress makes a few booboos during her career and Amy had kept her percentage low.

  Worst of all, he was nagging Amy to get rid of her secretary. He was building up a big case that Chris was exerting too much influence over Amy and that Amy had been better off before she hired her. Amy wouldn't fire Chris. I knew one reason why she wouldn't. Everybody else in the office knew that she wouldn't because Chris was a damn good secretary and the best friend Amy ever had. But still, her husband's nagging was getting her down and making her question her relationship with Chris. Every day she had dozens of decisions to make about her shows and personal appearances and now her husband was making her question a facet of her life she had comfortably taken for granted before.

  Dave Ferguson didn't know that his wife was in the office at that time. Otherwise he wouldn't have called. But he did and launched into a bombastic exposition of his opinions. Happy just let him talk. Dave finally paused for breath and Happy took the break to jump in.

  "Listen to me, you filthy crumb," Happy roared. "If you had something to say you should have said it when it counted, before we started filming."

  "But, Happy..."

  "No buts. The only thing I have to say to you is that you ought to get down on your knees and thank the Lord that you're married to a wonderful woman like Amy." He slammed down the phone and turned to Amy for approval.

  She was all over him with gratitude. He was the greatest, he was the best agent in the world, he was her truest friend, she didn't know what she'd do without him, she'd never go to another agency.

  Happy waited until five minutes after Amy had left the office before calling Dave Ferguson back. I listened in again:

  Happy: "Dave? Listen, I'm sorry about the way I sounded off."

  Dave: "Jesus, what the hell got into you?"

  Happy: "Amy was here when you called. I thought you'd realize that from the way I was talking. I had to put on a big act."

  Dave: "O.k., but I meant what I said before. You know that Amy doesn't know about the dough I took out of our joint account to bac
k the pilot. I did it on your advice. Now we've got to figure out some way to get that money back into the account before Amy finds out about it."

  Happy: "Don't worry about a thing, Dave boy. I'm working on it. I’ll get the money back to you."

  Dave: "How? You can't get it by cutting down on paper clips. I sank fifteen thousand smackeroos in that bomb."

  Happy: "What do you care how I get the money as long as I get it? I'll tell you this much: I sank some of my own money into it and you can rest assured I'll get that back. And yours along with it."

  Dave: "I should have known I could count on you, doll."

  Happy: "Sure. Don't forget that the network was underwriting half the costs. A little juggling that they'll never notice and we'll have our investments back. I wouldn't do this for just anybody, you know. The other investors aren't realizing a cent. You know why I'm doing this?"

  Dave: "Sure, I know what I've got to do. Don't worry, love, as long as I have anything to say around the Ferguson house, Amy will stay under contract to you."

  Happy: "O.k., make sure she does. You know that I could make things pretty hot for you if you fell down on the job, don't you?"

  Dave: "You don't have to remind me."

  Happy: 'That's fine, Dave. One other thing, stop needling Amy about Chris Salem. You're overdoing it."

  Dave: "That dyke! It makes me feel creepy to have her around. You know, sometimes I think that Amy thinks more of her than she does of me."

  Happy: "Tough. My heart bleeds for you. Stop pulling a sensitive bit in your old age. I'm telling you, lay off Chris. She's good people. She keeps Amy happy. Besides, I like her. What the hell do you care if she goes for girls?"

  Dave: "I just keep thinking that someday she might make a pass at Amy."

  Happy: "Don't worry about it. Amy loves you. She told me so herself today."

  Dave: "Guess you're right. Well, let's get together soon, sweetheart. We haven't been out together for an evening in a long time."

  "Happy: "I've been busy."

  Dave: "Pat?"

  Happy: "Enough to keep her pregnant in the summer and barefoot during the winter. Most of the time I've been making it with Bibi Johnson."