I don't pretend I understood him. The views he let me have of himself
were like those glimpses through the shifting rents in a thick fog -- bits
of vivid and vanishing detail, giving no connected idea of the general
aspect of a country. They fed one's curiosity without satisfying it; they
were no good for purposes of orientation.
Joseph Conrad: Lord Jim
I wonder what I was doing on June 16, 1975?
As I said before, Rocky must have been the kind of kid who took stray dogs
home. His latest puppy is such a cutie, not in the same class as Mondo
(few men are), but he sleeps in just his shorts, no socks, no shirt. On
Friday evening he was a bleached blonde, but they both got haircuts on
Saturday. The puppy with very, very short crewcut, Rocky with his sides
shaved down to strange whiteness.
I hadn't come up with a name for Rocky's new protege until Sunday evening
when he was standing in front of me, bare feet, wearing just his bright
local style shorts, slim young brown body with a hint of blonde fuzz.
"Death in Venice". Tadzio. But that changed, and he became the
I was sitting on an outside bench. Two other outside ones were occupied,
but no one was inside yet. Rocky and the Sleeptalker came walking up the
path, the Sleeptalker seeming in a somewhat hyper mood. He waved to me as
they went up the steps to the inside. Then they seemed to be having some
disagreement, talking quite loud but I couldn't hear what they were
saying. In about fifteen minutes they quieted down, then suddenly the
Sleeptalker came out and asked if I had a cigarette. I gave him one. "Are
you sleeping here tonight?" he asked, and I said yes. "You slept by me
last night," he said, with a smile. So I did, and I did it again.
The Sleeptalker's hair has grown out a bit and he looks much cuter than
when I last saw him. He has such an endearing way of going to sleep,
really almost rocks himself into it with a kind of jiggling motion of his
lower body which goes on for about five minutes.
Sleeptalker came bouncing up the path, grinned broadly, sat on a bench
across from me, took off his shirt and put his hand down the front of
his shorts to make an adjustment. He really is a very cute kid,
faun-like, could have been a model for Classicist paintings of Greek
idyllic scenes. I asked him what he did during the day and he said he
was looking for work but had to go home the next day and get shoes and
some long pants because he was having no luck wearing shorts and
slippers. "Where's home?" "Waianae."
I told him about his talking in his sleep which both greatly amused
him and intrigued him. He wanted to know what he said, so I repeated
what I could remember and he sat there grinning hugely over it all for
about five minutes, then got up without a word and bounced off around
the corner of the building.
Mondo and the Sleeptalker play in a multi-player online game. For a
totally delicious hour or so, it was just us at the hacienda. They came in
together, both shirtless. The Sleeptalker is definitely aware of my
appreciation for his beautiful body and was quite flirtatious, jumping up
and striking poses, grinning broadly at me while Mondo sat smiling at the
performances. Then the Sleeptalker pulled out an unfurled condom and waved
it around. Mondo said, "it's too small", and even though I knew better I
certainly wasn't going to contradict him. I got one of the grape-flavored
condoms out of my backpack and gave it to the Sleeptalker and they both
thought that quite hilarious. The Sleeptalker sat down and started playing
what looked like "air piano" but, as I soon learned, it was a computer
keyboard he was "playing" on.
They had a lengthy, lively conversation about their online lives, the most
I have ever heard Mondo say. I had such a deja vu experience it made my
mind reel. Yes, I'd been there before, in London, listening to young
Russell talk about MUD2. Without the friendship and help of Russ, I doubt
I would ever had made Wizard, and when I broke my usual habit of not
meeting online friends in so-called real life and invited Russell to
dinner at a Chelsea restaurant, his conversation was such a mirror of
Mondo's that, as I said, my mind reeled.
The Sleeptalker came bouncing up from an outside bench and struck one of
his poses in front of me. So I boldly patted him on his soft, flat belly
and he jumped around doing a mock karate attack on me which got a laugh
from both Rocky and Mondo.
I was dozing, took a quick peek to see who it was, but closed my eyes
again and then felt a pat on my stomach, looked up to see the Sleeptalker
bending over the back of the bench grinning at me and asking, "where's my
food, where's my food?" (I guess he was wondering where the Snorer was,
since that's the main source of food down there now that the Rice Bag Lady
has vanished.) I reached up and ran my hand through his hair several
times, like petting a big shaggy puppy and he stood there taking it just
like a dog would, grinning so big I wouldn't have been surprised if his
tongue had hung down panting. I patted his stomach and he did one of his
little dances, sat down on the bench behind me, smoking a cigarette. A few
minutes later, he was up and bending over my bench again, putting the
cigarette in my lips. A sweeter flirt I've never known.
I was in a weak mood, feeling painfully in love with the Sleeptalker and
too inclined to disregard the more noble intentions which must prevail in
our special friendship. He opened his eyes, smiled at me, and closed them
again. Okay, that's it, I told myself. That's all you're going to get and
rest content with that. So I did. More or less.
Okay, okay, it's true. The Sleeptalker has me utterly enchanted. I'm
mystified by how quickly he went from being brown to alabaster white
but that's a minor mystery compared to the power he has over me, the
dominating role he plays in my thoughts no matter how much time has
passed since I last saw him.
When they returned, Rossini-2 settled down to sleep, the Sleeptalker
took off his shirt again, lay back on the bench and got out a book.
Stephen King's Christine. I was half-dozing, occasionally opening my
eyes to enjoy his beautiful body.
Just reading the words, it would be easy to misinterpret the moment.
They were said with amused affection and a gentle, teasing tone.
"What are you staring at? See something you like? Me."
That "me" was especially wonderful, very straightforward, objective.
Only a little grin of self-satisfaction which followed it gave away
the secret that he wasn't at all displeased by the situation. I just
looked into his eyes, smiled, and said nothing.
We stayed at Hamilton until just before closing, then walked down the
hill to get a bus to the hacienda. It was a full house. After reading
from Stephen King for me and talking more about the game, the
Sleeptalker decided he'd have to sleep on the floor inside because it
was too cool for just a tee shirt outside. He had asked me earlier to
explain the so-called "same sex marriage" vote, had evidently been
pondering what I'd said because he out-of-the-blue said he hoped the
NO vote won.
I teased, asking him if he had a candidate in mind if gay marriage
became legal and when he grinned and said no, I said, "I'd ask you to
marry me." He said he'd accept. Gasp. The last time I proposed
marriage was 26 years ago and she, thank the gods, declined.
I patted his head one more time and said, "you're a sweetheart."
"You're a sweetheart, too," he answered, and went in to sleep on the
Later he rolled over, snuggled up against me, and used my pants leg as a
cover to block the light, at one point held my bare foot in his hand. He
didn't speak at all in his sleep, most unusual, but did seem to have a
couple of unpleasant dreams and I rubbed his back and patted him gently
which appeared to shift his attention. He woke up once, looked around,
said "oh, here I am at Ala Moana with no shoes." "The life of a drunk," I
said. He smiled and went back to sleep.
Date: Sun, 01 Nov 1998 18:14:25 PST
From: [The Sleeptalker]
Subject: Re: Wise sayings
: Just remember: getting a blow job doesn't mean you are gay, it
: means the guy giving you one is. :)
O.k. . I understand what your are trying to say to me.Blah haa.It sounds
kind of sick and harsh tasting.Not that I'm saying that there was'nt any
times where that was where I had accepted it.Its just gross stuff like
that.Boys belong with girls and thats how I feel Ha Ha!You know it makes
me sick to my bone to have one from a fucken guy but I dont understand a
word of it (excuse my french),Its just that I personaly dont like the
Idea of it Ha!not that Imbeing predudice in any way to you and all but I
have grown to understand it.
Date: Sun, 1 Nov 1998 17:42:29 -1000 (HST)
From: albert the panther
To: [The Sleeptalker]
Subject: Re: Wise sayings
It's okay. Like I said, I'm working on it. I don't want to want
your body. I'll get over it. Sooner the better.
Date: Wed, 04 Nov 1998 22:51:50 PST
From: [The Sleeptalker]
Subject: Re: Wise sayings
To:Albert ? whatever your last name is.
I would just like to know why you got to choose me to be your
boyfriend when I like you as a friend.
But I guess if you feel about me that why then there
is'nt anything that I can do about it.
Now day's I've been have boys like me and so fourth.
I dont know what to say about it,but it sort of freaks me out to find
out about this stuff from a gay guy. And to tell you the truth
Idont like it at all because for some same reason I do this to chicks
myself you know by asking them out and stuff.
And it makes me feel that your trying to be the man of the
house and it does'nt work that way. I dont know what can make any man
tell me this because I'm the man and I like to word as well as
woman would to.Beer is'nt the thing that I would be looking for
I like girls womans my age actually.NOT BOYS AND MENS!!!
So I know how you feel. RIGHT the best thing for you would be to
forget about me.PERIOD!!!! But we can still be friends! And this is the
second time that I'm letting you know this ok .....
No more this about you liking me just to make it clear!
Okies MUHAHAHAHAHA!!! Just play MUD
Your friend the COYSTER!!!!
Date: Wed, 4 Nov 1998 22:46:44 -1000 (HST)
From: albert the panther
Subject: Re: Wise sayings
Like I said, don't worry about it. My problem, not yours.
Date: Sat, 12 Dec 1998 18:03:51 PST
From: [The Sleeptalker]
Subject: Re: Wise sayings
my breaddren no need to woory about anything right now ok /like you said
friends////But your and ok guy /even though/you know :)
I find it genuinely a puzzle, this neverending fascination with him, with his feet, the soft hair on his arms, that wonderful scrubbrush
hair, with those deeply brown eyes.
Come on, I tell myself, after all this time shouldn't the fires be burning a little less ardently? Maybe they should be, but they aren't.
Even when I try very deliberately
to ignore the many little things about his body that so enchant me, I waver and get lost again, rewarded with one of his grins and that
look that says "caught ya'!" And
when he's in a flirtatious mood, even my most conscientious efforts to ignore his body fall easily by the wayside.
"okay, you can have it."
There is always something very special about the first time having sex
with someone when it has been rewarding, but in this case the second time
was perhaps even better. His bodily reactions are seemingly unforced and
on the surface. It's possible to read him so well. I've never known
anyone quite like that before. Early in the encounter, too early, I'd
brushed my hand across his butt and could easily sense the slight
resistance. But later, toward the end, there was no problem at all
grasping it gently in my hand. He does indeed have a classic "cute butt",
such soft skin, so perfectly formed.
And his timing is absolutely perfect, enough staying power to make it
thoroughly interesting but not going on so long it gets boring. He almost
lost it earlier but again I could sense he wasn't really ready to let go
yet, so slowed down until he subsided a bit. A totally delightful dance.
He said later he'd held back "to make it more interesting for you."
As he had the first time, just at the moment of climax he made a gentle
gasping chuckle. It's the sweetest sound I've ever heard. I'd trade all
of Bach and Mozart for it.
We went back to the steps but the Sleeptalker disappeared. The Russian was worried about him, but we assured him it wasn't at all
unusual. The others settled on
their benches and I talked with the Russian for a little while, then he headed off toward Waikiki. I was smoking a cigarette and
finishing off the last beer when the
Sleeptalker came back, beckoned for me to follow him into the bushes. He had kept a little bit of the smoke for himself, lit up, lay back
and pulled that lovely sword
of his out from his shorts leg, pulled my head down and held it there while he did a slow bump and grind.
He stopped, took another hit from the pipe and pulled his shorts down. I went for it again. Then he reached down to open my pants. That's
when I said no. He
insisted, switched to the seventy-minus-one position I never, ever would have expected to be in with him. I was actually relieved when he
proceedings again for another hit on the pipe. Then I told him, "just lay back and let me get you off." He did. I did.
No, there's never an end to the surprises from that young man.
I am a very lucky man, indeed. And despite all the complications and
occasional storms, my three-year friendship with the Sleeptalker is
without question the most treasured evidence of that "luck". And even
as it was happening, I knew there was also no doubt that Round Seven
with him would forever be a highlight of that friendship and one of
the sweetest memories of this long life. Yes, one of those times when
a man sighs deeply and says, I could die happily after that ... and
really mean it, in my case, even wish it.
The minute Angelo was out the door, the Sleeptalker lay back on the
bed and said, "okay, let's do it, but it's not already hard". Minor
problem that was, a situation that promptly changed. Oh so sweet to
finally be in a bed with him, alone in a locked room, time to take it
slow and easy and relish every moment of it. And he was far more
responsive than he's ever been before, adding to the delight of how
well we've come to adjust to each other physically. Twice he was on
the brink and deliberately eased off and when he finally did let it
go, I felt as close to utter happiness as I've ever been or am likely
to be. I told him afterwards I felt a little guilty, that I should
have just given him the money instead of making him pay for it.
"That's okay," he said, "I enjoyed it."
So say us both.
Round Eight was magic, truly magic. I can't
adequately describe how much I cherish that beautiful body of his, how I treasure the way he gently holds the sides of my head, how I
love that wonderful little
chuckle at the climax.
If a young man stands before me, pulls down the front of his shorts to display what he has to offer and asks, without conditions or
rationalizations, "will you suck my
dick?", the odds are damned certain that I'll say yes. If the young man is the Sleeptalker, I could as easily walk on water or fly to the
moon as I could say no.
I didn't think I could love the man more than I did already. Reprise Mister Dylan. [You're way wrong.]
As always, the Sleeptalker dodges most direct questions and talks about things with such randomness, mixing in reality and the game, so
putting together a coherent picture is something like a jigsaw puzzle. His brother is back in jail, will probably be there for a couple
of years. And although he talked a little about the "camp" he'd mentioned in an email, he seems to be spending most of his time in his
mother's house. All I could get out of him about school was that he's studying "health". How that helps him get his high diploma, who
knows? He was turned down for Crazy Money and isn't getting foodstamps although he should be, he's certainly eligible even though he'd
have to follow through with their employment people. He says he wants to get a job but then admitted he'd had an offer and hadn't gone
to the scheduled interview. I know what he wants, a job with computer access, get paid to play MUD. (Or more likely, get fired for
playing MUD on company time, even if he did manage to find such a job to begin with.)
I still had some beer in my bag from lunch so topped up the one I'd bought at the Garden, gave him the money for another one. Once that
was finished we went on to the beach park, getting some food for him at a 7-Eleven on the way along with the Mickey's. He was already
debating with himself about whether he should return to Waianae and I don't know if he eventually did or not. Paulo joined us for a
little while in the park and the Sleeptalker was quite jolly with him despite having grumbled about how much he dislikes Paulo when
spotting him from a distance. When Paulo went on his way, the Sleeptalker wanted to work on a card. He'd forgotten to bring in the ones
he had been working on, a third "Jesus Saves", so he named this new one "Jesus Saves IIII" and we did two cards for it. Then I thought
it would be amusing to see his reaction to the Renée Fleming CD. It was, even moreso when he sang along with it in made-up Italian.
He's such a sweet man.