Andrew

by Steve Rider

I looked at him, and wondered quietly what he sounded like when he spoke. He was so tiny, so small, so marvelously fragile. I felt sure that he could never muster a robust, deep, manly voice. He was just sitting on a barstool, off in a corner, all by himself, being very attractive. At least, I thought he was attractive. There was a certain effeminate quality to him, he looked slightly girlish. It was a softness, a vulnerability, a trait I find irresistible in homosexual men. My mind was filled with sexual images, little brief flashes of naked flesh, his and mine, touching. It was the sort of a daydream one wants to have come true, or make it come true. He lit another cigarette and I winced, poor thing, doing that to himself. I was watching him intently, staring, not catching an occasional glance in the way a timid person might. So far I had not caught his eye. He was reading something, a gay newspaper perhaps, and his body language was all about unhappiness and pain. I decided to surmise that he had been recently hurt. I elected to view him as a wounded soul. The darkness of his hair merged perfectly with the shadows behind him, making it seem as if he was projected instead of really there. He was very small, tiny, petite. The dim light mixed cautiously with the smoke, blue clouds, outlining the red of his shirt. I was glad I had decided to go out for the night, I was very glad. Behind me lasers and lights were flashing, clouds of artificial smoke rolled over cute young things as they spun lightly, swirling on the dance floor. Exaggerated bass notes in the music reverberated in the chest bones of everyone. I took another sip of my beer and resumed watching him. He knew the bartender, they would talk sometimes for a few minutes. I sensed they were old friends without knowing how I knew. He would brighten up a bit when someone spoke to him. But then he returned to his paper, and a glum expression, as soon as they walked away. I felt bad seeing him this way. Such a sweet looking, charming, well actually he was mostly gorgeous guy; I did not want him to be sad. Maybe he had just broken up with someone. Or maybe he was looking for someone with whom he could eventually breakup. I did not know why he was sad, but I wondered if meeting a stranger might cheer him up. I decided to volunteer my services, but first I had to get his attention. I was new here myself. So far the place really impressed me. I was even surprised when I saw a few straight couples dancing out on the floor, here, in a gay bar. There was not a single soul in the place that I knew. I felt good about that, but I also wanted it to change. I wanted to know Mister sad-all-alone-in-the-corner and I wanted that to happen tonight. Actually I wanted to go to bed with him, to have sex with him. I was hoping this might cheer him up, but I knew it would make me happy, very happy. Maybe we could cheer each other up. I wasn't especially sad that night. I was single, but it was a very relaxing, pleasant, we'll see what happens sort of a single. Not the "Oh my gosh, I need a boyfriend" single that one might feel, perhaps, after some sort of a dire tragedy. It had been weeks, heck even over a month, since the last tragedy in my life. So, I was out looking for trouble, I was cruising, I was in a mood to get laid. I had condoms in my pocket. I had lube. I had room in my heart for some more scar tissue. No wonder I was in a gay bar. Sometimes when I go out to the bars my intention is just to socialize and talk to other Queers. Sometimes I want to get drunk. Then there are times like tonight, when I feel sort of horny, but not desperately so, and I want to see if there is anyone out there whose interest might be mutual. Tonight had started that way, I was indeed horny. But the more I sat and watched this apparition of the night, the more I thought it might be good for more. I needed a plan, I needed an excuse to have a conversation with him. He picked up his drink, a mixed drink of some sort, fruity looking, opaque and citrus colored. I noticed it was almost gone. I caught the bartenders eye, and waved him over with a motion of my head. "Yes sir, another beer ?" "No, I'm fine, but do you see that young man over in the corner there, the small cute one ?" "Oh, you mean Andrew ?" "Andrew ? Ooooh, what a nice name. He looks very single tonight, don't you think ?" "Andrew, yes, he's single, I'm sure you could say that." "Oh My, I'd like to buy him a drink please, if I may." "Of course, I'll be sure to tell him who it's from." "Thanks!" By this time I was grinning from ear to ear. I remembered one other time, in Albany, when I had bought a handsome guy a drink. Now I was in California, thousands of miles away, and too many boyfriends later. He was cute, he was really cute. I also liked his personna. He seemed to radiate warmth. He seemed so very vulnerable. I wanted to wrap my arms around him and protect him from whatever it was he feared. And I wanted to make him cry out in the night, orgasmic pleasure, joy and release. You might say that I was very interested in him. The bartender set the drink in front of Andrew. He was obviously, terribly surprised. The bartender gestured in my direction, and Andrew followed his arm. He looked me right in the eye for a second, then I saw a big smile cross his face. I smiled back as warmly as I could and I tipped an imaginary hat, which I was not wearing. This caused him to smile at me once again. I felt justified in having bought him the drink, but I was not yet satisfied. I still wanted to meet Andrew, I wanted him to know that I wanted him. I wanted to fall desperately in love with him, for the rest of my life, or at least for the rest of tonight. Having done a decent job of smiling at me, in exchange for the drink I had bought him, Andrew went back to his paper. I was amazed that he could read at all in the dimness of that bar. I turned slowly around on my own barstool, scanning the place. A fairly good looking guy, maybe 30 years old, walked up beside me. He literally asked me if I came there often. I almost fell off my stool. He was cute, he seemed nice, and it felt like he was really trying to pick me up with that old line. We talked for a while. He was visiting the area, he worked for a long distance carrier, he was impressed with the bay area and hoped to move here. In the back of my mind I was saying "Well honey, don't ask me to help you and then promise you'll pay me back." You have to listen to that little process that runs as a subroutine in the back of your head. I had this feeling the guy wanted something from me. I had no inclination to give him anything at all. The vibes were bad. He struck me as a person who takes and gives nothing in return; cute, but dangerous. I started watching Andrew again, over the cutie's shoulder, and he got the message after a few minutes of that. The music was getting louder. The place was really filling up with Queers. A very big guy, built like a tank, with a Swedish lumberjack look and a mouth he let hang open, walked up next to Andrew. They began talking. Andrew knew him, they were friends, it looked like he was consoling Andrew about something. The guy gave off waves and waves of "I'm not very bright" messages, but he did seem like a decent fellow. And of course, he was being nice to Andrew, which gained him some points with me. I felt that it was time to go make my move on Andrew, but Bjorn the lumberjack was still there with him, mumbling in his ear. I started resenting Bjorn. Maybe he could come back and be nice to Andrew again some other time. I wanted to have my turn to be nice to Andrew, and I was ready for that turn right now. I had a picture in my mind of carrying Andrew outside with me, the way one might carry an armful of firewood. Fireplaces, I thought of Andrew and I in front of a fireplace, blazing hot, heat from the flames on my naked skin, and Andrew naked too, underneath me, A rug, I imagined a white rug, polyester, imitation bearskin, warm, he is on his stomach and I am wearing a condom. I'm on top of him, I'm inside him, oh a marvelous daydream, a wonderful daydream. Bjorn was still standing there, managing somehow not to drool on himself, but occupying the space in which I wanted to stand, directly next to Andrew. I ordered another beer. Bjorn was just not going to go away. I felt certain that eventually he would pass away, from old age, or some form of cancer, or a heart attack. I did not want him to die, but I was prepared to wait. Maybe he would move. Praise be, he did, he leaned over to Andrew, said something into his ear, and then walked away. Andrew was right back into that newspaper. It was time, do or die, now or never. I put my beer down and stood up. My feet moved without my even thinking about it. I felt like it was opening night, a new play, and this was the first scene. Around the corner at the end of the bar, and then I was standing next to him. He did not notice. I stood there, watching him read, and just soaking up his lovely and effeminate presence. He was remarkably tiny. He almost needed a booster seat to sit at the bar. So little, so pretty and I felt sure he was sweet. I moved one step closer. At this point it felt like I was in his space, and I did not want to be rude, but I did want to get his attention. He still did not notice my presence, or perhaps he was just not acknowledging it. I decided to press the issue. "You really like to read, don't you ?" "Oh, hi, hey thanks for the drink." "My pleasure, I hope I'm not disturbing you, but I felt like I had to come and talk to you, at least." "At least ?" "Well, there is something about you, I don't know, I just took one look at you and thought you were an interesting person." "Why thank you." "You're cute too, very cute." "Thank you, what is your name please ?" "Steve. Hi, my name's Steve and I'm a homosexual." "Hi Steve, I'm Andrew and I'm a homosexual too." "Oh good, I was hoping you weren't just a tourist." "I've never seen you here before, do you come in here often?" "No, actually I've never been here before. And you ?" "I live here, sort of." "And did something very unpleasant happen to you recently Andrew ?" He looked at me with utter surprise in his eyes. How could I tell, he wanted to know, and all I could say was that I saw it in him. I asked him if he wanted to step outside for some fresh air. The smoke in the place was getting to me, and I wanted to be able to talk in a normal tone of voice, instead of half shouting over the disco noise. We got our hands stamped on the way out. On the street, standing next to him, I saw he was even shorter than I had thought. It excited me, I imagined myself carrying him to a bed, plopping him down on it, and having my way. I looked at him again and saw the sadness once more. "Was it a lover, Andrew?" "Hmm ? Oh, I see, you mean my mood." "Yes, what is it, what is bothering you ?" "It was a lover, yes, he left me." "That happens, it happens to all of us Andrew, was it recent?" "Yes, last week." "Oh my, you poor thing. Can I hug you ?" "HERE?" "Yes, here." We were on the street, a brightly lit street, it was about 11PM. Cars were driving by, a downtown location, a gay bar in the middle of a nice medium size city. We had been walking as we talked, very slowly, near each other. He looked around, and I guess he felt safe, so he let me, and I hugged him. His back was lean and small, firm muscles, smooth skin, well defined ribs. There was a perfectness to the way that his shoulders tapered down to the slenderness of his waist. It was so wonderful just to be holding this sweet, precious man in my arms. I wanted to get into bed with him, but more than that, I was hoping I could lighten his load a bit. I thanked him for the hug. "Did he say why he left you Andrew ?" "Yes, he said he wanted to be free, he did not want to have a lover anymore. But he said he still loved me." "Sounds familiar enough to me. Are you upset with him?" "Yes, I'm mighty upset. He said it was forever, that he would never leave me, that I was his entire world. And my biggest mistake was believing him." "Oh Andrew, gosh, I know what you are going through, believe me I do. I've made big mistakes before too. Very big mistakes." "Steve?" "Yes?" "Will you hug me again, please ?" Of course I did. I hugged him, and this time I nestled my face against the side of his head. I inhaled through the softness of his black hair. I marveled at the olive softness of his skin. I smelled maleness, a temptation of cologne and the lingering residue of his cigarettes. My arms and my hands began rubbing his back. Soft maleness, well defined ridges of muscle, a healthy spine. Scent of maleness in my nostrils, intoxicating, stimulating, I pulled him closer. My crotch was up against his belt buckle now. I felt a stirring, a powerful longing, welling up inside of me. One by one, I ran my fingertips slowly and lightly over every vertebrae in his spine. I wanted to squeeze all the sadness out of him. I wanted to make it OK, make his pain go away. I wanted Andrew. I desired his body and I craved his affection. If only that hug could have gone on for hours, for days. He broke away from me, and said to me: "Steve, let's go to my place." I said "Yes."