AfterMARK, Part 8

Playing with Fireworks

Weeks after our first date, Anderson and I finally found time to go on another.

Just as with Cowboy Mark, dinner and a movie seemed like a safe bet. Relatively little planning, opportunities to converse and cuddle, etc. made the date an ideal situation for two busy GMBs.

I took a courageous step and took him to a local restaurant. There was a mystique of being out in the open and on a date in public yet almost completely closeted. Was I being stupid? Impulsive? Bold? Rebellious?

No one I knew was there, but surely someone who knew me or my parents was. In a way, a novel sense of normalcy encompassed the act of going to a local restaurant in the company of couples who had frequented it for well over five decades.

In a way, we are the same, I thought. Their married, seventy-something, heterosexual dinner dates seemed just as valid as our own, and as we ordered I imagined the couple across the room doing the same thing half a century ago. His peppered mustache and hair turned jet black and her purple-tinged grey reverted to its former state—a mousy, reddish brown.

In fifty years, no one will look back on this date and turn his nose at it, I wondered as they left. Where are they were off to? Maybe home to watch the same movie or perhaps to spend the night in each other’s arms like that night I shared on the stage with Anderson?

That night, we meandered through a number of topics at dinner(although limited mostly to theatre and television), and I realized that there was an undeniable physical attraction. The sensation of his stubbled face against mine and the ever-present tone of kindness in his voice made me smile at an instant. The differences in age and intellect didn’t seem to matter as much as I thought it would.

An hour later, we found ourselves in a park watching the moon rise over the waters and the movie Penelope on my laptop. As it got cold, we retreated to my car to finish the movie.

As we watched arguably one of the most timeless kisses in cinema history (with James McEvoy—arguably one of the most handsome men of cinema history), our hearts began to pound and any conversation we had at that moment is now well-forgotten.

All I remember is his hand pressing against my cheek gently drawing me closer to his stubbled face. We both smiled briefly as we closed our eyes and I joined him in the now-reclined passenger seat.

We threw our jackets in the backseat. My arms found their way around him. He put his arms around me on the small of my back.

Starting on our sides, we turned and I found myself on top of him. I felt the warmth of his strong, slightly-calloused hands. We paused holding each other and holding ourselves back.

“We need a breather,” I said. And with that, we stopped, catching our breath and recording the moment. It was like we’d both run the hundred yard dash and collapsed on each other.

We resumed and traded places.

My hand grazed his face as we closed our eyes again and I drew his face towards mine with a slight giggle. In a few moments, we were right back to where we’d started when suddenly there was an explosion.

“GMB, you need to move.”

“What?”

“Get out from under me.”

In an instant, I moved to the right side of the seat without a second thought.

He stood there for a moment holding himself up above the seat momentarily. He sighed in the most subdued way he could.

“Could you hand me my jacket?”

I did and asked (in the most understanding way possible), “Did what I thought just happened really happen?”

Blushing a bright red as he tied his jacket around his waste, he nodded.

“But we weren’t even…”

“I kno—”

At that very moment we saw a bright light—not in the sky or above the lake, but in my rear view mirror. I quickly returned to my place in the driver’s seat and he took a few deep breaths.

Red and blue lights flashed for a moment as our hearts began to race again, then we heard a tap on my now fogged-up window.

“Sir, could I ask both of you two to step out of the vehicle. You realize you are trespassing here after dark.”

My heart was pounding just as fast as moments earlier, but for different reasons. The officer walked around the car and could read the guilt all over Anderson and the jacket tied around his waist.

I wondered what he would do. Would this become my first noted instance of discrimination for being gay?

“I’ll need to see your IDs.”

I immediately pulled out mine and saw my temple recommend peering out from behind a business card.

“Please wait in the car.”

We did (for what seemed like an eternity) in complete silence.

“Have a good night and drive safely,” he said returning our licenses, then driving off. For whatever reason, he'd let us off with a warning.

Minutes later, the night ended with a quick uneasy goodbye hug.

End, Part 8