October 17, 2004

Fucking Elephant


I was at my favorite martini lounge, Reynard’s, enjoying a cocktail when a handsome man approached me. We made casual eye contact and he shyly complimented me on my shoes. I invited him to the barstool next to mine. He had a sophisticated aura and delicately sniffed and swished his Cabernet before accepting an entire glass. He was suave. He gave me his hand and introduced himself as “Karl”.

Karl wasn’t from these parts. He lived in Nebraska. I asked him, “Are you here for the convention.”

“Yes. I’m a Republican delegate.”

“Funny.” I replied. “I hate Republicans.” Karl laughed and ordered us another round. Karl had smoldering eyes and chose his words wisely. He said so much without saying anything at all.

“Are you also gay?”

“Yes.”

“How can you be so pompous and deceitful as to stab the gay community in the back?” I sparred.

“Why do you need to fuck in the streets, dress like women and beg America to accept you?” He suddenly returned.

And right there on the barstool at Reynard’s I fell in love with Karl. The humid August night was no match for the frigid, playful conversation. Within four hours I had called Karl a “Bastard” nineteen times and spilled two drinks. He had jokingly threatened to shoot me. (He carried a handgun when not at the convention. He was a member of the RNA and had his permits in his luggage.)

At the night’s end he picked up the entire bill and left exactly a 15% tip. Out of disgust, I left an extra one hundred dollar gratuity. He invited me to his hotel room and I accepted.

Our love making was as rough and loud as a donkey mounting an elephant. Nasty, phreaky sex. Karl sexed like his very life depended on it! He loved talking dirty. His careful intellectualism was replaced with the reckless vulgarity of a sailor. He would fly into one act of pleasure and five seconds later start kissing and pinching something else. A diabetic child with a chocolate box couldn’t have tried to consume so much so quickly. “Karl! Karl, Karl, Karl what are you doing?”

“Unngh more, more, more. Don’t stop pig fucker, oh don’t stop! Come on, I’m your bitch! Your nasty, spunk hungry whore, fuck, man slut. Now! Fuck, fuck NOW!!” Karl was out of control. He furiously dry-humped by back while I sat there holding my ears.

“Karl, stop it!” I slapped at him and he ceased. “Why are you acting like this?”

He rolled onto his belly and stared at me with those sincere, smoldering eyes. He paused before saying, “It’s my first time with such a handsome man.”

Oh my. I knew he was right. But there was something deeper he was hiding.

“Karl, is this your first time... ever…”

“Yes…”

Karl and I made love, and he didn’t talk. Our forbidden lust was replaced with a kind of delicate desire. Our souls entwined and I gave Karl a tremendous gift. I was his first. As I fell asleep in his arms I felt such pride. I had done good. Karl, suave, naive Republican, had felt the forbidden love of another man.

The next morning I woke up alone. Karl had checked out, stolen my wallet, my watch, my rings and had written on a note: Bush 4 More!!

Also, a nasty rash developed yesterday. Karl the virgin has given me an STD.

I hate Log Cabin Republicans! They are NOT to be fucking trusted. They are the bane of homosexuals. Oooh, I’m so angry, and so scratchy. Now don’t get me wrong. I didn’t always hate gay Republicans. For instance I’m certain Abraham Lincoln wouldn’t have lied to me. Abraham Lincoln was a gay Republican.

Yes he was gay! Most people didn’t know that for four years he shared a bed a fellow man, Joshua Fry Speed. Historical stuff says they “kissed and kissed” and Abe’s boyfriend likened him as a “school girl.” It’s all right HERE.

This morning, sitting in the free clinic, I daydreamed about our sixteenth president. Abraham Lincoln sounds like a romantic, a gentleman. He’s so tall. I bet he was really endowed. Abraham Lincoln would have held me that night and never let go. He would have turned his back on our maniacal president, instead of supporting him. Abraham Lincoln wouldn’t have given me an STD.

Abbie, as I would have called him, would have done the right thing. He’d have pulled a McGreevy and brought man-love into the public centuries ago. Forgotten during that little era called Reconstruction, gay marriage would have flourished.

I’d have been sitting there instead of Mary Todd. I would have seen Booth sneaking up behind my man and I would have karate chopped his hand, disarming him. Abe would have lived. Abraham Lincoln and I would be little old men sitting side by side in the Lincoln memorial. Congratulations Karl, you’ve absconded with my Louis Vuitton wallet and any lingering trust for gay Republicans. You also stole my heart. For that I will never forget you.

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