(by Edward Zeusgany, copyright 2001, all rights reserved)

At a neighborhood café in New Brunswick, New Jersey, a young man enters, sits down at the counter and orders coffee. He frowns at the acidic smell of it and what looks like an oil slick floating on top. He adds milk and lots of sugar, stirring vigorously.

He sips his coffee. Having nothing better to do, the young man watches a boy playing pinball. The kid looks to be high school age, about seventeen. He sees the boy’s hips move as the kid pushes on the machine to get more action out of the bumpers. He looks at the boy’s hands on the flipper buttons as he captures a ball, holds it and aims at the lighted targets. In this game there are four bulls eyes across the top center, like those in a shooting gallery, but miniature. He notices the kid’s shrewd eyes, the intent expression, as the youth plots, plans and schemes to get the highest possible score and the reward of free games.

The young man likes what he sees, a trim, athletic body. He likes the smooth complexion of the boy’s cheek that promises quality in the unexposed skin. The kid’s face shows youthful interest and enthusiasm for the outcome of the game. He likes the apparent self confidence. This is a youth who will not suddenly become afraid and run away, a youngster who knows what he is doing, streetwise, but not hardened.

The young man gets up and places a quarter on the top left corner of the pinball machine, obviously a signal of some kind. Then he returns to his stool and waits.

The boy knows the signal, the guy will pay him for sex. He noticed the fellow, nice looking in an ordinary way, the moment that he entered the café. In his early twenties, the man is about 5” 10,” slender, with sandy, close-cropped, straight hair. He wears sneakers, jeans, a jean jacket over a light gray hooded sweatshirt. The young fellow looks friendly, self assured. There is nothing in the sandy haired man’s appearance that suggests ugliness or viciousness.

The boy is not as young as the man thinks. He is in the junior class at Rutgers University. The north end of the campus is only a short distance from the café. The college boy is short and has fresh good looks that are deceiving. Behind his back, some people refer to him as a “pretty boy.”

The college boy knows that to signal an acceptance of the offer, he need only pick up the quarter and put it in the machine. The details would be settled outside, but he is winning the game that he is playing on his own nickel. Klunk the machine awards a free game, klunk, klunk, two more. Then the fifth and last ball slips past him and the game is over, with three free games showing on the pinball machine.

The young man wonders if he will have to wait three free games just to find out if the kid will take his money. He waits, watches. The youngster pauses, enjoying his win. Then he reaches out, picks up the quarter and puts it into the machine.

The boy presses the reset button that starts the game, klunk, the five balls roll into their ready position. The fellow now wonders, will he have to wait until all the games on the machine are over before he can take the kid home to his apartment. The youngster could win more free games. But he plays only one ball and turning, walks out of the door of the café.

Once outside, the young man sees the kid waiting for him. He approaches.

“I want twenty dollars,” the college boy says.

“Hmm,” the guy hesitates, and then accepts. “OK. I’m Ken, what’s your name?”

“Frankie,” he replies, sensing that the young man has underestimated him.

“Well, Frankie, my place is near by. Come on.”

The college boy, whose name is not Frankie or Frank or anything beginning with an F, but knowing his role, follows Ken a quarter step behind and on the young man’s left. It is an early spring afternoon. The sun feels warm, even though the air is cool. They walk together, without speaking, a few blocks north and then turn left. Crossing over to the other side of the street, they come to a two family, cream colored house, surrounded by similar buildings.

“Here we are,” says Ken, whose name is neither Ken nor Kenneth nor anything beginning with a K.

They climb the steps to the front porch, use the door to the right and ascend a set of stairs to the second floor. The place they enter seems to “Frankie” to be a living room, furnished haphazardly with assorted chairs, a TV, and such.

“Ken” walks ahead into the room, turns to “Frankie” and says, “Well, get undressed.” The college boy looks around, not knowing where he should put his clothes. There is a sofa against the front wall and under a row of windows. The light is streaming through, the sun being low in the sky. The young man pulls a side chair away from a telephone table at the opposite wall, hangs his jacket over the back and sits facing “Frankie.”

The youth takes off his jacket and lays it on the coach, then removes his shoes and socks. He sees that “Ken” is watching him closely, looking intently as he unbuttons his shirt and places it with his jacket. He thinks that he can feel the young man’s eyes on his bare arms. “Frankie” undoes his belt and unzips his fly. He pushes his pants down, again sensing “Ken’s” eyes on revealed legs. He steps out of his trousers and puts them on top of his other clothes. “Frankie” knows the guy is taking in his naked chest while he pulls off his undershirt and tosses it on the growing pile.

The college boy puts his hands on the waist band of his briefs and looks at “Ken.” The young man is smiling at him, expectant. “Frankie” turns a little to his right, giving “Ken” a three-quarter view, rather than a full frontal one. This is an issue of esthetics, for “Frankie,” who would consider the latter to be crude. Neither could he hide himself from the person who has purchased the right to his body.

It is not that the college boy needs the money that has been promised him; although he can use it. What he wants, and enjoys, is this feeling of duty to the young man, that he owes it to “Ken” to please him. It is this very obligation that excites and pleases “Frankie.”

“Frankie” slides his underpants down, all the while fixed on “Ken’s” eyes, that are looking at his genitals. Now he turns toward the young man, who will pay twenty dollars for him.

“Come here, Frankie,” the young man commands.

The boy walks the few feet to stand, naked, before the fellow seated on the side chair. He feels “Ken’s” eyes on his body, admiring him, taking him in.

“I want you to sit on my lap, facing me,” Ken says.

The boy steps forward, opens his legs, raises himself on tip toes, moves ahead a little more, and feeling the rough fabric of the guy’s jeans on his bare thighs, he settles down on the young man’s legs. “Frankie” cannot remember a time when his cock was this stiff and aching so for release.

*****

“Frankie” and “Ken” meet about once a week, until the end of the semester. The relationship remains on a business level. They don’t talk much. Except for the sex, they have little in common. They respect each other and are friendly, but not friends. Usually, just before “Frankie” leaves “Ken’s” apartment they have a sandwich and a coke that “Ken” provides. They both think of this as a tip for good service.

Since the college boy will be going home for the summer, he tells the young man the truth about this. “Ken” does not care. While he is surprised that “Frankie” is twenty and only four years younger than himself and in spite of the fact that he generally prefers boys younger than that, this is offset by the kid being a college student. “Ken” grew up in New Brunswick, the son of working class parents. He developed the usual envy and associated resentment toward college boys. He enjoys having the college boy in the various ways that he does. It provides a special flavor to their activities.

Unexpectedly, “Frankie” is back on campus, having failed his fourth semester of Italian. In order to graduate with his class, he has to spend six weeks repeating the course. “Ken” makes a perfunctory offer of a place to stay, and is relieved when the boy declines. “Frankie” will live at his fraternity house. Also, he has a job teaching swimming at the University pool, however, there will be time for their usual pattern of association.

At the end of “Frankie’s” senior year, he was offered a position with an insurance company in New York City as an office manager trainee. He will be leaving, and they each understand that they will not stay in contact. Their last encounter took place the day before the college boy’s parents were due to arrive for graduation. “Frankie” gave “Ken” his money back, saying, “This one’s on me.” “Ken” gave “Frankie” a card with twenty dollars inside. They both laughed, and then parted for the last time.

Six months later, the former college boy graduated from the training program. At the company cocktail party, he met and captivated one of the top executives, who made a point of going to these ceremonies, just in case a really interesting young man might be found. They lived together for over twenty years. They were a familiar couple in the upper crust, New York gay scene. The older man looked out for “Frankie’s” career until he died. He left “Frankie” a rich man.

After a few years, “Frankie” met a fellow about his own age, an audacious and highly successful businessman in Houston. “Frankie” gave up his position in New York and moved to Texas, where they are still living. At his friend’s request, he does not work, except for arranging and hosting his companion’s frenetic social events.

About a year after “Frankie” left, “Ken” got married. He had been dating women right along. After the wedding, his encounters with boys became much more expensive. Now he needed a motel room as well as the boy’s fee. He made good money as a construction worker, but his children started arriving. His wife accused him of gambling, of there being other women. He got divorced.

“Ken” remained single for six years and then remarried, this time a woman with three children from a previous marriage. He nearly got into trouble with her youngest son, to whom he was attracted. They boy made it clear that he was available. “Ken” resisted by ignoring the youth. The lad moved to New York City as soon as graduated from high school.

“Ken” has his own business now and does not let his second wife know very much about his income. He has kept himself in excellent physical condition. But he is saving for the day when he will have to go to hustler bars and spend much more in fees.

Except that I did my undergraduate preparation at the University of Massachusetts and the café was in Northampton, the story is true up to the point of my (Frankie’s) picking up the young man’s quarter. I did not understand the significance of him placing it at the upper left corner of the pinball machine. I thought that it only meant that the fellow wanted to have the next turn on the machine. When I had completed the game, and the three free ones, I went back to the cup of coffee I had waiting for me.

Taking my place at the counter next to the fraternity brother with whom I had come to the café, I asked him what the signal meant. He said that he wouldn’t tell me. The young man played only three of the five games that his quarter had purchased, then left. It didn’t look like he had been trying very hard. When the fellow did not reappear, I finished the remaining two.

As my fraternity brother and I were walking to the bus stop for a return to campus, I again asked him the meaning of the symbol. He repeated that he didn’t want to say, and gave as a reason that I might get angry. I assured him that I would not, so he revealed the mystery.

Upon hearing it, I said, “I’m not angry, but I’m not interested either.” This was 1957, only degenerates were homosexual. Once exposed, one could not hope to remain in a fraternity house, be manager of the swimming team, or perhaps even finish school at U. Mass. Years later, I wondered if I might have missed another opportunity, that my fraternity brother might have been interested in me. He could have just said that he had no idea what the signal meant.

It was difficult for me in those days. I believed the stories told about “homosexuals.” I thought that there were very few and that most of those were terrible people. How then could I expect to meet someone like myself, reasonably sane and able to have a caring and lasting relationship? If he is there, he is hiding just as I am, I thought. I did not think there was any reason to suspect anyone of being attracted to me. It seemed too improbable. If there was a gay friendly bar in the area at that time, I did not know if it. Had there been one, I would have been to afraid to go.

Looking back, with the advantage of experience, I can see that there were those, with whom I might have been able to have shared affection and achieved some measure of satisfaction.