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

In 1976, the Modern Language Association held its annual convention in New Orleans on the week before Mardi Gras. Steve, a Smith College professor of English, got a room in a small hotel in the heart of the French Quarter, even though the meetings would be held uptown, in the large modern hotels in that area. Steve was open about being gay, so appearances did not matter, and he wanted to be with his kindred. He had flown in on Friday, in order to have the weekend before the sessions began on Monday, when he would read his paper.

Steve was pleased to see from his guide, that only two blocks up Bourbon Street from where he was staying, there were two gay bars on opposite corners of an intersection. The first evening he ate at his hotel and went out early. He was already intoxicated with the atmosphere of the area, the brick buildings with elaborate wrought iron balconies, the crowds of strangely dressed people in the street. Many carried large paper containers of beer, on their way to or from the clubs and eating establishments that lined both sides of the street.

The first establishment Steve went to was cavernous. There was a bar in the first cave like room, beyond it a maze of similar, smaller rooms, one opening upon another and another. Benches were set into corners in the walls behind small tables. Quiet and sparsely occupied, it was the sort of place where one might go to talk with a friend. But Steve did not have a friend yet, so he left and went to the other tavern across the street.

In contrast, this place was one large, open, rectangular room. At each short wall there was a bar. Centered along the long wall away from the street, there was a dance floor with a wooden railing around it. Surrounding this were tables and chairs. There were already quite a few patrons in attendance. A dozen people were dancing and another thirty or so were at the tables, most in little groups. Steve got himself a bottle of beer and found a seat where he could watch the others.

A wide range of ages and types of people were present. One fellow held Steve’s attention. Quite tall, about six feet, in his early twenties, big boned, lanky, the young man was not the sort that usually attracted him. He was black, light brown really. It was his face that so appealed to Steve. To Steve, the young man’s face suggested intelligence, sensitivity, strength, emotion. A combination of handsome and beautiful, it was neither of these exactly. In some manner he was intriguing with curly brown hair covering his head like a cap, large brown eyes set wide apart, long lashes, full lips. The young man was sitting in a group of three, the other two older than he.

Steve drank his beer, watched the dancing men, looked at the other folks in the bar. As it got later, more people arrived. He went to get himself a second beer and stood for a while at the bar, before returning to his seat. It was then that he noticed that the young man, who had interested him, was now standing alone at the railing of the dance floor.

Usually, Steve would not be so quick to act, but he felt that this might be his only chance. He went up to the young man of his desires, and asked him to dance. The fellow said, no. Undeterred, Steve said. “Please, just one dance, nothing more.”

The guy relented, however reluctantly, and they went out onto the dance floor. Luckily for Steve, a piece came on that was both long and popular. Steve was a good dancer in a free form style that was very energetic. This time he danced wildly for the young man, pulling out all of the stops. At the same time, there grew within him an animosity, mostly against himself for having begged, but also towards the young man for having made him plead. Steve had committed himself to ask for no more than the one dance. While grinding his body in the most seductive way he knew, he resolved to leave the fellow quickly at the end of the number.

The music stopped. Steve gave a slight bow, said, “Thank you,” and turned to go. He had made only a single step when he felt a strong hand on his shoulder. He paused, and turning, saw a smile on the young man’s face. The fellow beckoned Steve back to dance some more.

They danced together and then went to a table to relax and talk. The young man’s name was Pete. He was an assistant at a photocopy business. It was the same sort of place, where Steve had the copies of his paper made, so that he could give them out to those who attended his presentation. Steve’s occupation seemed to be important to Pete. After gaining that information, the young man seemed to be more comfortable with him.

It became clear that they needed to settle where they would spend the night. Pete wanted Steve to come to the room that he had at his uncle’s apartment. It was because his parents did not, or would not, understand his being gay that he was living with his uncle. His uncle did not exactly like it either, but cared a great deal for him and didn’t give Pete a hard time about bringing his boyfriends home.

The apartment was dark when they arrived. Presumably, Pete’s uncle had gone to bed. Silently they went to Pete’s room, undressed, and got into Pete’s little bed.

The young man was a wonderful lover. Steve felt that he could lose himself in Pete’s warm, encompassing embrace, in his long and gentle kisses. Pete’s handling of his body, made Steve feel as though he were the most precious thing in the world. When the fellow entered him, Steve felt filled up, competed. Steve gave the young man everything he had. He wanted to be sure that he would not be guilty of false advertising in the way that he had danced for Pete earlier. It was important to Steve that he live up to any expectations that he might have provoked. And he wanted it to be memorable, so that the young man would never forget him.

They slept a little, between bouts of love making. Late in the morning, Steve woke with Pete half on top of him. It was the only way in the little bed. Pete wanted to play some more, but Steve said that he had to go to the bathroom. They got up and dressed.

Pete’s uncle was in the kitchen. He took one look at Steve and gave him a very cold look. While Steve was in the bathroom, he could tell from the raised voices and the tone, that Pete and his uncle were arguing. When Steve emerged, Pete said that they should go out for something to eat.

It was a beautiful sunny day. The temperature was in the high 60’s, with a bit of wind. They walked toward the river, until they came to a diner that Pete said was a good place for breakfast. Pete ordered the special, a lot of food at a reasonable price. Steve had two eggs up with toast and black coffee.

Pete and Steve started to talk, to find out about each other’s minds and characters, now that they already knew about their bodies. After breakfast, they walked on and had donuts and more coffee at a huge outdoor place that was an institution in New Orleans. The coffee had a little chicory in it and the donuts had no holes. Steve enjoyed the opportunity to try something different.

Pete wanted to know if Steve liked him because he was black. Steve replied that almost all of his sexual partners had been white. He liked it that Pete was black, or light brown, rather; he said, and he thought Pete’s color was terrific, and looked really good on him, but that he liked Pete for a lot of other things too. Steve went on to say what some of these were, and that he would mention some other reasons when they were not in public.

Steve did not ask Pete, why the young man like him. Nor did he ask what he and his uncle had argued about. He did not want to know, not yet anyway. He was afraid that he already know the answers.

Pete gave Steve a walking tour of the French Quarter. Then Pete was hungry, so they had some lunch. Later, they went to the cavernous bar for a beer. The bars in the French Quarter are open twenty-four hours, seven days a week. Eventually they returned to the place where they had met, because Steve said that he would like to dance.

While they were at that bar, two friends of Pete’s stopped by. They asked Pete to go somewhere with them. When he said no, they wanted to know why not. He nodded toward Steve. They each gave Steve a sour look, and left. Shortly after this, Pete indicated a desire to go to Steve’s hotel room.

Pete made love to Steve as though he were a bowl of popcorn with melted butter on it, and that if he did not have it all, right then and there, someone else would get it. It would have been sublime for Steve, if he did not have this nagging feeling that things were not all right. They went out for dinner around nine and then came back to the hotel.

In the morning, Pete said that he had to pay a visit to his parents. Steve asked the young man if he would see him later. Pete replied that he would call, if he could.

Like the sudden disappearance of the magician’s rabbit, it was as though Pete had gone, “poof.” There was no call or message. Steve went to the bars every night, but Pete was not there. He did not remember his way back to the uncle’s apartment, and he did not think it would be a particularly good idea to go there, even if he could find it.

Steve recognized that he was only in town for the convention. Would Pete rightfully be concerned about becoming too involved? If their relationship blossomed, would Pete want to move to Massachusetts? Steve accepted Pete’s decision, with regret.

*****

Pete resolved to be with black men. His uncle was right, the other was like going to bed with the devil. His friends were right, he did not need to bother with some puny, white man, when there were plenty of black youths who would be happy to be with him. Of course, they did not know Steve, would not know him, could not know that he was far from being weak. But, still, they were right.

For several months, Pete held to his resolution, both in body and in mind. Then he began again to notice white boys on the street or in the clubs. He realized that he had been avoiding this by refusing to see them. In order not to think about them, required the exercise of his will power.

He redoubled his efforts, but it didn’t work. His imagination refused to cooperate. He tried to push these thoughts out of his brain, but they returned more vividly and with greater urgency. One day, while riding the bus, when he was not thinking of anything in particular and was off his guard, a cute, blue eyed, blonde boy sat down next to him. His desires seared him. He put his head in his hands and closed his eyes. He felt a hand on his shoulder and heard a sweet and gentle voice say, “Are you all right?” He got off at the next stop.

He had to face it. He liked white boys, some of them, but he did not have to act on it. He stopped punishing himself for his thoughts and was more content. He looked at whomever he wanted, but spent his time with his own people. This was satisfactory, until the night he was alone at the cavernous bar and a white youth, whom he had been watching, discreetly he thought, came over to him. As soon as the kid smiled, he knew that he was lost.

Pete began to recognize the similarity of the denials that he had been making, with the process he had gone through when he had become aware that he was gay. He remembered how he had questioned Steve about Steve’s motives. Now he had to accept that he liked white guys because they were white. And he asked himself why, what was wrong with him that he should feel this way.

Since he took the active role, it could not be a perverse desire to be subjugated. If he fucked white boys as revenge, he should feel hatred or superiority, but he did not. He should not care about their feelings, but he did care. When he thought about Steve, it was with love and sadness.

After Pete became the manager of the photocopy store, be got an apartment of his own. He became more selective in his choice of companions. As friends and lovers, both black and white, he chose people who could get along with each other.

Shortly after Steve returned to Northampton, he became involved with a man of French, Irish, and Native American ancestry, two years younger than himself. This fellow had been married and was the father of a child. Although this relationship lasted ten years, at the end, Steve judged it as having been a mistake.

A few years later, Steve met a student from Singapore, who was taking a master’s degree in fine arts at the University of Massachusetts. After what seemed to Steve to be a nearly endless courtship, they formed a union. Steve was never wholly comfortable in Singapore, but he adjusted, and always felt that the move was worth it.

When my (Steve’s) one dance with “Pete” ended, I made a small bow, said, “Thank you,” and turned to go. I felt a strong hand grip my shoulder, but I did not pause. I didn’t shake off the hold, but walked through it, proceeded deliberately but without haste, across the dance floor, through the tables, out of the door and down the street toward my hotel. I did not look back.

I did not return to that bar very often, because I met someone else at the cavernous bar, a little hairdresser, and we spent a lot of time in bed. He had not previously taken the active Greek role, but learned quickly and thoroughly enjoyed doing so.

Then the week of the convention was over, and it was I who went “poof.” I had told him the first day why I was there and that I had a lover back home. Even so, it was hard for both of us when the last morning came.

My lover had old fashioned beliefs. He thought that he should fool around, but that I should not; that I should tell him everything, but that he should keep secrets. I was a fool not to have dumped him for the hairdresser. Perhaps I was a fool for having walked away from “Pete.”