San Francisco
Part 5

Bugsy was a totally cool dog, and I wished I had canine Kyle there with me. I just knew those two pooches would get along, kinda like Spencer and me. It was just one of those instant bud thingies that you had a feeling about. Y'know? Sixth sense thingy.

Spencer had changed into a pair of shorts and t by the time he found me in the backyard playing with his dog. The dark-haired hunk was carrying a bowl of salad and a plate of steaks toward the gas barbecue on the timber deck. Food! Bugsy's attention was instantly diverted. Zap! Suddenly, I was all by myself on the lawn, and covered in smelly dog spit. Ew!

"You mind if I have a quick shower?"

"Go for it. You'll find a spare towel in there."

Wow! Imagine having your very own beachhouse, I thought as I soaped my bod, then rinsed the suds off my shiny, tanned skin. This dude didn't know how lucky he was. And a Bronco! And a sailboard! And that awesome piano! Woohoo!

After toweling myself, I was just about to put on my shorts when I decided to remain naked. Hey, what the fuck? This was San Francisco!

"This is a really neat deck," I remarked as I walked across the redwood flooring toward my new bud who was preparing the salad. "Looks new."

"Yeah... built it myself... well, Wicked Willie and me." Then Spencer turned around and saw me in the buff. "Uh... maybe you should wear your shorts or something."

"I'm always like this at home. My folks are cool. Who's Wicked Willie?"

"My best bud."

"Why do you call him Wicked Willie?"

"Because he is, and he's got one."

I had to think about that for a while as I watched Spencer place a bunch of chopped onions and garlic plus two steaks on the greased hotplate. The air was immediately filled with the appetizing aroma of sizzling meat. "Mmmm, smells fucking awesome! You don't have a pool. You gonna get one?"

"There's one across the road... the Pacific Ocean. It's pretty big. And there's the bay on the other side."

"Yeah... I forgot. What do you mean he's got one?"

"Who?"

"Willie."

Spencer grabbed a pair of tongs, then turned the steaks and gave the garlic and onions a bit of a swish around. "We've all got a willie, right? You gonna put your shorts on?"

"There's only you and me here."

"MM might decide to come over."

"MM?"

"Motor Mouth. He lives next door. He's only thirteen, and he might... well, y'know."

"Oh... like he's gonna tell the whole fucking 'hood?"

"It's just that... well, he's a cool little guy, and... hey, Daniel, about the cussing."

"He cusses?"

"You do. Maybe you don't notice, but you cuss a lot."

"Guess, I'm kinda used to it."

"I don't use profanity, nor do my folks or my buds. Well, maybe sometimes we do. If MM started using it I'd land on him pretty hard. I think it exhibits a lack of class, and reasonably intelligent people with basic education shouldn't have to use it. Besides, it becomes a habit, and dudes don't realize how much or how often they use it... usually at the wrong time."

"I'll go put on my shorts and t."

"Grab a couple of Corona Cervezas from the fridge... and some lime wedges."

So what the fuck was he talking about? Lack of class? What about all my buds? OK, so I didn't cuss in front of my mom or step dad... or older people... but that was different. All the dudes at school cussed. Teens cussed. Period. Well, that's what I thought. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe SF teens were different.

By the time I'd returned to the deck with the Coronas and lime wedges, Spencer had arranged the meal on plates, and it was ready to eat.

"Help yourself to the salad."

"Thanks. What about Bugsy?"

"He's eaten already... short memory."

"You go to church and stuff?" I asked after chewing a piece of steak. "Wow! This is f... uh, tastes delicious. Mmmm!"

"It's been marinating in red wine. No, I'm not a regular church-goer."

"What kinda stuff do you play on the piano?"

"Pretty much everything and anything. But lately I've been into Scott Joplin ragtime. Some of it's pretty difficult."

"Ragtime? So you only play it once a month?"

"It's a style of jazz characterized by elaborately syncopated rhythm in the melody and a steadily accented accompaniment."

"Oh."

"You didn't understand a word I said."

"OK, so there you are doing a Liberace one minute, then flying around the bay doing acrobatics on your sailboard the next. And then you come outa the water looking like... well... totally fucking hot... sorry... and you peel off your wettie and I'm like 'whoa!'. I don't get it."

"Whoa?"

"Yeah... whoa. Didn't you notice me gawking?"

"You didn't notice me gawking?"

"You were?"

"So what are you saying? That I can't combine playing the piano and windsurfing?"

"What were you gawking at?"

"Are you kidding?"

"So how come you don't cuss?"

"It's not necessary. Hey, listen, Daniel, if you wanna cuss that's your business. But if MM or Wicked Willie are here, I'd appreciate it if you didn't. OK?"

"Cool. Were you really gawking at me? Are you gay? Sorry... didn't mean to pry."

"Yep."

"Gawking or gay?"

"Both."

"Do your folks know?"

"That I was gawking?"

"SPENCER!"

"OK, OK," he giggled. "Sorry... just teasing."

"You've got the most wicked smile, man. It's just so damn cool!"

"Thanks."

"So what do your folks think?"

"I told them when I was fifteen. They knew that something was really eating at me. Once the truth was out, they were relieved that it wasn't something serious."

I almost choked on the piece of steak I was eating, and it took me quite a while to swallow before I could respond. "Not something serious? Fucking hell! Sorry. Not something serious?"

"That's what my mom said, anyway. So your folks don't know?"

"Hey, even I don't know. Well, I kinda do. I mean, I've been with guys. What do you mean by not something serious?"

"My folks grew up during the SF hippie years. They're pretty cool about everything except drugs. That's not to say that they're happy about my sexuality. They'd rather I was straight. But they also realize that it's not to be. They were just relieved that my problem wasn't drugs."

"I don't do drugs either. But I don't think I could tell my mom about the kinda stuff I do with my buds. She'd freak. Whoa! Would she freak!"

"Hey, Daniel, I didn't give my folks a blow by blow... sorry... wrong analogy... a detailed description of my sex life. I just told them I was gay."

"But they knew something was eating at you, right? So it was kinda like they asked you?"

"Not directly. They were just worried about me. They had no idea that I was gay. And why should they? I don't go around advertising the fact, not even now. I don't believe in all that militant gay bullshit. Leave me outa all that crap. Just let me exist in my own space... please!"

"So you and Tricky Dicky..."

"Wicked Willie."

"Sorry... are you and he like... y'know... lovers or something?"

"We've been known to wrinkle the sheets. But we're not like a major item or anything... great buds... lovers sometimes. He helped me build this deck. He's a great friend."

"So you don't have anybody special? Y'know, like permanent?"

"Used to. My best friend in high school and my first sex. Marc went back home to Tel Aviv after graduation. The hole in my heart still hasn't healed, and it's even worse after spending last July with him in Israel."

"Reminds me of a bud of mine... Kyle. He was crazy about Paul who went to live in England. And just a while ago, his friend Mark moved to the other side of Safrica."

"They were lovers?"

"Big time. Hey, you must be loaded to be able to fly to Israel... and this house and everything."

"My folks give me an allowance, and I can stay here so long as I get good grades at college. As for the Israel trip, Marc has connections. I flew first class for zip."

"Wow!" By that stage, we'd finished eating and drinking. "Lemme give you a hand to clean up."

"Thanks."

"So is Marc gonna come back to the States?" I asked as we carried the plates to the kitchen.

"Not sure. It's weird, y'know. Marc's best friend Bene is an Israeli Arab. They grew up together from babyhood. Since the Al Aqsa Intifada started, Marc has not heard one word from Bene. Even though Bene is an Israeli, he's apparently taken up the Palestinian cause. The fact that Marc is in the military doesn't help, either. I worry about Marc so much, but he knows it and emails me when he can... even if it's just a message to say that he's OK. I freeze when I think of anything bad happening to him or Bene."

"You wash, I'll dry."

"Thanks," Spencer smiled as he handed me a plate dripping with suds. "Marc was planning on coming here this summer but he probably won't now. Jeez. It was only last July that Marc, Bene and I were sailing, snorkeling, and having great sex in Israel. Three months later, Bene and Marc were enemies... maybe even shooting at each other."

"Fucking hell. Sorry."

"Some way heavy shit going on over there."

"I see that kinda stuff on the news, but I'm not sure I really understand it."

"The Intifada has been a long time coming, Daniel. The Palestinian and Israeli Arabs have been treated worse than second class citizens for more than fifty years. Forced outa their homes and businesses... from lands that have been in the same families for generations... taken over by Israelis for settlements... cut off from commerce and livelihoods... centuries old fields and orchards uprooted for the sake of "Israel's security". Even denied the basics of life. There are some lessons in basic human rights to be learned there. Action by both sides against civilians has gotta stop. I don't think it will, though... not as long as Arafat holds any power."

"How come I don't see that kinda stuff on the news?"

"Go figure."

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