Blink

Chapter 4: Carlos

Chapter 4: Carlos

He wants to meet me! I walk to school in a kind of daze, a joyful daze, but feeling like my surroundings are shadows, flashes of light, and blurs. It’s hard to remember my lesson plan for the day, the meeting I have with the vice principal, Sister Mary Michael, during my free period, any of that stuff. Hell, I have to think about which turns to make on my route to the school.

He wants to meet me!

I never thought it would happen. I could tell, right from the first, that he was gay and looking at me with more than passing interest. Men don’t hold their gazes on other men for as long as he did without something being up. But I also saw the shame and, yes, terror in his eyes as he forced himself to look away.

I came to think he was just another deep-in-the-closet homosexual (note that I did not say gay man) and that his attraction for me was at odds with how he felt about himself. I’ve met his kind before—they were the ones you might meet up with in a bar and bring home. They were okay until the moment they came. Then they couldn’t get away fast enough.

More’s the pity. A guy that adorable should not go wanting!

I was really shocked—and thrilled—when he got off the train behind me this morning. It was like some kind of wish fulfillment come to life. I knew I was grinning like an i***t as we took each other in. I couldn’t help it, though. I was just so damn happy. Even if he had just gotten off the train to tell me he needed me to stop giving him the eye, which I feared in some dark recess in the back of my mind, at least I would get the chance to talk to him.

But that wasn’t what he said. And his grin was as stupid and joyful as mine. There was this charge passing through us that I can’t describe in any other term other than electricity. I wanted to hug him right there on the platform, but I knew it would probably send him off screaming in the other direction.

He asked me to meet him at an ‘L’ stop in Evanston, which I assume will lead to a “stop” at his place in Evanston. Tonight. I can’t believe this is really going to happen.

I walk to school in the balmy breezes of early spring wondering what I should wear, what it will be like to talk more with him, to get to know him. The dirty part of my mind contemplates what it would be like to touch him, to caress him, oh hell, to taste his tongue in my mouth. Would he have a big d**k? Cut or uncut? Would he be more top or bottom? Although I favor the former, I don’t care. I’d do whatever he wants and love it all.

It’s not until I’m going up the front stone steps of St. Phil’s that I realize I don’t even know his name.

I laugh.

By tomorrow, I think, all of that will change. I’ll know who he is, what makes him tick. And most importantly, what he looks like naked. I grin.

Life is good.

* * * *

I dress carefully for my meeting, wanting him to just look at me and think no other guy can compete. Should I be casual? Preppy? In the end, I settle for simple, a pair of old Levi 501s that I can allow myself to admit I really like because they show off my basket to such good advantage. The jeans grip me as though they were tailor-made, emphasizing not only the bulge between my legs but also my ass and thighs, the denim worn and faded in all the right places. On top I wear a simple white button-down oxford cloth shirt. My Nikes or cowboy boots? I opt for the latter. More butch. Besides, they make me even taller, and I think whatever-his-name-is will like that.

No cologne. I have some Ralph Lauren Polo in the medicine cabinet, but you never know if a guy will hate it or love it. But you can be sure he won’t object to just a nice clean smell.

And I made sure I was clean. Everywhere.

I grin as I set out.

This evening, I just know, will be life changing.