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By this time Ulf and I had been through
a lot together
By this time Ulf and I had been through a lot together. We depended
on each other, but we also were on our own and liked our freedom.
Id have adventures with other guys, probably
more than him cause I was less severe in my judgements. But Christmas
came again and he arrived fresh from Sweden with his suitcase
full of food and champagne for Christmas. We decide to spend a
week or so in London and had a pretty good time there. London
didnt seem so great after all the other places, but maybe
that was my fault for not doing the typical tourist things. We
saw A Chorus Line in the West End and liked that a lot, bought each other black leather stuff, but didn't really see much
point of returning. In London we found him a leather motorcycle
jacket. Mine meant so much to me; I wanted him to have one too.
It represented our maleness, the rebellion, the macho. But when
we got back to Paris Ulf took our open relationship
just one step too far. We had gone to catch the show at the Alcazar,
where one of my friends was the male lead. We got there late and
had to stand to watch. There was another guy standing too, and
some time later was gone. Then Ulf said he needed to piss. He
was gone too long and when he came back looking a little silly,
it hit me hard to realize hed been having sex with the other
guy. See, before this we might have had sex with other guys, but
always when the other wasnt around to know about it. So
this seemed different and I lost it. Told him I never
wanted to see him again and all that stuff. But two days later
Im leaving a note at his hotel, trying to not have it all
end like that. We talked a little, but not much and he left for
Stockholm. Shortly after all this mess I found out there were
auditions for a show touring Japan, took the audition and got
the lead. The choreographer and I hit it off, she a middle aged
German woman who was responsible for the biggest tourist attraction
show in Paris: The Moulin Rouge. Rehearsals were fun, there were
a lot of girls but only one of them French, which was odd considering
the name of our show: Bonjour Paris. Then there was Ernie, another
American guy, Shawn, an Australian guy, and Roman, a sweet sixteen
kid with an open smile and totally in love with costumes with
feathers. He was so fresh and eager I sort of got
infatuated with him, envisioning a lot of pleasure in his company
during the three-month contract.
The week before our flight from Paris to Tokyo all the gay media
was talking about a gay film showing in a cinema on Rue Lafayette
called Hommes Entre Eux. I got a ticket and entered the dark theater,
maybe for the film, maybe for the off-screen action. No one much
was there that afternoon, so I settled in to just watch. When
the credits started rolling, it was a little fawn of a guy in
tights holding cards saying produced by, directed by, etc and
something seemed familiar. About half way through it struck me-
OHMYGOD Thats Romain!!! Maybe it started out with him in
various suggestive poses holding the credit cards but it continued
with him fucked by every character in the fucking movie! My eyes
at first uncommonly focused then glazed as my jaw kept dropping.
Here was this what I thought innocent little kid into feather
boas doing stuff that would have kept me from walking AND in front
of a camera! After the gang rape scene Id been emotionally
abused enough and left the theater in a daze to face the bright
light of day. At the rehearsal later that same day, when he came
bubbling up he sensed something had changed in my reaction to
him, but we never discussed it. Maybe it was all for the best.
In Tokyo I saw he was everyones darling as his effeminate
ways immediately pegged him as gay, while no one believed I was
even when I told them. Sometimes the stereotypes work in your
favor. It also made it easier for me to control my professional
jealousies. Romaine was placed behind me in the choreography,
but the little bastard was always stealing the audiences
attention, leaping about as if in a world of his own, ignoring
the choreography, adding flourishes of his own, eyes bright and
shining, chin lifted high, flashing his youthful dazzling fawnlike
smile. The audience, delighting in his innocence and
probably wondering what the hell he would do next couldnt
take their eyes off him. I did what I could to keep the spotlight
on me, and just had to deal with the fact he was pretty good at
keeping it on himself. But he wore himself out; his heart stopped
beating toward the end of the stay, and he was hospitalized awhile.
I never got close to him. But there is an interesting sequel in
my and Romains story. The first week we got back to Paris
I was coming out of my favorite bakery, eating my flan and then
realized the little sleek red sports car beside me was moving
exactly at my slow sauntering pace. I looked around and behind
the wheel was the star of Hommes Entre Eux eyeing me hard. He
had no idea I mentally knew every inch of his pornstar body and
from mental replays of the film knew just what he needed. The
car stopped, the door opened and I got in and put my hand on his
crotch. He knew a deserted building, where we both performed well
our sleazy sex unfilmed fantasy. I never told him I knew who he
was. He slipped me his card for another rendezvous, but I didnt
bother. My contentment was enough, plus knowing Romaine and I
werent in moral, dance or sexual competition anymore. Seems
it was just a matter of whether cameras are rolling or not, and
if a big eye in the sky sees all, we stewed in the same pot.
Tokyo wasnt at all what I expected. None of us were prepared
for how hard the work was. Every day of the week, arriving at
the theater early and not leaving until the town closed down,
an incredibly early 11:30PM. We arrived thinking we were hot stuff.
But downstairs under where we rehearsed more rehearsals were going
on. I went down to check it out. A Japanese group was doing some
incredible stuff- great, really great choreography and they were
all so damn good. Then I found out they were not only sharing
the stage with us, but the show was being advertised as a
competition between the Doriss Dancers of the Moulin Rouge and
the Nitchigeki Dance Company. It made me almost ill, the
contrast between them and us. The joke was after watching the
show it made you wonder how we won the war. Wed come on
stage with these timeworn faded feather costumes and do a Charleston
or gypsy or cancan, and get a polite applause. Then theyd
enter with the most incredible new flashy costumes, do some straight-from-Broadway
choreography and bring the house down. After the initial humiliation
I started loving it. I danced as well as I could, but screw worrying
about being outdone by my new friends. Never having identified
with our group masquerading as French, I was enjoying it now as
if I were on the other team. They were so incredibly sincerely
nice. Id spend all my free time with the their cast and
stage crew, and was always included in the saki parties and hot
baths after the show. One thing I especially liked was sitting
and joking with he stage crew during breaks between shows. There
were about 30 men of all ages and they would all get in this tangled
up mass of bodies, laying all over each other like in some big
orgy, and yet there was nothing sexual about it. They were just
comfortable like that and Id never seen anything like it
anywhere else ever and envied the casual acceptance and enjoyment
of human contact. In the elevators girls would rub my arms and
giggle at the hair. But as luck would have it, I had sex with
only one beautiful well-hung Japanese boy. He just appeared at
my hotel room door one night; I let him in not understanding who
he was or why he was there. He disappeared in the bathroom first
and spent an entire hour splashing around like a dolphin in the
tub, throwing water everywhere. I sat there dumbfounded on the
bed watching the water run out under the door wondering what the
fuck. But then there he was, soft and humid and hot under the
cover with me. One other guy sent me flowers and fruit and started
being front row and center in the audience. Then he politely requested
a dinner date, asking could he draw me, and I thought sure, why
not. First we went to a restaurant and over sushi he confided
On stage Mr. Tom look very young. Up close have wrinkles.
Fifty points lost. Then we go on to the hotel. No drawing pad
in sight and when the room door closes he jumps all over me like
a crazed animal. I immediately demand to leave and he follows
me apologetically out. Back at my hotel in the taxi he hands me
a gift. I wait until Im back in my room and Ernie is there.
Its a $400 Seiko watch. Im really annoyed but Ernie
is adamant A girl never gives back jewelry So I kept
it. Looking back I wish we had had sex. The story might have had
some more laughs and who knows, maybe I would have eventually
been worth a Rolex.
Its like the night in Lebanon when I was walking to the
casino and an Arab boy comes out of nowhere and starts walking
with me. I was always intending this kind of meeting, but it almost
never happened. Anyway, after a few simple sentences he says he
would like to fuck me, but it would cost me 50 pounds, what, maybe
$10? I was such an egomaniac I couldnt get beyond the word
pay. ME pay? Are you crazy! Im the fucking star! Now of
course, if I had it to do over again I would most certainly have
paid. Not cause I wanted so to get fucked, but because I would
have had another memory. It was a moment that could have led to
an adventure, most likely a good one, cause if he had wanted to
harm me he had the chance. See, now I understand his self-image
or socialization made it necessary for him to get paid, but maybe
he just wanted to know me sexually as much as I would have liked
to have known him. But we couldnt drop the baggage and just
dance. And by the time you realize youre carrying shit you
dont want or need, well the suns out and the night-magic
gone.
Ulf meanwhile is wet miserable and cold in the Swedish army.
But he gets himself out and takes the Trans-Siberian express across
Russia to connect with Japan. And one night just after my 30th
birthday he arrives in Tokyo. Its not as idyllic as I would
have wished. I was working all the time. Then he did some sightseeing
trips alone that I had put off doing until his arrival, so we
argued about that. Then the old argument about did he really love
me came up, and this time he was really tired of hearing my whine.
My hopes of staying on in Japan and us traveling together fell
apart because of the work visa specifications. Meanwhile I was
burning all bridges of future dance employment in Paris and Monte
Carlo by striking for dancers rights with Doriss and the
Japanese management. And so we did as best we could in a brother
sort of way and headed back to Stockholm together immediately
after the show closed.
We moved upstairs in the same building, built more furniture,
and Ulf got a job working nights in the hospital. Hed sleep
during the day and Id swim, take dance classes, read, whatever.
At night in the perpetual dusk/twilight while he was at work Id
often leather up and go out cruising. There were several parks
where guys grouped up for sex with beautiful overlooking views
of the city skyline. I loved climbing the rocks, following, being
followed, hot meat in the cool extra-clean air, the ritual. It
was a nice spring/summer. Easy times. Comfortable. Then Ulf got
a job in Paris at the Casino de Paris and I flew home to North
Carolina after Mom wrote and said Daddy was sick and they could
use some help. It was an easy decision to return. My dance career
I felt was over, partly due to age but mostly due to desire. Ulf
was fine, maybe even better off without me, and I had a long-standing
debt to Mom and Dad.
Still, comes Christmas and Ulf arrives, bearing gifts of porcelain
and glass and with the intention of staying awhile.
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