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So Ulf and I are wearing out our welcome and the carpet after
staying some weeks with my parents, but then I get the idea of
building a little structure so wed have somewhere to 'shack
up' and store our stuff, imagining travels to and from Europe
being the norm. Mom resists the idea of giving me permission to
build something homemade where I had picked out: over
at the Old House where my great-grandparents lived
and which incidentally was also prime real estate. We locked horns
a bit, I didnt see the problem with it and said we would
go to live with friends (Ken and Eli) in Texas otherwise. Part
of Moms problem was 1) she knew i'd never built anything
in my life, 2) she saw it as unfair to the others, especially
my older brother, for me to have the land and 2) she had only
herself had title to it for a few years, inheriting it after my
grandfathers death. But I wasnt seeing it as claiming the
land as my own or anything; I just wanted somewhere to put my
souvenirs mostly and be free to make noise in bed. So mom relented
and Ulf and I started taking down the old house board by board.
It was dirty and hard but by spring we had stacks of lumber from
which I estimated what kind of structure could be built. Plus
the photos of Ulf naked in the daffodils, booted and barechested
with a crowbar in his hand, and smiling with various dogs and
cats in his arms. He started taking classes at the community college
and was 1st in his class. Then he took drivers ed and got
a driving license. We got this big old station wagon my sister
sold me for $175. It was fun and practical plus I got a new motorcycle-
a Honda 750.
We both went to the gym and then I decided to try steroids. The
doctor gave me pills and the more of them I took the harder I
was to live with. I woke up in a rage, glaring at everybody at
the breakfast table, and was a bitch all day long. I couldnt
help myself, and although I put the mood and the pills together,
I really wanted those muscles even if I had to end up killing
everybody. Ulf put up with it mostly, but we had some really tense
moments. Finally I realized it wasnt worth it and flushed
the pills down the toilet. But it was a little late, most everyone
was really irritated with me by then. Later on I got the pills
everybody at the gym was taking: Dianabol. They worked a lot better
so I mentally excused my horrendous behavior by blaming it all
on the doctor.
But Ulf had had enough of my bitchiness and North Carolina living
and headed back to Europe. The floor and walls were up on my shack
and although Mom first thought her worst nightmares were coming
true, little by little it looked innocuous enough, even neat.
Neat enough that it pulled my attention away from my sorry sex
life. I got an invitation to come to Houston from Ken and since
I was curious, I put a few things in a bag and took off on my
motorcycle. For about 200 miles it seemed like a stupid thing
to be doing, but then I broke through that barrier of attachment/longing
and enjoyed the ride. Stayed overnight in a bath in New Orleans.
I liked Houston, thought my friends were sort of mucking about,
auditioned for a show and got it (but later the show was canceled),
and went to bars, baths and stuff, before heading back home. The
roof beams were waiting for me and Daddy helped me get them up
and then helped me wire the place. I didnt know anything
much about how to do anything, but Daddy could tell me what to
do next and I just did as told. I was working at the rink a lot
too: remodeling the bathrooms, putting up lights, painting, etc.
Then one day I moved in. I had lots of dreams about other houses,
big ones with lots of rooms, on the same spot, and grew to realize
how linked I was to the land and my little place.
Summer events were family in nature but summer passed and no
word from Ulf.
In August I rode my motorcycle to High Point to Cartwrights and
asked for a job, any job. He gave me work out in the shipping
department where I entertained the rednecks with tales of dancing
with naked girls in Paris. But one morning my bike blew up on
the way up there, so it seemed a good time to buy another cheap
ticket on IcelandAir to Luxembourg and from there I took the train
to Stockholm. Its nice being back together for both of us,
but one afternoon Ulf comes in and tells me thanks a lot for giving
him syphilis. I dont know what to say, I didnt know
it if I did but sure, Im really sorry. The next morning
I go get tested and the results are negative. Aha! So the good
news is he didnt get it from me. Of course the bad news
is is that Ive probably now got it from him. Sure enough
a couple of weeks later the tests show Ive got it too. In
America the treatment was one big dose of penicillin. But the
Swedes rightly accused the American doctors of thus creating a
resistant strain of the disease, and developed a safer plan of
daily shots of smaller doses for five weeks. Funny, but you get
used to any routine, and after awhile I enjoyed the time in the
hospital, knowing all the staff and all. I never got smug or lorded
it over Ulf, cause it could have been the other way round. Still,
inside I knew I had an advantage in any future arguments concerning
sex outside the relationship. Meanwhile, I get a little cabaret
work with a Swedish girl, take dance classes and hang out with
Herman and do a strip number with Ulf in a small gay theater,
and I got a night job working in two different saunas. But by
Christmas both Ulf and I are back in North Carolina. I dont
remember being cold but I know we were wintering in the shack.
Mom and Dad wouldn't put us up again. We did wear our welcome
thin with them, especially when Ulf got the bedroom carpet messed
up with greasy foot prints. He had really dry skin and used a
heavy-duty cream of sheep fat every night on his feet to keep
them from cracking. We werent used to worrying about carpets,
but Mom cared a lot her carpets when she realized why they were
getting slick. Carpets destined to be ripped out anyway,
so I still feel people shouldnt have stuff thats not
practical and off white carpet is high on my list of dont
wants. Then there was the night I woke up to hear him in the clothes
closet. What the fuck are you doing! I asked. Pissing! was his
whispered reply. And he was. Sleepwalking and pissing. I made
him realize what he was doing and he crawled back in bed apologizing
and if it was ever found out it was never mentioned. At our love
shack there wasnt a "real' toilet to start off with,
but Ulf fixed us one. If you take a standard paper grocery bag,
it fits perfectly inside a 5-gallon plastic bucket, the kind u
can find anywhere. Then you buy a bag of lime and have a supply
of sawdust. Then you put a little sawdust in the bag in the bucket
and then you wait til you have to shit and put the bucket somewhere
a little private, drop your drawers and sit on the rim. It sounds
uncomfortable I know, but youll be as surprised as I was
how comfy it actually is. Ok, do your business, but dont
pee in the bag, that makes a mess and creates ammonia. Pee before
or later, but not in the bag. When youre finished doing
your business sprinkle a little lime in the bag and then a clean
layer of sawdust. No odor, no flies, no problem. Empty the bucket
as needed and dig it in to the flower border. You can forget having
to buy Miracle Grow, the flowers will thrive. Like they say A
country boy can survive.
Come summer and I have great recall. The Caribbean had long been
in the back of my mind. In design school we had been asked where
we envisioned ourselves in 10 years and I had said on a friends
yacht in the Caribbean. So we decided to get scuba certification
and go. A nice female instructor came and gave us a course in
Moms pool. My younger sister was part of it, the choked
up part. Weve got movies of us, with her choking and crying,
that really are funny. But we pass and head to the Virgin Islands.
We started out on St. Thomas but soon opted for St. Croix.
The diving was fun, but just being there together was the best.
Wed have nice suppers together, eating in the open air and
feeling neat. My sister had as much fun as we did, maybe more,
since she almost decided to stay. Id get seasick on the
boats, but once in the water I was fine, it was a good time. Leaving
my sister, Ulf and I pushed our luck and went on to St Marten,
intending to go on to the chic St. Barts. But we detested that
hateful Dutch island so much we left the next day on a flight
to NYC. It was a great change of venue. After the islands New
York seemed especially pulsating with energy and adventures. We
stayed with Ken and his recent boyfriend Jason, doing this and
that and as usual passing judgement on everything and everybody.
Ulf and I did that too much. We had a its us against
the world mentality. I returned to NC, Ulf stayed on in
NYC a few days more then returned to Stockholm, scuba gear and
all. He got a part in a Swedish version of Fiddler on the Roof
and toured Sweden.
That fall I settled down to creating my life in North Carolina.
My records show paying mom back the loan for my piano. I joined
the YMCA and swam and worked out. Mom paid me well to work at
the rink. Life was simple and uncomplicated. Fall passed into
winter. The ceiling of the shack was just one sheet of aluminum,
no insulation from cold, and you could hear it drizzle, a downpour
was deafening.
So it got very cold. I used my refrigerator to keep food warm:
it would freeze if I left it on the kitchen table. Nights Id
sleep with my clothes on and in the mornings ride my motorcycle
a mile and a half to the new YMCA where Id spend ages under
the hot water in the shower. But I kinda liked it; it seemed basic
and good. Id put up plastic sheeting to insulate and it
worked remarkably well on sunny days, but couldnt help in
cloudy weather. Then I got a little wood stove and all of a sudden
it felt like home. Ulf shows up for Christmas again, this time
with the crystal candelabras for Mom. He really did try hard but
didnt get much appreciation really. In my notes its
written irritated with familys indifference to Ulf
but now, looking back, I can see it wasnt just him. All
my friends/lovers have received this same indifference. Like its
assumed from the onset they will just be temporary episodes in
my life. Gays dont get a lot of credit when we try to have
a relationship and Im hoping this will change, but it wont
in my family in my lifetime. One night Daddy summed it all up
out loud and told me face to face that Ulf was never a part of
the family and never would be. If Ulf had heard him say it I would
have exploded in frustration and anger. As it was I internally
flipped a switch: I no longer cared about the concept of family
and felt forever outside the umbrella of my upbringing. That switch
remained flipped. Daddy got sicker and I loved him more and we
developed an enjoyment of each others company like I had never
know, but inside I knew we were separate. Equals perhaps, but
separate. Its the same with Mom. I love and respect and
honor, but I reserve my feelings for myself. I dont mind
telling any of them anything they want to know now, but their
curiosity is bracketed. I like their company and I hope they like
mine, but well always be separated by perception. But isnt
everyone? Separated by perception is the same observation for
Ulf and Roger and if its true for them, Im betting
its almost universally so. Im in tune with so much
of what is out there as expressed in song lyrics,
books, movies, but when I get one on one with anyone Ive
never felt long term union, except for those first
years with Ulf. Ive never known anyone else who has either.
I see people just needing company, some more than others. Most
more than me. Ulf and I had that in common, he didnt need
company either. After 5 weeks here he headed on back and got work
performing in Paris, his favorite city.
In February of 1980 an Australian mate from the show in Beirut
visits and stays with me, except when he has to go to the bathroom.
Somehow he just couldnt adapt to my facilities
and preferred the comforts of my parents home. I enjoyed
family things and then Id get disillusioned with them. I
photographed some, practiced my music and drawing and language
skills. The yard takes a lot of time. Actually it took a lot of
time for 15 years before becoming the perfection it is now. I
dont know how long this parcel can continue as is into the
future, but it will hurt me if I have to see it divided or developed.
It is a park, a paradise, and a preserve. If you could live here
but a week alone and walk around youd agree with me as to
how special it is. And then you could do the same for another
51 weeks and still be looking forward to the cycle to start again.
Its a trap as well. But a good one. As everything it will
change too in time. I try not to be overly attached or concerned
for its continuation, but its difficult not to care.
Ulf arrives again the last week of May. We start immediately
to teach him to windsurf on the new windsurfer I just had bought
weeks before. We get pretty good doing it over at Badin Lake,
but at Nags Head I sit on the beach watching him struggle and
drift further and further out in the ocean. We nearly lost it
that day, but I swam out finally and managed to get it in. Then
we packed it up and headed for Florida.
We left in a bad mood and pretty much stayed in one most of the
trip. I blamed my mood on him and he his on me. Plus he had the
mosquitoes too. They didnt bother me as wed try to
sleep in the back of the station wagon. It was too hot to have
the windows up which meant he was pretty miserable. Hey, I just
could afford to get us there, not provide air-conditioning! I
got irritated by his snobby attitude and the cigarette in his
mouth, and all the guys oohing and ahhing at him while ignoring
me when we walked the gay beach. Maybe we were both just wishing
for more. Whatever it was, it was driving us apart. Sex wasnt
so great anymore; the spark just wasnt there. And after
a certain point theres no use trying to talk about it, besides
talk comes easy to me and was thought of as useless by him. Checkmate.
In September when he goes back to Stockholm I figure its
the end and summer having been so frustrating at times, I didnt
care.
This would have been the end of the European Love Story had it
not been for my continued correspondence with Budd, the American
choreographer from the Casino du Liban and Copenhagens After
Dark. (Hope you read the letters and diaries from that period.)
Anyway, Budd wrote and wanted to know if I would like to come
to Italy to star in a show. WOULD I?!!!!!!!!!!!!!
The contract for Italy arrived in early October 1980, and I rolled
my motorcycle inside, closed the doors to my shack and flew to
Milan. It was a cold gray rainy arrival, but undaunted I was ready
for whatever. The theater was is Sassuolo about 20 minutes by
car away from Modena, a town famous for its balsamic vinegars
and proscuitto hams. The valleys nearby are rich with special
clay which makes the ceramic tile industry foremost in the world.
The small town had the highest per capita income of any city in
Italy and a new swanky nightclub theater had been built by a consortium,
counting on business entertainment expenses to make its profit.
Ours was to be the inaugural show and they wanted lots of tits
and ass and sex. This is what Budd did best and combined with
the costume designs of Corrado Collabucci, one of Italys
leading theatrical designers, it seemed we couldnt miss.
The usual rehearsal problems occurred, but nothing in excess.
Everyone did their job well. Budd counted on me to help choreograph
my own numbers and being somewhat pumped up on steroids I dazzled
everyone with muscular lifts of my bony French partner. In the
dance world French dancers dont have the best rep. They
tend to appear lazy on stage, dragging the tempo just
a little and slurring steps, and they dont always care about
smiling. English, South African, Australian girls all sparkle.
Scandinavian girls dazzle and Eastern European girls sell
it. Id rather partner almost anyone before a French
girl, but you cant fight fate. Lawrence knew I was gay but
somehow determined that she would have me in bed and not just
our bed scene on stage either. I tried being charming but ended
up being hateful. During our numbers toward the end of the contract
we were muttering profanities at each other, but strangely enough
it added to the customers enjoyment, seeing the intensity they
thought it passion when often it was hate. Then the steroids gave
out on me mid contract and I was really struggling with some of
the lifts. Lawrence thought I was just pretending like I was gonna
drop her where in fact I came awfully close several times. If
the contract had lasted one month more I couldnt have made
it. I was contracted at a fantastic salary and had envisioned
a nice apartment, cooking my meals, maybe a local live-in lover,
whatever. It wasnt like that. The town didnt cater
to tourists at all. There was only one hotel and the room rates
were outrageous. Half my salary went for rent. And food at the
hotel cost a fortune, only the girls who were sponsored
by local men could eat there. We didnt have appliances in
our rooms either, so it was pretty basic.
Nor was it sunny Italy: instead a continual gray
heavy sky, cold rains and cold tiled bathrooms. And no local gay
guys to be seen anywhere. I ended up placing an add in a gay magazine
and got one call. We went to a room of a friend, because like
almost all unmarried Italian men, Maurizo lived at home. One hour
one afternoon was all the sex I had during the whole damn time
I was in Sassuolo. But I met Denise. She had seen me in the show
and when I went in her shop we just felt like old friends after
only a few minutes. After that she was continually planning something
for us to do. Car trips, skiing in the mountains, pizza parlors,
discos, restaurants, shopping, you name it. Early on I told her
I was gay and she said fine, but would I just do her one little
favor and not tell any of her friends. That of course gave me
the suspicion I was being used as a status symbol, but it wasnt
that base. She really liked me and knew that the locals had a
real prejudice against openly gay men, so in some way she was
trying to protect me. Still I wondered though, if she wasnt
showing off a little for her friends by dragging me along everywhere
she went. We had a great time together. At the end of my contract
I went skiing in the Alps for a couple of weeks and then planned
to go back home, but she came with a cake to celebrate my birthday
and her present was a three week vacation together in Mombassa,
Kenya.
So after the snow we headed south to a tropical paradise. Our
hotel was on the beach and the snorkeling was wonderful. We went
on a safari, seeing a lot of animal shit so we knew there must
be a lot of animals we just didnt see many. Sure some elephants,
zebras and a few lions and giraffes, but no more than in most
zoos. Those massive herds were elsewhere, only their droppings
left behind. To be truthful, I had more fun than poor Denise did.
I kept telling her the sun was strong, but she lays there unmoved
developing severe sunburn which keeps her in bed three days having
developed an allergic reaction or something. No sooner does she
over it but I come in to find her in bed with a bandage wrapped
around her head. I couldnt help but laugh when she explained
to me in Italian that she was on the beach and ran into a tree.
I must have misunderstood Im thinking so she explains it
again. She and a friend are walking along the shore looking down
at shells and she runs straight into a palm tree blown over horizontal
by a storm. She had practically knocked herself out, and still
I couldnt keep from laughing. She wasnt amused at
my sense of humor. When she asked me not to let anyone at the
hotel know I was gay I thought she had gone too far. We had words,
and were a little silent for awhile, but all in all it was a great
trip.
I had called Ulf in Paris before we left Italy for Mombassa and
told him a friend and I were going to Kenya. I wanted
him to imagine me with a guy having fun. When afterwards I left
Italy, it was on a train headed for Paris. Ulf had said he would
meet me at the station, but there are five stations and he wasnt
at mine. I found his place though, and he arrived soon after.
In spite of the time apart and my dark tan he was standoff-ish.
The bond seemed broken beyond repair. When I went with him shopping
for food I felt like we were just two tired faggots like I had
seen other places other times. It wasn't a fun feeling at all.
I wanted to touch him, but he didnt want to be touched.
His hair was long and his clothes sort of hippie. It was an Ulf
I didnt know very well, and he seemed intent on keeping
it that way. He said he was seeing a guy whose cock was bigger
than mine. Nice. So leaving Paris, city of his humongously cocked
friend, I flew home, staying over (fucking) a few days in NYC.
The new clothes from Italy, leather jackets, designer shirts and
slacks, and latest ski equipment fit nicely in my shack.
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