Coming Together: With Pride (6 page)

This is maddening. I am listening to this little, old man bemoan the rise in the price of Manischewitz since 1942, and all I want to do is find the boy and talk to him. The old man takes his change and heads for the door, still complaining.

When I turn back, I find myself staring into almond eyes that seem to disappear as the young man smiles. I realize he has been waiting for us to be alone. There are no other customers that I can see or hear. The store is unusually silent. I try to sound witty and comfortable, but I'm not. I feel a thin layer of sweat break free of my pores.

"Hel-lo. Howsitgoin?" I stammer.
He nods and smiles.

"Okay, thank you," he says as he lets out a faint puff of breath that might be a laugh and smells like ginger. He places the bottle of
Seduction
on the counter. I reach for it and brush his skin. Instantly, I become aroused and thank fate for the counter I'm standing behind. I grip the bottle around the neck, wishing desperately that this wasn't a bottle but the beautiful young man and that we were anywhere but here. My pants feel increasingly tighter. I keep thinking of him as a boy because he's so flawless and clean-shaven, but he holds himself with maturity and confidence. I decide I had better card him, just in case.

"Do you have ID?" I ask, trying not to sound harsh. He looks at me, nods, and smiles again.

"Okay. Thank you," he repeats. My stomach flips and I realize he can't speak English. I try again just to make sure.

"Can I see your identification?" This time he shakes his spiky head just a little and shrugs. "Driver's license? Passport?" I can't make him understand me. By law, I can't serve him now. If I ask for ID and the customer doesn't have it, I cannot serve that person.

Beautiful boy or not, I am having a serious moral dilemma. I should never have asked him in the first place. I should have sold him his bottle and sent him on his way. I still can, since there's no one here. I can still salvage this. No sooner do I think that than Dan comes whistling up from the back room. His three hour cigarette break is finally over.

"I'm sorry. If you don't have ID, I can't serve you," I tell the boy as I pull the bottle off the counter, just as we are trained to do. The look on his face is painful. It's as if I attacked him personally. His entire body seems to despair. "I'm sorry," I repeat and he turns toward the door. I watch his back the whole way out.

"You never say yer sorry." It's Dan. "Especially to those fuckers. If they can't learn the language, they shouldn't oughta be here. Look. The freak dropped somethin'."

Dan bends down, picks up a piece of paper and hands it to me. "Throw this out."

I look at it first. It's a little scrap of paper with an address on it. That unbelievable creature was going to give me his address. I suddenly realize my other hand is still on the bottle caressing the length of it slowly. I pull my hand away quickly before Dan can see what I'm doing and decide what to do next.

It's finally the end of my shift. I'm standing in line with the same bottle that I refused to sell to the pretty Asian. I can't believe I'm about to buy this wine and take it to a complete stranger's address. He doesn't even speak English. I'm not sure if I can make him understand my intentions. I'm not even sure what my intentions are.

"Thirteen, seventy-seven," Janet tells me, having finally come out of the back room. "What lucky girl are you going to share this bottle with?" she asks, clueless as ever.

"I'm just going to go home and relax," I lie. Maybe it's a lie. I haven't decided whether I'll go through with this or not.

"Well, if you get lonely, you can give me a call. I don't have any plans."

"I'll keep that in mind," I say as I take my change.
Not bloody likely.
I can hear her start to drone at the next customer and wince a little on the way to my car, a beat-up Volkswagen Bug that's mostly black with a couple of patches here and there. I wonder as I get in what my Asian stranger would think of it, and I feel the blood flow almost instantly to my erection. I take the address out and look at it again. I know it's an apartment building downtown. I start the car and pull out of the parking lot, heading in that direction.

The ten minute drive gives me time to consider my actions. If any of my co-workers were to find out that I bought a bottle to give to someone I denied earlier, I could lose my job. I could be fined. If someone really wanted to be a prick, I could go to jail. I don't know what I'm expecting that will be worth all those risks, but thinking about his face, it all seems inconsequential. I would suffer that and more to feel his golden lips on mine. Besides, I tell myself, there's almost no chance any of those brain-dead hicks at work will figure out what I'm doing, let alone be able to prove it if they do.

There it is. For the most part, it's totally nondescript: an old building but not very ornate. It's in the historic district of town, so the owner gave the outside a splash of garish paint to make it stand out next to the Victorian mansions and truly beautiful buildings around it. I grip the steering wheel and turn off the engine. I close my eyes, take a deep breath and steel myself for what I am about to do.

As ready as I can be, I grab the bottle and get out of my car without locking the door and head for the building. There is an intercom by the door with fifteen buttons and corresponding name tags. I find apartment eleven and look at the name by the button: Song, Ping-Lang. That has to be him. I have no idea what to say after I push that button. Will he even be able to understand me? What if he isn't here? I have no idea if he came home after he left my store.

My thoughts are interrupted by a couple of college girls that open the door and walk out. They're laughing and walking down the sidewalk as I catch the door before it closes. I go in and head for the third floor. There's an elevator but I take the stairs to give myself some extra time. With each step, my heart beats a little bit faster. If I were a poet and not a liquor store clerk, I might say my pulse quickened. I smile at that. I won't be a liquor store clerk forever. My paintings will start to sell, and then I won't have to put up with the bull crap any longer. Maybe I'll have a beautiful Asian boyfriend to share my artistic success with me.

By the time I have begun imagining our future together, I reach the door of apartment eleven. There's a peep hole just above the numbers, making me wonder what he'll think when he sees me, if he's home. I raise my hand and knock gently twice. I can hear faint music through the door but nothing else. The minutes stretch. I knock again, slightly harder. It feels like eternity passes in the time I stand there.

I decide he isn't home after all, and just as I turn to leave, there is the click and drag of a lock being turned. I look quickly back at the door. A warm, unsteady light spills out, and standing in the doorway, silhouetted by candlelight and naked to the waist is Ping-Lang. I try to swallow, but my throat has gone desert dry in a split second.

He smiles and I hold out the bottle in reply, noticing his bare feet, the toe nails painted a sparkling deep blue. I regain my voice, worried that he might think I'm some kind of psycho, guessing that might be the reason it took him so long to answer the door. Maybe he was deciding if I was safe. I manage a choked hello. He lays his hand on mine and pulls me into the apartment.

I introduce myself as we move inside. "My name's Ian," I say laying a hand on my chest. He imitates the gesture.

"My name is Ping-Lang," he says, as though he's rehearsed it many times. "This for me?" he asks.

I nod, and he gently takes the bottle from my hand as he closes the door. There are what seem like a million candles lit all around the room. He gestures to a small couch and walks into the kitchenette as I sit down. The music is something classical, Bach or Beethoven, I'm not sure. He hums softly along as he opens the bottle. I feel a wave of unreality wash over me as I sit looking around the room.

It's obvious he recently moved in. There are stacks of books and a few cardboard boxes pushed back along the wall. I notice a thin mattress rolled up in a corner. He opens a cupboard, takes out glasses and closes it. There isn't a television here. He has a drawing table by the window. I walk over to it and look at the papers strewn about. I'm looking at pencil sketches when I notice a booklet just under a picture of a thin, naked woman. I lift the drawing, uncovering his passport. I check the birth date and am relieved to find out he's actually the same age as I am.

His hand lands on my shoulder, and I jump. I hold up the picture of the woman and say, "These are very good."

His smile grows so large his eyes all but disappear as he takes my hand again, this time leading me over to the couch. There is a tray on the table in front of the couch with the wine and some little, golden ginger chews. I sit down, and he sits very close, facing me with one leg folded under his bottom and the other on the floor. He picks up both glasses and hands me one. I swirl the wine around and smell it as they taught us in wine class.

I can feel his eyes on me. When I look over, he is smiling, swirling and smelling also. I smile back and hold my glass out to him. The glasses clink together, and we both sip cautiously. The wine tastes like plums, cloves, and currant. He smiles and licks his lips.

I can feel my erection straining against my pant leg, much too warm against my skin. He takes another sip, and I can see that the wine is already staining the little bow of his lips, making me lick my own lips. He seems to respond to that and moves slightly closer, never taking his eyes off me. I take another, larger sip of wine and feel his fingers in my long hair. He pulls one of the ringlet curls and watches it bounce back. He chuckles almost silently and drains the rest of his wine. He places his glass back on the tray and shifts on the couch, moving closer to me, putting his hand on my thigh, where he finds the firmness of my erection.

His eyes widen a little and with the hand in my hair, he pulls me closer to him. I can feel the heat of his breath between his slightly parted lips and smell the wine and that hint of ginger I smelled before. His eyes are closed, and I let him pull me the rest of the way to where our lips meet.

His lips are moist, and they slide easily over mine. His mouth opens a little more, and I send my tongue in just far enough to see if it will be welcomed. It is, and his own tongue moves to meet mine and then beyond to trace my teeth. His hand is lightly rubbing my stiffness while his fingers work to get a better grip on my hair. He kisses me harder, with more urgency, and our teeth scrape together, sending an electrical tingle all over my body.

I realize I'm still holding my glass, and I put it down so I can touch him. I shift on the couch and lean back. He pulls himself on top of me, and I can finally feel his excitement as well. My hands trace his smooth chest as he rubs his crotch against mine. I can feel the first drops of moisture on the inside of my pants. I rub my hand against the back of his head where it's shaved and enjoy the sensation, sitting up to put my mouth on his bare nipple, which grows hard as a pebble against the tip of my tongue. When I pull back, I can see my saliva glistening there and I blow on it just a little.

He moans deep in his throat and pushes me gently back by my shoulders. He takes off my tie and begins to unbutton my shirt. I rub his muscular thighs as he finally works my dress shirt off. I pull my undershirt off quickly, and he dives down, kissing the line of my jaw, moving down my neck to my Adam's apple where he stops and tenderly sucks.

My pelvis gently rocks against him, and his mouth travels down my torso, sucking here, biting there. He pauses at my nipple, pinching it gently with his teeth at first and then increasing the pressure. My hands are buried deep in his spiky hair, and I gasp as his fingers tweak the nipple his mouth is not working on. He laughs and looks up at me from my chest as if to get permission to continue. I nod, and he begins to unbuckle my belt. In no time, he has my pants and briefs completely off, and I am lying naked while he stands back to admire me.

Normally, I don't like to be looked upon in any state of undress, but I can almost feel the gentle caress of his eyes, and I love it. He bends down, moving swiftly towards my engorged member, but I stop him with a foot on his shoulder. I push him away gently, and he stands up, looking worried. I smile and stand myself, hooking a finger into the waistband of his pants. I press my naked body against his and kiss his ear as I move my hands around to his back, plunging them into the back of his pants. He wears nothing underneath, and I grab his ass firmly. His body arches to me, and he gasps as I slide his pants to his ankles in one movement.