A gay story: Enduring Pt. 01 In the quaint small village of Mountain Run, where the river carves the land in two and the fruit-bearing trees that line the waterways deposit their gifts along the banks for people and animals to enjoy, there lived two souls connected by an unlikely bond. Julian, a wiry, considered 25-year-old artist, spent his days capturing the beauty of Mountain Run’s vast natural beauties on canvas and in photos. Julian lived in a small one-bedroom house that family lore claims his great-grandfather built with his own bare hands. Whether Julian believed that story or not, he was grateful to have a comfortable place to live. He’d even converted the second bedroom – and most of the living room – into an art studio. This home, his home, was a reflection of the young man who resided there; at times colourful but unassuming to the naked eye.
Across the street, in a much larger house adorned with memories of decades past and showing the love and dedication a devoted long-time owner typically pours into their home, lived Arthur, a 65-year-old jovial professor of communications, whose wisdom was as vast as the library that filled his home. Stacks on stacks of books covered every available wall space, with some piles of books spilling out onto the dark hardwood floor. Arthur spent most of his time leaving his beautifully maintained home, which his close friends affectionately called “the stacks”. In part because of Arthur’s vast collection of books, but also because he had a reputation for taking his paramours back home and discarding them in secret before the sun came up. He was charismatic and took every opportunity to make good use of it.
Arthur and Julian’s paths rarely crossed. Arthur typically left home in the wee small hours of the morning, enjoying the company of the morning dew and the crisp air that lingered before the sun’s warmth greeted the Earth. Conversely, Julian thrived in the darkness and worked tirelessly throughout the night, often being inspired by the many shades of blue that the moon cast upon his back garden. But on one fateful Monday evening, the two men’s lives would cross and change the trajectory of their futures forever.
Their paths crossed at a local poetry reading in Mountain Run’s historic downtown district. Julian, who arrived first, decked out in his least stained blue jeans and an over-sized white t-shirt that hung off his slender frame, always wondered why the town clung so dearly to the “historic” downtown moniker when most of the older buildings – the ones with actual history – were torn down and replaced with cookie-cutter hipster breweries and schizophrenic pubs that didn’t know whether they were a karaoke bar, a comedy club, or a grungy watering hole. Julian opened the door and walked through one of these scatter-brained pub-club-holes, this one was called “Allies”, after the owner and Julian’s friend, Allison. He took his seat at the front and let his gaze dance around the room, scanning the stalwarts and new patrons with equal fascination.
It was during this people-watching that he saw Arthur walk in, decked out in his after-work best: a pinstripe green jacket over a worn-in white shirt and grey slacks. The older man caught Julian’s eye almost instantly and he watched as Arthur made his way to the bar, made small talk with anyone in earshot, then brought his drink (Julian guessed it was a half pint of something imported) and sat on the other side of the aisle, across from Julian. Julian kept trying to sneak glances at Arthur but he thought it wise to let go of the futile business of gawking at someone who was seated less than an arm’s reach away from him.
Soon, the seats filled up and the lights were dimmed. Allison, in her trademark effervescent grin and messy hair, took to the mic.
“Alright, everyone! Thanks for comin’ out to Mountain Run Ya Mouth, our monthly poetry reading showcase. This is our open mic-style opportunity for you loudmouthed sons-a-bitches to come on up here and show us what you got. Now, first up is my best friend and the best artist since Picasso painted Michaelangelo or whatever. Julian!”
Julian rose with a smile, taking the mic from his friend, and he began. His poem, an ode to the loss of a love so great he seldom went a day without thinking about it, touched the audience – especially Arthur, whose eyes were so glued to Julian and his vibrant recitations that several times his mouth missed his glass and spilt beer onto his black slip-on dress shoes. But Arthur couldn’t be bothered. He was mesmerised by this young man’s words, the hurt that oozed from every syllable, and the hopefulness that sprung from his chest. In a word, Arthur was smitten.
His gentle applause carried the weight of genuine admiration and, as Julian took a bow and headed towards the bar, Arthur made his way there too.
“Hey, that was incredible!” said Arthur, resting a hand on Julian’s shoulder. “Have you been doing this long?”
“Uh, thanks, yeah, I was Allie’s first victim when she started doing these poetry readings. It was helpful to process stuff.” Julian paused and was taken aback by Arthur’s sheer charm and boldness to come up and talk to him.
“Are you getting a drink? Can I buy you one?” Arthur offered.
Julian shook his head and Arthur proceeded to order him a drink. The two men stood at the bar, discussing the merits of rhyme schemes and haikus. Then the conversation shifted and before long, Allie’s was closed and Arthur and Julian were walking along the river in the cool night air, the trees lining the river bank their only companions.
“So, professor, how would you rate my conversation skills?” asked Julian.
“Eh, it could be better. You have a penchant for lingering on certain words that betray a desire for outside validation,” responded Arthur.
“I wasn’t expecting that deep of an analysis. How much do I owe you for that?” Julian said, visibly impressed.
“This’ll do,” said Arthur as he took Julian’s hand and looked into his eyes. “Kiss me, Julian,” and soon, there was no talking.
Their lips were pressed against one another’s. Gently at first and then they increased the pressure. Hours of bonding over mutual interests and family history, supplemented by a lustful desire to see the other naked, fueled their kiss as tongues intertwined inside of their mouths. Arthur’s hands explored Julian’s clothed body, as Julian’s explored Arthur’s. They held each other close, feeling their warmth radiate off their bodies. They broke their kiss, and both shared a laugh. Hand in hand, they continued the walk home, ideas of what would happen next swimming in their minds.