Charting New Waters Read online

  “Of course I wouldn't mind! Hell, come spar with me one day. I'd love to spend time with you in the ring.” He clinked his glass to mine and said, “really. Come. I promise I won't hurt you.”

  I wasn't sure about that. Accidents easily happened, as he'd just said, but I'd always been interested in the sport, and I did need to have some sort of hobby, now I wouldn't be following Dreema and Tiffany around all day with a broom and dust pan. “Okay, I agree. I'll come with you to your next practice. I need more excitement in my life.”

  We sat there at my kitchen table for about an hour chatting about whatever came into our minds. By the end of it, I felt I knew Joseph better and I hoped I had been as open as he would have wished in return. “Shall we go upstairs?” I asked, purposely not adding to my room. I'd leave that up to him.

  I took his hand and we went up the stairs. When we got to his door, I asked, “do you want to sleep?”

  He pulled me into his arms and his stubble scratched at my cheeks as he nuzzled me. “I want to touch you, be with you, but we did say we would lay off and get to know each other's minds, didn't we?”

  “Do you know, my mind is very dirty when it comes to thinking of you. Does it count?” I asked, reaching behind him and running my hands over his amazing bubble butt and giving it a squeeze.

  “Is it?” he whispered in my ear, his hands wandering down to my own flat bottom. He backed up and led me into his guest room, a few lights from neighboring homes providing the only light. When we got to the bed, he picked me up and laid me across it, making me feel light as air. He began undressing me, which was quick work, as I only had on a pair of sweat pants and a tee shirt. I'd purposely skipped the underwear. And now he laid on his stomach beside me, running his hot hands over my naked chest, pebbly nipples and the line of hair reaching below my navel.

  He kissed everywhere he'd touched, even my fingers. Even my cock, licking the precum off the tip, but he didn't linger there. He took me as much into his arms as he could without getting his groin anywhere near me, and held me strongly with one arm while his other hand pleased me. I clutched at his waist and shoulders, pressing myself to him as his hand went to work. He was making love to me. I felt it, knew it instinctively through his affectionate murmurs in my ear, the way he kissed me everywhere he could reach, his chest pressed to mine. I felt cherished. I didn't want him to ever let me go.

  I began breathing roughly and he increased his rhythm while I thrust into his hand. “Ya rouhi,” he gasped when I nipped his shoulder through his shirt. He wanted to come too, and I wanted to help him; for us both to come together, but if he would not trust me enough to help, what could I do? He stroked me faster and bit my neck, holding me down on the bed until I came, trying to buck and squirm beneath him. I laid there afterward, inhaling the light sweaty scent of his body and dreaming of a time we could be together truly, without secrets and without boundaries. It's usual to want this with the one you love...

  It was that perfect time of year, mid-autumn, when the weather was neither too hot nor too cold, and there was a crisp, clean breeze pushing the season along, ruffling our hair as we walked along a huge open field at Maymont Park. We took up under a huge oak tree and Joseph spread the blanket while I set down our picnic basket. I'd bought it last year in hopes of ever taking a proper picnic for the first time in my life, but work had gotten in the way and besides, who was I going to take along? Dominic? Juan? Stupid Mark? But now that impetuous purchase was working out perfectly. I finally had met the man of my dreams who liked wine, picnics, art, opera and me.

  “God, it's a beautiful day,” he said, standing up and stretching his arms above his head, revealing his happy trail and firm stomach as his tee-shirt rode up. Just that little glimpse had me licking my lips. He kicked off his sneakers and sat on the blanket then held out his hand to me for balance while I pulled off my own shoes. I soon joined him, sitting with my long legs akimbo.

  “Now what were you so busily making in the kitchen this morning?” I asked. He'd woken me up in my room at the crack of dawn asking to borrow my car to go grocery shopping. I'd been next to dead I was so tired, and I mumbled first in Sicilian and when he answered me in Arabic, I realized my mistake. I'd told him where to find the keys and rolled back over. A couple of hours later, I'd woken and tried to get into my own kitchen. “Imshee, ruh, out!” he insisted, passing me a latte and sending me on my way. I got dressed and went to meet Jean-Paul at Luna, as promised. It had gone blandly well, for a man I still didn't like.

  “I made us lots of stuff! Hope you enjoy.” He sat back on his hands, his legs stretched out before him, his face up to the rustling leaves above us. I opened the basket and found all my plastic storage containers neatly stacked inside.

  “You've been busy, haven't you!” I gushed as I opened and closed each container, finding a large quantity of what I supposed was Lebanese and American food. The idea of eating stuffed grape leaves with a side of coleslaw was interesting to me. He'd made tabbouleh, potato salad, fried kibbeh fritters, carrot and raisin salad... “How many hours did all this take?” I asked, bewildered. No one had ever done something so nice for me before. I was the one slaving in the kitchen making pizzas and then later, assisting the chef at Palermo's or the pastry chef at Luna. No one had even thought to bring me a coffee in all that time, and here Joseph had prepared a banquet for me.

  “Ah, not too long. A couple of hours. These are all things I like to make, so I knew what I needed from the store ahead of time. It really wasn't that much trouble, and anyway, I wanted our first picnic to be nice.” He blushed. “Do you think you'll like any of it?”

  “Of course!” I said at once. “I think it's a lovely mixture of cultures and it smells delicious!” I leaned forward to hug him and kiss his cheek before going back to the basket. There was a plastic liter-sized bottle tucked into the basket, too. “Is this sangria?” I asked, really surprised, holding the bottle up to the sunlight to see the pieces of peach, strawberry, apple and orange floating around inside.

  “Yes it is. Don't worry, I didn't use your wine for it. I got a regular bottle from the store.”

  “A regular bottle? That doesn't sound like you. Was it American?” I asked, gently teasing him.

  “It's just a 2012 Tempranillo.”

  I laughed, covering my mouth. He did nothing regular, though he was under the impression that he did. The wine was not only preferable for sangria, but a nice vintage and not at all easy to pick up in the local market. “Where did you simply find a nice Spanish wine at the crack of dawn?” I asked, still stifling my giggles.

  “I...know people,” he said, blushing furiously now.

  “Know them in a Mafia sort of way?” I couldn't help it, and now he was laughing with me. It felt so good to just let go with the person I was now 85% sure I was in love with.

  “Something like that. Back alley kind of thing,” he smirked, ruffling my hair. “So let's eat!” He pulled out plates and utensils and then took the lids off all the containers, spreading them neatly over the blanket. I poured the sangria in two large plastic cups.

  “Sahtein,” he said in that language which was so rough and soft at the same time it tickled my ears.

  “Bona manciata,” I echoed, and we tucked in.

  We ate and ate until we couldn't stand. The park was relatively empty but I didn't care. I was sleepy after the sangria and food, so I cuddled behind him and we napped beneath the tree until someone's dog raced up and licked me in the face. I jumped so suddenly I scared Joseph, who squeaked and jumped up on all fours. The damned dog got him too, and then ran off. “Well okay, that was weird as hell,” he said, wiping his face with the arm of his lightweight cardigan. He leaned over and wiped my cheek, too.

  I checked my phone and was pleased to find a message from Jean-Paul saying he'd made Dreema cry, but she seemed to be working better, and by the way nothing had been broken yet. I then looked at the time and saw we needed to get a move on. “Let's pack up and go back home. We need
to get ready for the opera. Have you seen Rigoletto before?” He nodded but he didn't look too happy. “What's the matter, bedduzzu?” I stopped what I was doing and took his hand.

  “Well nothing... I guess I'm still thinking about the nerve of that dog licking my face like that, when all licking that occurs on my person is your duty.” He kissed me softly, and I knew something else was on his mind, but didn't press. Sometimes Joseph seemed to smile through a personal haunting.

  The opera was beautiful. Joseph was well turned out as always and I was proud to have him by my side. Just as we entered I got another message from Paul-John saying he was closing up for the night and nothing had been damaged aside from a few feelings in the case of Tiffany, who he was sure would recover. After that, I turned off my phone and we made our way to our seats. Front and center, the best I could manage at such short notice.

  As the lights dimmed, I felt Joseph reaching for my hand. He still had a somewhat guarded look, but I hoped he would forget whatever was bothering him once the show began. I had no problem understanding the opera as it was sung in Italian, and Joseph read the subtitled displayed above the stage. We smiled brightly and clapped after the tenor sang La Donna è Mobile, but soon after, I noticed Joseph was trying very hard not to weep. His jaw shook and his eyes were wet. It was the part of the story where Gilda dresses like a man, knowing she will be killed for doing so, in order to save the man she loves. I supposed it was quite romantic and tragic, but I found the Duke to be undeserving of such a woman and so did not find myself growing emotional in the least.

  That night, we went back to my house and spent the night quietly, kissing and petting. I tried to tell him I loved him, but I believe in retrospect he had purposely stopped me, because the next morning he was gone.

  Chapter 7

  Joseph

  After the opera, I just had to go. I called a cab to take me to my car at the shopping center. I didn't stop in to see how Jean-Paul was faring. Just hopped in and went home as quickly as I could, where I broke down completely and ate all the ice cream in my freezer.

  Lina broke in with a credit card, a snazzy trick our mother taught her, and wouldn't leave me alone. “I know he must be worried sick! Just call him, you bastard! Haven't you done enough to the poor man?”

  I was not used to her reprimanding me this way. It was usually me telling her to have a little self-respect and quit playing. The shoe fit uncomfortably on the other foot. “It's for his own good. For everyone, really.” After the opera, seeing Gilda walking into a fucking trap, paying the ultimate price for her deception in the name of love, I couldn't continue. I was hurting Vito every day I allowed him to fall in love with a lie.

  “Let him decide that. You're at a safe distance from him, no danger of him stabbing you to death in your kitchen, so call him. Tell him. Sure it should be said face to face, but under the circumstances, the phone will be just fine. If you don't call him, I'll lose all respect for you, and honestly, you've been losing points with me since you started this bullshit.” She was trying to pull me out the bed, the sheets twisting around my legs, my boxers riding up.

  “Fuck! Okay, let go of me,” I snapped angrily, getting up and pulling on a pair of pants. I didn't bother with my shirt even though it was weird to be undressed in front of her. I dug in my jeans and fished my phone out. Of course I had a shitload of messages and missed calls from Vito. I didn't read them, just called him back.

  “Where the hell did you go, Joseph? What's wrong with you?” he snapped, uncharacteristically bold with me. He was hurt. I understood and tried not to exasperate him further.

  “We have a big problem, Vito. I have to tell you the problem, or we can never be together. Will you listen? If you don't, you'll never see me again.” I hated to threaten him like this, but he was so Mediterraneanly stubborn!

  After a few seconds of silence, he mumbled, “yes fine. Just tell me.”

  I took a huge breath and Lina was behind me, like a pistol aimed at me. I had nowhere to run. “I don't have a dick.” There was a very long silence. “Hello?” I looked at the phone to see if he'd hung up.

  “And what do you have, then?” he asked, his words particularly clipped and angry.

  “Can you not guess? I mean, it wasn't cut off.” I really didn't want to have to say the actual words if I could avoid it.

  Vito sighed loudly. “I knew there was something very wrong here. I never expected this. You were a woman?” He sounded suicidal, and I worried for him. I should have been man enough to do this face to face.

  “Yes. But Vito, I would do anything to fix this. I love you and I don't want to lose you.” I was tearing up terribly and was grateful Lina couldn't see my face, red and leaking.

  “How could you fix it? I am a gay man. You are a woman. I don't know how that can be fixed truly. I have been through enough in my own life, with my own sexuality, and you want me to forget myself, my needs, just like everyone else has tried to make me do all my life? I do not want this. I don't want a...a vagina. What am I supposed to do with it?”

  “I'll get the surgery, then,” I said, wanting so much to be the man Vito thought I was until now. I ignored Lina's gasp. I ignored her whispering that I had lost my mind. I had lost it, and my heart, to Vito. That was true. “I would do anything for you.” I didn't want to argue that I was a man, because a lot of people did not think men like me qualified. I was an it or mentally ill or confused. I don't know why I thought a gay man would be more sympathetic. They had their wants and preferences just like anyone else did.

  “You are giving me a breakdown in the head, Joseph. I love you, too, but you put me in a situation I do not know if I can accept. I have never been with a woman before. I have never even seen a...a...what you have. Surgery, you will be ill for some time, will you not?” I said yes of course I would. “I propose we take time apart. I need to think and you do, too, because it is your body and what you choose to do with it. I cannot make you get surgery, of course. But I do love you. I hope we can pass this. I'm terribly upset right now.” I heard him sniffle. “You can't imagine all the things going through my mind. Your touch, your kisses, your voice... I feel like you have died.” I knew all about that feeling. My family had said much the same; they felt like I had died. Did that make me a ghost, if everyone in one way or another thought I no longer existed?

  “I understand. Call me when you come to a decision. I'll be looking into the surgery until then.”

  We said our goodbyes and then I had to deal with Lina, who was going absolutely crazy in my kitchen, opening and slamming the cabinets looking for arak, a Lebanese anise-flavored liquor which ought to be well mixed with water, and which she was now chugging straight from the bottle. I ripped it out of her hand, took a strong chug of it myself, then put it away. “Don't touch that again. Last time we woke up on a Navy base in an awkward situation, if you remember.”

  “We're nothing if not patriotic,” she joked sadly through coughing from the burn.

  “That we are.”

  “But Joe, you already looked into the surgery! It takes a lot of operations, a lot of cutting, a lot of healing. Do you think Vito is going to wait around for you to do all this? You can't be serious, to do something so expensive and painful for a man. Have you lost your mind?”

  I waved a hand at her objections. “It's got nothing to do with Vito anymore. I can't go through life being not one thing and not the other. What kind of man has a period? Huh? Can get pregnant?”

  “But anyone who looks at you knows you're not a woman!” she objected, pulling on my arm when I reached for my humidor on the shelf. “Please don't stink up the house with a damned cigar!”

  “My house, my misery. I do what I want.” I cut the tip and slowly lit. “I want to be a real man.”

  I don't know what happened after that. I probably subconsciously blocked it out, or the arak knocked it out my memory. I woke up on my sofa, alone, and my house stank to high Heaven. I got up and opened all the windows and sprayed every roo
m with some floral crap I found under the sink. It wasn't much of an improvement. It smelled of cigar, cheap perfume and alcohol; what I supposed a whore house might smell like.

  A couple of weeks went by with no word from Vito. I'd asked Jean-Paul, who miraculously still had his job, but he said he'd hardly seen Vito, and when he did, he stuck to business, as if he didn't even know I was Jean-Paul's cousin. That smarted. I was spending every day at home, wallowing in my abject misery and stupidity. My mom brought me doughnuts and my dad brought me some chocolate, Even Fadi, my wayward brother, brought me some baklava and said, “dude, why don't you like, go find some other guy?”

  I tried to ignore he was rummaging through my fridge, high as a kite. “Because I love this guy.”

  He snorted and drank my milk out the container, then wiped his mouth on his sleeve. At least seeing Fadi reminded me that my life could be slightly worse. “You can love him all you want, right? But he's not here. So go find a guy. Like, a dude who thinks you're hot and will be like oh my God Joe, you're awesome, and then you be like oh yea? Thanks. And then you'll feel better. Y'know, just knowing you could find another guy if you wanted to.”

  Somewhere in there I thought he might have had a point. I didn't need to replace Vito yet. I just had to get off my ass and realize there were other people out there and I wouldn't die alone, even if it felt like I would. “What, like go to The Oasis?”

  Fadi thought about this for a minute while he ate a bag of marshmallows I didn't even know I had. “Did you meet him at The Oasis?”

  “Yea,” I slowly said, not really knowing how far Fadi's mind was capable of going. “Why? Is that good or bad?”

  “Good. Yea, go there. You know why? Because then you'll be like... yea I met a guy here once, I love him, but he ain't here, and you know what? I'll find another fuckin' guy in the same place, see if I don't. Y'know?” He ripped open a pack of chips I also didn't know I had.