When I See You Again in The Stuff That's Not Interesting But Is The Most Interesting Stuff I'll Write

In order to really make sense of this, we have to travel back a few months to when I was in the deepest pit of my depression. I had left Richard and his boyfriend behind in Los Angeles go to a seedy side of town and do what I always do whenever I get depressed... have anonymous sex with strangers. I went to the bathhouse.

Those places in LA are quite different than they are in other cities because the culture of LA is so patchwork that I end-up meeting really cool people and starting up friendships with people. It's not just about the sex, like everything else in LA, it's about networking... which I find ironic.

I was sitting in the porn room kind of zoning in and out. During these trips during my depression, I didn't actually have sex with anyone, I just kind of watched everything unfold around me. I know enough about myself to know that I shouldn't have sex when I'm not emotionally sorted. As I came back into focus at what was happening in the room, I saw a young guy fucking this older gentlemen on the bed in front of the wall of televisions. There was something about him. As he was fucking the older guy, he looked at me and smiled. He pulled out and started to walk away, but then he called me with his finger to follow him.

Something about this guy was calling out to me... He was beautiful.

So often I'm asked what my "type" is and I usually insist that I don't have a type. That's not entirely true. I have a type and this guy was it.

He was shorter than me, probably around 5'7". He had a dark mohawk but two mutton chops that came together into a mustache, much like President Chester A. Arthur. His body wasn't grotesquely muscled, but he was fit. He had two large bars in each of his nipples, and I do mean large. He also had a very large, almost-enclosed ring through the tip of his penis. But his smile was lightning.

We sat and talked in the sauna. He rubbed my shoulders. It was so quiet and gentle. My internal clock told me that I would need to leave because classes would start soon.

For whatever reason, as I was saying good-bye, I was quite sure that I would see him again. I have a sense about people, when I'm leaving them I can tell whether or not this is the end of the road.

That moment was Monday night. I went with my friend Dave to see his performance at a queer performance art show in East LA. He is the subject of a documentary I'm doing for one of my classes. I was there a few minutes before I saw my dream-man on the side.

We ran into each other at the bar and we both looked at each other for a moment. He said, "I know I know you from somewhere, I just can't remember where. I'm Ben." I brought my mouth to his ear, reminded him where we'd met, and he smiled at looked at me, "That's right, you're the cutie with all the tension. How's that going?" He grabbed my shoulders, then he leaned into my ear and said, "They closed down, you know. Just a week ago."

I chatted with him a bit before spinning off and going another way after Dave and his hysterical music tribute. I suddenly felt extreme comfort knowing that there are people out there that still make my blood boil.