He left for Seattle well over a year ago.  I hadn’t seen him since then, and perhaps that’s what I wanted.  Emotions are funny things that way, I think, often turning the deepest of bonds into the most powerful of resentments.  Had I been betrayed in some way?  Perhaps, but only by my own heart.  I always wanted more from him, the more that he was unable to give.

In his absence I found peace, the ability to move on with my life instead of waiting around hoping he might come back to me.  Could he be mine?  Had he ever been?  I suppose he no more belonged to me than a coin might.  Momentarily in my possession, yes, but never truly mine.  On loan, one might say.

He wrote to me from time to time after moving away, sharing his experiences in his new world, keeping me up to date on his adventures.  I’d call him a male prostitute were it accurate, but his livelihood could not be so easily defined.  He was a rather successful male escort in Seattle.  I could see that in his communiqués.  He always had the looks and the body to pull it off.

Still, in his notes he often sent hope which I did not want, promises of a future together.  When I did want hope, he would call and take it away with the stories of his latest conquests.  I listened and responded as any friend would, congratulating him on his success and happiness, and even promising that we could be together again if that’s what he wanted.  He promised as much.

I didn’t want them, though, all the rash and midnight promises made in the name of love that would never come to be.

Part of me wanted him to go away.  Part of me wanted him back.  He is beautiful, you know, the epitome of the perfect man.  His sharp and chiseled features matched only by the cut definition of his body.  He should have been a model, I always said, but he never listened.  He knew his physical presence demanded attention.  Rather than finance his life with its display, however, he needed more — the physical satisfaction that only sex could provide.  Just showing it off would never be enough for him.

His passion was unmatched except by his beauty.  I would be happy to burn in the flame of his intensity for the rest of my life.  His appetite was insatiable though, and I knew I could never fully satisfy him.  No one could.

It was with surprise that I took his call yesterday.  He was in town again and wanted to see me.  I hadn’t known he was coming back to Dallas.  He explained he had returned to see me.

At first I declined; I was too busy and couldn’t meet him.  As was normal for him, he wouldn’t take no for an answer.  As was also normal, I couldn’t deny him anything.  I went to him.

I let him make coffee while we chatted and tried to catch up on things.  I also let him make the love.

This was my offering for the afternoon, my sacrifice to a shared happiness that only we two could share.  You might even say it was my charity.  I cannot deny that I needed and wanted it as much as he.  I also cannot deny that I resented it, having fallen once again into his trap, unable to decline his advances or hold him at bay, unable to keep my wits about me while in his presence.  I should never have come here.

Afterwards, he cooked me lunch.  He tried not to be too loud while doing so, hoping to give me a brief respite from the world’s activities around me.  He also tried not to talk too small.  I could hear it in his voice though.  Nothing had changed.

After we indulged hunger in the noon sun and delicious meal, we once again indulged in each other.  As we lay in bed holding each other closely, the bliss of satisfaction resting heavily upon us, he offered me a ring he bought for me once, a ring I gave back just before he left for Seattle.  I knew when he originally gave it to me that it was meant to buy time; I knew much later it was once again meant to buy time, time that we both had in that moment.  Again, nothing had changed.

I couldn’t deny that we loved each other.  I couldn’t deny that there was unquestionable happiness when we shared company with one another.  I couldn’t deny that the emotional and physical satisfaction betwixt us was unmatched with any other.  I also couldn’t deny that it would never be what either of us wanted.

I said I must go.  He begged me to stay, offering gifts of words that sounded like so many promises made before.  The air smelled of the emptiness I had received from those very same promises.

I told him how I felt, that it could never work, that I could never live like this.  I told him we’d see each other again, of course, and that we’d share the same passion which burned so powerfully within each of us.  I told him that we shared a bond that transcended anything we might have with others.

Then I told him that perhaps I would go to Seattle for a break, a getaway from the hustle and bustle of Dallas.  I told him that maybe I needed a change in life, a vacation from the “us” we knew and a chance to experience a bit more than we could create together.

He smiled.  He recognized his own words.  More than a year ago, he said the same thing to me.  At least I finally had my ending.

[circa 1992]