I met Eddie at Louisville’s Pride Festival in June 2015.
He was beautiful: not overly muscular; caramel colored, supple skin; a very thin layer of hair covering his chest, the same color as his tight curls; and a face that could have come out of a Caravaggio. He promised to be quite tasty.
As he stepped away, I chased after him. Finally, I corralled him and put one hand on his shoulder. “Hi. I’m Jack. Have you been to this parade before?”
Instead of replying, he asked: “You were casing my body, weren’t you?” I panicked. “No, really, I wasn’t.” He said quietly, “I know what you want… and maybe I want it, too.”
I drew him to me and we kissed. Finally, I asked: “Would you like to come to my apartment for some wine?”
“OK. It is far?”
“No, only a few blocks away.”
We marched in silence, hand in hand, until we arrived at my apartment. Once we stepped inside, I kissed him, picked him up, carried him to the bedroom, laid him down on my bed, and undressed him. I then turned him on his stomach and took him, and later sucked the first blood off his neck. He bled a little, but took it without reproach.
The following day, the boy could barely walk, and had puffy marks where I had bit him. I asked him: “Did you like it?” and his laconic reply was: “It was OK.”
We went out for breakfast and he told me his story. Eddie was the child of mixed-race parents; his Jamaican father abandoned Eddie’s white mother during the pregnancy. She turned to alcohol, unable to cope with parenting alone a mulatto child in Louisville. Eddie had largely raised himself.
I concluded that Eddie had a total lack of self-confidence, and was unconsciously seeking my complete domination. I diffidently asked: “Do you want to come back to my apartment and stay for a while?” He nodded yes.
He went back to his mother, grabbed a few possessions, and returned to become my lover. Yet, I didn’t want Eddie to be just my fuck and suck buddy. I had fallen in love and wanted him to succeed in life. I discovered that he was a gifted draftsman; thanks to my prodding, he finally decided to go to college.
He applied to several schools and got a spot in the freshman class of the University of Louisville. I looked forward to seeing him make a living for himself.
Then, the Supreme Court held in Obergefell v. Hodges that states may not deny marriage licenses to same-sex couples. I was ecstatic, and looked forward to exercising my new rights. So, I proposed to Eddie:
“I want us to get married.”
Eddie’s reaction was unexpected. He looked at me with a haunted expression and gasped: “No!”
I leaned over to kiss him. He shied away. “What’s the matter?” I asked. “I don’t like the things you do.” “But you and I have enjoyed sex and bloodletting daily for over a year.” “Well, you enjoyed it. I just went along.”
I insisted: “I kept asking you whether you liked it, and you always said it was OK.”
“I meant that it was OK with me if you did it. I let you, but didn’t like it. I really don’t. I’m into women, not men, and having my blood sucked is disgusting.” I gulped. “Is that the way you want it; no further physical contact between us?” I asked, in despair. “Yes.”
All of a sudden it was chilly in my apartment. I saw he wanted out. And I couldn’t bring myself to oppose it.
Eddie packed up his wares and fled to his mother. I watched him go through my tears.
***
I spent the day in a haze. There must be some mistake, this couldn’t have happened. He’ll call and everything will be fine again. Tomorrow things would be fine.
***
On the second day, I sat by a phone that remained silent. I checked my e-mails every five minutes. Please let him call me, let him send me an e-mail, let him show he cares for me. I’ll be good, I won’t harass him, if he doesn’t want to screw or be bled that’s OK, I can wait until he changes his mind.
I sat by the phone some more, and I checked my e-mails for the tenth time. No new messages. I went on sitting by the phone.
***
On the third day, I masturbated thinking of Eddie. I beat my meat imagining his whimpering, which I ignored as I penetrated far inside him, and inhaled his blood, in an orgy of despair. He was limp, and trembled, and then cried. I started crying too, and my erection fizzled. I couldn’t do it. I loved the ingrate too much to abuse him, even in my desolate mind.
***
On the fourth day, I tried to busy myself. I vacuumed the apartment, washed clothes, went grocery shopping, cleaned the car, jogged, surfed for porn. At the end of the day I was worn out. But as I lay in bed at night, I was wide awake, playing Eddie over and over like an uninvited song. Finally, exhaustion won over and I passed out. But I woke up every hour, crying.
***
The fifth day was back to work day. I sneaked into my office and tried to concentrate on mindless things. My human cover, doing market research for a brokerage firm is unexciting work; try doing it when you are burying the love of your life.
I went home and reached for a vial of serum that I saved for special occasions and a bottle of bourbon. Well, this was surely a special occasion. Later, I tossed the empty bottles and crawledinto bed, to another restless sleep.
***
On the sixth day I woke up with a splitting headache. I dragged myself to the bathroom, and threw up. This madethings a little better. I poured myself a glass of tomato juice, the vile human cure for hangovers. I dutifully downed half theglass.
I sat at the computer and, quite tentatively, looked at my e-mails. Yikes! There WAS a message from Eddie, two days old. It read:
Dear Jack: Sory for running away, but you got me realy scared with that talk of mariage. Bein with you I’ve realised I’m not gay. I like women, thoug I havetrouble connecting because girls don’t take me seriously. Anyhow, I agreed to live with you and let you do the things you did to me becoz you were weird but nice and I didn’t want you to toss me away. So, I ended up becoming your plaything. But when you proposed mariage I knew I had to put an end to it.
I’m sory, but I really don’t like you. I find you repulsive, your sharp teeth and that dark hair all over you. Moreover, you’re truly ancient and should not be running after eighteen-year old boys. Do yourself a favor and keep to your own kind.
I hope we can stay friends. You’ve been good to me, and I apreciate it. As long as there’s no physical stuff, we can work it out. I’d very much love it if you stuckwith me and saw me thru college. Sincerly, Eddie.
I was shaking so badly that I knocked over the rest of the juice. I went back to bed, with only one thought in mind: What can I do now? One side of me said, “you must get over this.” Another insisted: “old, you’re old. You’re almost three hundred, fit to be in a museum. What’s the use?” I reached for the sleeping pills, but was too cowardly to take my life.
***
On the seventh day, I woke up and gathered enough strength to get out of bed. I took a long hot shower, shaved, put on my favorite cruising clothes, and went down to the dark spots around the Highlands.
I thought of the last scene of Fellini’s Nights of Cabiria: the eternally optimistic streetwalker steps away from her last disaster, alone on the road and crying. She joins some young people and walks with them, shedding a single tear. Then Cabiria smiles and gives a nod to the camera, as if to assure that everything will be alright. She hasn’t given up hope. And neither should I.
***
And I didn’t. Soon I found Charlie, a Southern boy who, like me, loves music and movies, doesn’t mind being the bottom, and is ok with living with a vampire. We moved together and have stayed faithful to each other for five years. We love and argue, fight and make up. I love the sweetness of his blood.
Life can be full of disappointment, betrayal and loss. But some of us persevere until we find love and sustenance, sometimes in unlikely places.
