The Opposite of Sex

Scene I 

“The opposite of love is not hate, it’s indifference.
The opposite of art is not ugliness, it’s indifference.
The opposite of faith is not heresy, it’s indifference.
And the opposite of life is not death, it’s indifference.”
- Elie Wiesel

 19^th Sep ‘08, Brussels:  La Demence (the insanity), the wildest gay party organized 12 times a year in one of the night clubs of the European capital attracts thousands of hot, young gay crowd from Paris, Amsterdam, London, Berlin, Helsinki and Moscow to unleash their insatiable appetite for men, sex, alcohol and techno. Apparently tonight this haven was about to host an unlikely new breed of a man. 

Despite been warned by my friends who refused to be partners in the crime, my Dutch friend and I were desperate to experience where angels feared to tread.  I have never been to a whore house in my life. But that evening, I felt as if I was going to be a part of it. At the entrance everything seemed usual; the gigantic bouncers, hot men entering the premises with a smile and lustful eyes. Like a child outside the gates of Disneyland, I frantically rushed to the ticket counter and paid 10 Euros; but what I got back in return changed everything. Colors rushed out of my cheeks as I held a ticket and 5 tiny packets that read “we promote only safe sex!” 

“Damn! Did he really think I would be doing it; and with 5 men! I’m gonna throw these in the garbage. ” As I heard the huge black door shut behind us I felt as if I was a victim being trafficked into an unforgivable world of flesh trade and sex slavery. By the time we reached the first floor I had bypassed at least 3 garbage cans, but the packets..they were safe in my pocket.

 

Indecent proposal 

I was once watching a gruesome documentary on the Nat Geo about a baby deer drinking by the lake until a leopard pounced on her. Tonight the same episode was about to be recreated and repeated at the common hunting ground of this night club: the bar; and there would be many predators on the prowl and many more preys desperately seeking to be hunted.

 I was taking more time than usual to order my drink not because there were too little options but too many beautiful bartenders. All of them were in a uniform consisting of tight leather pants and body stretch red sleeveless tops that subtly revealed the curves of their toned chest, their rear and the tiny belly button. Reposed in a state of matrimony, a charming young Spanish guy was sitting beside me. He was in his early 20s, muscular, black hair, tanned skin and luscious lips. As I waited for one of the cute bartender’s attention, my neighbor offered me a drink. All the while he never spoke a word, just kept smiling with his eyes on me. By the time I had finished the glass I had rehearsed all possible excuses to turn down his yet-to-be-popped indecent proposal. Feeling quite shameless and thankless after an 8 Euro drink I said “It was great, I loved it but I should… “. He interrupted and replied “I loved the drink too but I enjoyed the view even more”.

 There could be no figure of speech or gesture that could matchup to the finesse of his compliment. For minutes the emancipated prey sat there in silence unable to justify what just happened. He had never felt so much rejected ever before…

 

Ghosts and the darkness 

As gay and ridiculous as it sounds I had often fantasized of being the Cinderella man and a handsome prince would take me away from the crowd to the top of the tower and kiss in front of the envious moon. 

What happened next could be compared to my dream, except the fact that I was being dragged by my friend to a dungeon up the stairs, not be kissed but to witness an impudent display of decadence and perversion. As we walked up the winding stairs boys gazed at me on their way down while few could not get their eyes above my abdomen. The higher we went, the darker it got until we reached a point of complete blackness. 

As we entered the infamous dark room, an obnoxious stench hit my senses. It was a den of orgasm, orgies and a cacophony of moans, screams and whips lashing.  Cute young boys stood naked as huge men sat down on their knees stroking their mouths relentlessly between the nubile legs. In the other chambers boys lay like corpses on the tables with their legs spread wide open as strangers stood in queues with their pants down awaiting their turn one by one. Some were being forced in from both ends and some sat like dogs awaiting men to shower their maleness on him. As they glared at me; their eyes burnt like those of a tiger drinking water or devouring flesh in the darkness. Suddenly a boy came right on to me with emaciated eyes. Before I could say a word, he begged me “Will you f*** me?” I refused. But he replied “Why not? I will do everything, please please!” I wanted him to go away and was petrified not by his desperation but by the thought that I might change my mind…..

 

Dirty dancing 

The main dance floor had changed with most men being stark naked; licking sweat, alcohol, ecstasy and other drugs (illegal) from each other’s body. The beats going off and on intermittently, cold steam being puffed through nozzles and lasers flashed above us creating a magical intangible layer of illusion… After a glass of le Vin rouge (red wine) from my Spanish admirer, numerous tequila shots, cognac and whisky… I was feeling weightless when suddenly everything stopped. All eyes turned towards the bar. Amidst raging screams and whistles chained boys came down in cages, removed their masks and started dancing to the new beat. But the masks were just the beginning. With every piece of cloth being ripped off their delicious greasy bodies, the excitement grew. One of them was ostensibly flaunting his bulge and rear and promiscuously sending flying kisses. Finally when he reached the last garment, all ran close to his cage whining and jumping like hyenas. As every eye stared up, he ripped open his underwear thereby revealing his gigantic endowment. Some splashed alcohol and few stuffed cash into his boots to get a hold on the most coveted trophy of the night…

 Once the auction was over, the dancers moved to the next stage of porn act. Inside glass boxes they showered in front of us… Everyone gazed at the spectacle except one who chose to be fidel. As I looked down, it was the same Spanish boy. He was standing beside me and still enjoying his favorite view of the night. …

It was half past 4:00 and I was getting restless. I came across numerous exotic boys but all stories had the same beginning and end. Our eyes would meet a million times and walk closer with every dance step but then I would walk away as if sickened by the certainty of a one night stand or simply because I was looking for someone.

 

Fall from Grace 

Yes, the most unpredictable thing in life is life itself. No one can predict what would befall in the next moment. His memory (from le soir en rose) still stands unscathed in my heart; the very moment when I saw the dancer first time in Red and Blue and fell in love.                                      

And tonight, my heart skipped as if being flooded by past images when I saw him sitting almost naked at the stairs like a nubile whore. Even today he was as lonely as the last time; even today I wanted to tell him how beautiful he was and how much I wanted him. At the dance floor he deliberately brushed past me several times, danced with his boyfriend while looking deep into my eyes with the same boyish charm. As he relished every moment of tormenting my emotions, I too felt elated by the fact that he hadn’t forgotten me….      

A while later I was rushing out of the club. Neither my friend nor the dancer would have fathomed what was going on within me and I bet none would have cared even if they did. I thanked my Spanish admirer for the drink and kissed him on his cheek but he never replied back. Probably, he had realized by then, that I wasn’t as special as he expected, or may be I had shattered his fantasies just as someone had done to mine or even worse; I had betrayed him just like someone did to me.

 

Scene II

“It’s not difficult to make a career in life. Many people do it.
It`s not difficult in life to be heterosexual. Many football lovers do it.
It`s not difficult to imagine that you’re making love while having sex.
Many whores/hookers do it.

The thing that makes you not one of them is living intensely: Loving somebody more than you love yourself; sharing your feelings with only this person whom you will call your boyfriend;
making love in good times and fighting till death in bad times,
only for truth, only for love, until you can say even when you’re 80 and sitting with your second self, your boyfriend, after all these years together, looking deeply into each other’s eyes, which have no secrets anymore, pressing softly each other’s hands,

saying: “we did it, we have won….”
                                                                                With love…Rubens

 

20^th Sep’08, Wilderness: It was getting dark and we were lost in the wilderness. But I was hesitant to question my friend’s sense of direction and his noisy, unreliable GPS. At a cross-road I could see a flame flickering in the cold followed by another a few meters away. One by one as I kept counting, the panorama of candles guided us through the woods; 1, 2…. 12, 13….. 27 and there you go 28! We were standing in front of a farmhouse right next to a placid lake. 

It was the 50^th birth anniversary of a gay couple. Despite having slept the whole day after a wild acrimonious night of limitless men, smoke, drugs and alcohol, I was still exhausted. As we walked towards the house I felt as if I had been to this place before. The cozy chalet where I had dreamt of spending my old age with my ex-lover when we were together, sitting by the lake kissing, cuddling under one blanket, reminiscing the youth gone by and  the love that managed to survive….

 As we entered the gathering, every pair of eyes turned towards me. I knew I didn’t belong here, I knew I was different and a debutant in this alternative crowd but what I didn’t know was that after months of wild parties and night clubs my search was about to come to an end… It was a new world I was being introduced to, where there would be a lake with passion instead of predators awaiting me and men playing to classic music instead of getting naked by the minute and lastly there will be people who would give me hope to dream of growing old with my lover, that there is still a chance to make it happen…..

 

Fatal attraction 

From the garden to the fireplace, the journey was rather eventful. Having kissed and introduced to over 50 hot gentlemen or at least what they pretended to be; I was desperately in need of a glass of strong Belgian beer. As the night grew colder, we all gathered around the fire except the host couple who stood by the gate welcoming their guests… their smile exuding years of sacrifice, not everyone is capable of committing…their kisses whispering stories of unscathed love, not everyone was capable of  comprehending.

After an hour, a pair of attractive young boys arrived. There was an unusual commotion in the crowd; although it was far less intimidating than the one I had experienced an hour ago. One of them was a hot stud. In his mid 20s, tall, black hair and captivating livid blue eyes; he had a strong resemblance to our bollywood hero Nitin Nikhil Mukesh from Johny Gaddar. All the commotion and murmur now seemed well justified except the fact that almost every time I looked at him, much to everyone’s ignorance and to my utter astonishment, he was looking right at me. As we both engaged in this illicit game of hide and seek sometimes through the crowd and sometimes over the rim of our beer glasses … my friend casually came up to me and whispered in a faint voice “Forget him, he is a bitch!”….

  

Shall we dance? 

By midnight we had all gathered indoors. At first I was hesitant to join the dance probably because I was more accustomed to places, dark and surreal, where intermittent flashes of light were the only instances of eye contacts, where the less you knew someone the better the chances you would end up with him in bed. But tonight I was eager to know them as much as they were enthusiastic to confirm if my friend and I were couples! 

After a while I joined the crowd. This was the first time when I had to groove to a completely different genre of music: English classics, Latino and even Spanish. I was trying hard to get my friend to join us but he refused when suddenly someone grabbed my arms and pulled me close to his chest. He was taller than me and I never saw his face. He said in a husky commanding tone “Dance with me” and I obliged even without looking up. Sometimes we rotated with our hands intertwined and sometimes he would flip me around himself by my finger and then pull me back to his chest with an amazing tenacity….Even today when I am back from work I often dance to the same track “You are the dancing queen” by ABBA and cherish that evening when a faceless man for the first time had tamed the wild beast.

 

Sound of music

The beauty of art lies in its power to exhume the buried emotions of man. Be it an impressionist masterpiece or a sculpture or music… they can bring up in you those feelings you thought you had forsaken or those memories you assumed have been long forgotten. The same happened to me when the music changed from hip-hop classics to an emollient piano by Mozart. Call it hypnotism or magic, the music drove everyone away from their friends and even beer glasses back into the arms of their boyfriends. As the pairs hugged each other and dwindled like wind chimes, a sudden surge of desire and loneliness arose in me… A few months back I was with my ex-lover in my apartment and he was teaching me ball dance. After a few steps I ran out of self denial and hugged him tight and danced in the same manner as these lovers. I wished he was there in the party then I would also have had the privilege of flaunting my love. 

As luck would have it, there were two other guys who probably could empathize with me. One was the hot stud who had, after million eye contacts, managed to procure a place right next to me and the other was a young man in his early 20s, slim, unshaven, shabbily dressed and predictably single. Time was running out and I had to choose my dance partner….   

As we hugged each other and danced I realized that although he didn’t have manicured fingers and clean shaven countenance, he was a gentle soul. He wasn’t charming in the way he spoke, he didn’t have a million dollar smile and he wasn’t the most eligible man of the night. But then why did I choose him? As I pondered on the question while looking up on to his closed eyes, he suddenly asked me in a grim tone “Why did you send your friend to ask me for a dance and not by yourself?” I replied “I was afraid” and he chuckled and said “Well now you know that I don’t bite!!” Before I could laugh he said “Thank you for asking me.”

It was then that I realized why I chose him. I had seen myself in him when he was standing in the corner unwanted and unimportant. Be it my school or college friends, a New Year celebration or my ex-lover when we were together… I had always run out of a companion….

 

                                              Scene III    Final Cut

 “The act itself never varies but each kiss carries a meaning of its own. It can convey a husband’s eternal devotion or a wife’s enormous regret. It can symbolize a mother’s growing concern or a lover’s growing passion. Whatever it’s meaning, each kiss reflects a basic human need, a need to connect to another human being. The desire is so strong; it is always amazing when some people misunderstand it” – Desperate Housewives

 

 The long kiss good night 

It was almost 3:00 am. Before we left, I met all my new acquaintances but kissed only my dance partner. Fortunately he kissed me back. Although, I felt that the only beings who appreciated the kiss were the two us for the rest had already declared their verdict of disapproval, envy or surprise. Since I came to this party, a question hovered in my mind. So I asked one of the hosts “There were 28 candles that led us to this house. Why 28?” With a smile he called his partner, kissed him and replied. “I met this man when I was 22. 28 long years! And so, the 28 candles”… 

As we were leaving, I looked back at my dance partner hoping for something. But he never turned around. Everyone was inside the house except the hot stud. He was standing by the lake watching me, as if wanting me to stay and give him a chance to fulfill my fantasies by the lake. There was desperation on his charming face, a yearning in his wistful eyes; something similar to what I had seen in my ex-lover’s eyes the last time I met him.

 Yes, we often make mistakes in choosing what’s right for us not because we are ignorant of the consequences of the good and the evil but because we cannot always distinguish between them. Sometimes it is temptation that beacons us into a night of decadence and la demence (insanity) and sometimes it is people or our past that blemishes our judgment about others and…. we end up expecting happiness in wrong places or kissing the wrong guys.

 

The End