Gillie is the love of my life. Those who know me may disagree and insist that I’m forever ‘married’ to Anthony– the guy I met in the Army who left his wife and three kids for me. Others may say my true love is Shawn– the photographer, the one who made his transition recently.
Gillie was the man who ‘turned me out’ and showed me how to relax. There is no comparison to him when it comes to making love. He knew how to do it and he did it well.
The thought of touching him caused me to lose sleep. I stayed rock hard, twenty- four hours a day during the brief period of time that I knew him while stationed in Germany.
Anthony is a bottom. That’s the reason why I needed more than just him. I couldn’t stand having to ‘do’ him all the time.
Gillie and I met at a disco in Frankfurt during the time when I was courting Anthony. Sure I was sleeping with a married man with children and was in the military to top it all off. I had no business going on the prowl for more. It was illegal to be gay in the Army, but that didn’t stop me from finding Gillie.
I wanted to explore life a little before becoming a mistress on the side. After making out with Anthony numerous times, I concluded that all gay men liked playing the effeminate role. I wanted to be sure though, before I tied the knot. I was a virgin when I met Anthony and managed to remain one although we had safe- sex for more than a year.
What was I to do– stand in the shadows while he played husband and father to the rest of the world and super-queen while alone with me? He would act butch while in uniform, teasing me with glances at my ass. He was only frontin’. He wanted nothing to do with my ass. That’s just how it was, but I still loved him.
As a young, blooming bottom growing up in Pennsylvania, I knew what I wanted in a man. I always wanted to be the passive recipient– the one underneath the strong arms and thrusts of a man.
Sleeping with Anthony was like sleeping with a woman. He moaned like one, that’s for sure. We were not gay, we were lesbians. The relationship had to change. He wasn’t hitting the spot. I wasn’t being satisfied. I needed more than just dry humping and sixty-nine positions.
I didn’t know how to tell him to be more like a man. If he wanted me to be monogamous for life, he was going to have to sling a little something. How was I to say that to him without hurting his feelings?
I took the easy route, I cheated on him. I went out to a gay disco to quench my thirst and to find a man who would play the masculine role in love making.
“Where are you going tonight?” members of my platoon asked as I turned down their offer to go bar hopping one Friday night.
“I have a girlfriend stationed down in Ansbach,” I told them as I jumped in my Audi and started the engine.
The girlfriend excuse was getting old. I couldn’t keep excusing myself from the guys in the barracks and their offers to hang out together in pursuit of women.
“When are we going to meet her Taylor? Is she in the Army? Is she American? Is she Black?”
I didn’t care if they did find out that I was gay. I was miserable living and working alongside all that manhood– the communal showers, dicks swinging everywhere in brown boxers, the short haircuts– I was going absolutely nuts and needed something fast!
“Sorry guys, I can’t drive you around Hanau tonight. I’m on a mission.”
Those in my squad didn’t understand why I wasn’t one of the gang and didn’t hang out with them. The troops were pissed at me and knew something was going on.
I didn’t care what they thought about me. It was not my fault that my comrades spent their money on booze and women. They could have afforded a car too if they didn’t drink so much and had different tastes in the bedroom. Women cost money and I was saving mine for a rainy day.
“Come on, Taylor. Don’t be this way. How are we going to get off base if we don’t have your car?”
“Not this weekend, guys. I need some pussy. Here’s $20 take a taxi,” I said while leaving my comrades alone in the barracks to figure it out for themselves.
I found the Construction Five Disco in the heart of Frankfurt by pure instinct. I had no directions or a gay guide to show me where the hot spot was. Gay people have that natural ability. Some call it Gay-Dar. I call it desperation. I went to a café and waited. Sure enough, before I had the chance to drop two cubes of sugar in my espresso, a group of sissies swooped in for cordials. They led me to what was then the largest gay disco in the Eastern Hemisphere.
I had no idea there would be American soldiers there. There were hundreds.
Lamont stood at the door– the famous Black cross-dresser who I got to know later that evening as Gillie introduced us on our way out the door.
“Are you C.I.D.,” he asked as I paid him ten Marks to get in. I looked at his Afro and realized he was not in the military, so why would he be asking me if I were a member of the Army’s Criminal Investigation Division?
“I had to ask,” he said. “If you are, it’s against German law to seek- out homosexual military members here.” There were signs at the entrance that prohibited cameras and other recording devices.
I felt at home and not particularly concerned about being discovered by a military spy in the Construction Five. The place was packed wall to wall with gay service members. They would have to arrest us all and I knew that wasn’t going to happen.
I sat at a corner at a round table near the long tunnel that extended onto a dance floor and watched as the men and women danced and partied the night away.
When Gillie walked by, I nearly fainted. There wasn’t a feminine bone is his body. He wore a tight white t-shirt and blue jeans, the same exact thing I had on. He didn’t waste a moment when he caught my eye.
“Hey, wassup? I’m Gillie.”
“Where are you stationed?”
“I’m in an infantry battalion just outside of Frankfurt.”
I looked at his huge biceps and blushed. “I’m in communications, assigned to an Artillery battalion,” I explained.
“I’m staying at a hotel on post at Brigade Headquarters in Frankfurt. Do you want to stay with me?”
Before Lamont could ask where we were going so soon, we were in my car headed to the hotel.
Several of his friends were sharing the room. They watched and listened as Gillie taught me the ropes of being on the down-low and on the bottom in the military. It went on all night. People were in and out of that room as if it were a lobby. We didn’t care. It seemed as if we had waited a lifetime for that night to happen.
We were all making love– dozens of us soldiers, sharing space in what as like a fox hole with 600 count sheets.
It went on all night with him. It didn’t matter that others may have been watching. Others were doing it too.
We saw each other as much as we could for those six months before he was re-assigned to Washington D.C. It broke my heart when he left that day. I was so sad that I decided to become monogamous with Anthony.
Years went by and he made several attempts to get in touch with me, but Anthony made sure there was no communicating with old Army buddies.
After Anthony and I split, I tried to get in touch with him. I called information in Detroit and asked for Gillie D. Wells. The operator gave me a number and I called it. It was his mother. She explained that Gillie had recently died in a car accident.
He took several photographs of me in black and white and developed them on his own. Years later, when I met Shawn, another photographer, I showed him the framed portrait from the barracks– the one that Gillie shot one morning when the sun was streaming through my barracks window.
“Damn baby, you are fine now, but holy fuck– how old were you here?” He asked.
“What ever happened to him?”
“He died,” I explained to Shawn.
“I wish I had taken this photo,” he said.
I looked into his eyes that reminded me a lot of Gillie’s and smiled. For a moment I saw him in those pupils but brushed off the notion that my lover had somehow reincarnated and was back to take more photographs.
When Shawn died, I grieved them both. I cried non-stop when I went through Shawn’s old photo albums and realized that he looked just like Gillie when he was 22.