It was nearly impossible for me not to fall in love with the skinny bastard. Despite his charm, I kept our relationship on the level of ‘fuck buddies’ and nothing more. I used him for as long as I could. He was an attorney and I seem to always need one in my corner. I met him at a dance club in midtown Manhattan in 2001. Nathan was his first name, and for the life of me, I cannot recall his last, despite all the time we shared together. It may come to me as I write a little more about him…
He invited me to a ceremony in Washington, D.C. when he was sworn into the bar there.
“Where are your friends and family?” I asked as we sat down in the front row of the courthouse.
“This is really not a big deal. It is just a ceremony. My mother came to my graduation,” he explained. “I am so into you, Charles, you just don’t understand.”
I understood perfectly. I know his type—the role reversal kind—successful black men who are into rough-looking, bad, whiteboys. There were so many of his kind in my life at the time– ‘successful black men’. And to think he was so much younger than me with so much going for him, yet, he wanted a relationship with a simple guy, like me. Why was he so strung out like that when he was so handsome? He seemed so sad, so very sad he was with that little cock of his.
I was there by his side though. I shined up like a new penny when in the suit he loaned me on the day of his swearing-in. The suit was a surprisingly perfect fit, despite the length of the pin stripped pants. The thought of entering a new relationship excited me—even though he wasn’t hung to the knees. He was a little too clean-cut for my taste in men. Yes he was Black, but he was high-yellow, as they say. It may have worked for us, but he had the smallest cock I ever let up my ass.
He was moving from D.C. at the time and needed someone to help him move his things into a U-Haul and drive his car north to New York City. I had a driver’s licenses and because we were trying to develop a more serious relationship, I agreed to give him a hand in moving to New York.
I decided that I would never ‘marry’ him on the way back to New York. We stopped to get gas along a stretch of interstate highway. I wanted to get a cup of Starbuck’s coffee from a store next to the gas station. “We don’t have the time, Charles. I want to beat rush hour traffic in New York.”
After we carried his bed, sofa and other furniture up three flights of stairs inside his new apartment, I gave him the keys to his car and told him that I needed some time away. He persisted, so I told my favorite lover I was leaving my other boyfriend for good.
“He’s not a good man like you, Shawn. He’s a user and besides, I’m bored with his sex.” I said to my lover with a huge dick one evening just after he busted his second nut.
Shawn threatened him. That’s how our relationship ended. Shawn told him he would slit his fucking throat if he ever caught him leaving my house in Harlem again. I’m sure Nathan believed him. Shawn showed up at my Harlem brownstone unannounced one September morning. I thought the cat fight was fabulous—those two gorgeous Black men fighting over me as if I were the bus they wanted to ride on the front of. Nathan didn’t even threaten to sue Shawn.
Williams was his last name. Now I remember– yes, it was Williams– Nathan Hale Williams, Esq. is the name. I pulled that information from the Harlem United: Community AIDS Center website. I worked there in the early ‘90’s and referred my prominent, polished Black fuck-buddy to my friend and former co-worker, Patrick J. McGovern, who currently is the Executive Director of the uptown AIDS charity.
Harlem United has struggled for years to build a board of directors with people other than community organizers and social workers. Harlem United needed wealthy Blacks who could help to secure more private and public dollars for the fight against HIV, not just another Al Sharpton.
Nathan was friends with people like Aaliya— the singer and actress who died tragically in a plane crash. He cried when he learned of Aaliya’s death. They ran in the same circles.
If he wasn’t such a big sissy and so self-centered, I may have chosen Nathan as my next man. He was a switch hitter– a top and bottom. They are always the best in bed, despite the fact that when they are not acting like butch, straight men and slappin’ dat ass just right, they dress in colors like pink and purple and twitch around just like real women. What a turn off that can be! It’s hard for me to digest flamboyant behavior in a lover even if he’s rich. I can’t turn on and off my emotions like that. It’s like trying to learn to bat left handed. One minute he was a man and the next he was singing Barbara Streisand songs in the shower.
Patrick was my landlord when I introduced him to Nathan. Nathan was leaving my first floor apartment early one morning for his job at an entertainment law firm. Patrick saw him trying to sneak out. To be polite, I introduced them.
Nathan’s head was still spinning from the ‘tight ass’ I had thrown at him the night before. He loved how I could control my orgasm and cum at the very moment when he shot his tiny loads. That’s what made him so hot for me. I laughed inside when I came gallons on Nathan.
“You’re ass is so fuckin’ good. It’s so tight,” he often screamed.
“Just lick that off your lips!”
Now how can it be that my ass is tight? I mean really. Consider my past before Nathan.
For years, while having sex with guys, I subconsciously tightened my sphincter muscles to make it feel tighter for my exploits. When I saw him naked, I laughed and thought it would be useless to even try, so I didn’t bother pretending that I have a tight ass and only have had sex with a guy ‘down there’ a few other times in life. I was sick of the games of playing male virgin–
“Yo dude? You got a girl?” Strangers on the subway have asked.
“Yes, I got a girl.”
“Damn, I’d like to nail dat ass.”
“I do not usually do this. I’m not gay you know… My girl’s away on business. You wanna hang?”
The down low life was killing me. Nathan was from a different generation. He grew up in comfort, understanding his sexuality. I mistakenly believed for a while in my life that I wanted a man like him.
Why bother making it tight? I asked myself as bounced up and down hard upon him, as he lay on his back with his hands behind his shaved head. He seemed to like it when I was loose. That was the trick I learned from making love to him– it feels much better for the top if you just let it be loose. It’s more like the real thing.
Patrick was outside picking up his subscription to “The New York Times” when I made the introduction. He didn’t immediately go back inside his house. He stood outside, pretending that he was having trouble removing the paper from the blue bag it was delivered in. I knew he was curious as to who my new lover was this week–
“Good morning, Patrick. I want to introduce you to someone who I believe will be perfect for Harlem United’s board.”
The two gave friendly hellos, and I went on to suggest that the two should have lunch one day.
“Nathan wants to marry me, Patrick. He loves my cooking and thinks that I’ll be a wonderful life partner. He even wants to adopt children.”
It was all true– those were the things Nathan promised me. He was dead serious. I may be silly for not latching onto him when I had the opportunity. If I had, I would be writing this from the Upper West Side and not Bed-Stuy, Brooklyn.
I couldn’t fall in love with Nathan aftering noticed his lawlessness on the day he refused to see beyond his own needs at the gas station. I was tired of driving and was falling asleep at the wheel. The coffee would have worked to keep me awake during the drive, but he was in such a rush, just like most lawyers are. He could not see that I wanted a cup of coffee for my own safety.
I said nothing to him the night before when we were out in D.C. I wanted to go home, but I waited patiently as he made his ‘connection’ outside of a gay bar. At least my addictions are to legal substances.
I knew Patrick when he was still a Catholic priest trying to leave the priesthood because of his homosexual tendencies. I’m not sure why I thought Nathan would be good for the board of directors at the AIDS charity. Perhaps I was just making small talk, but obviously, after all these years of Nathan remaining on that board, my matchmaking skills paid off in a good way.
I begged Patrick for an apartment in the new brownstone he purchased on 121st Street years after we worked together. It had been a long time since we struggled at Harlem United together as co-workers. We remained friends, often meeting for cocktails at places like “Splash Bar” in Chelsea to talk about how miserable we were with our current lovers and how desperately we wanted to be single, slutty gay whores. Patrick hardly ever brought up Harlem United when we went drinking. He knew not to. In my opinion, Patrick stole his job from my former boss and dear friend who died from AIDS– Willis Green, Jr. The two of them had a falling out. Patrick left Harlem United for a job at another AIDS charity, housing works, where he ‘talked shit’ about Willis, the man who first hired him in the not-for-profit sector.
“You have got to rent to me when you buy that beautiful brownstone. I’m still working for charity and make very little money Patrick. Promise me you’ll rent me an affordable apartment, dear friend.”
“I promise, the place is yours if the closing goes through.” I was relieved when he offered me the place. I didn’t want to have to enter a new relationship just so that I could have a roof over my head. I wanted to remain single in life.
I met Patrick at Bailey House when he came there seeking a job as “Pastoral Care Coordinator” I worked there as an office manager when Patrick came for an interview. It was a hospice for the sick who were at that time, prior to the new drugs, almost certainly close to the end– death– what better job could there be for a former gay priest? I thought.
Patrick never got the job at Bailey House. He was hired by Harlem United instead, under the direction of Willis Green, Jr., the former Deputy Director of Bailey House.
Willis offered me a job as his Special Assistant when he learned of a new job offer in the Black community of Harlem. Patrick was still being interviewed for a job at Bailey House when Willis noticed his talents and stole him from Bailey House.
I’m surprised Nathan is still on the board of directors and working with Patrick. It pleases me to know that he’s with Patrick at the agency that was built from nothing, by Willis Green, Jr. and me. We were the ones who put that place on the map with the press releases we wrote to get attention of government funders. People like Patrick and Nathan are not leaders, they are just users.
I have no desire to call Patrick or Nathan. They are like effeminate bottom feeders to me.