Calendar Mystery

Calendar Mystery 11: NEPTUNE TAMING A SEA-HORSE

Characters:

Frank Zanetti, 24, detective sergeant

Sebastian Ericson, 19, artist

This one's for Dave, who assures me that bottoms have more fun.

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VIRGIN SPRING TRIGGERS FEMINISTS was the headline of an inside story in the Tribune. The story included a photo of Marsha Newsome beating on a saucepan with a serving spoon. Beside her stood an unidentified woman tooting a New Year's Eve noisemaker, her cheeks puffed red like a cherub in a Victorian Christmas card.

One of the Tribune's veteran editors wrote the headline, but the story was authored by one of Newsome's allies, a freelance reporter who uses `Margery Kemp' as her nom de plume. She said that her intent was to "continue the conversation around rape-apology as an expression of toxic masculinity, and how it foregrounds the need to make the campus a safe space for women living in an oppressive patriarchy."

"Ideological possession," Frank said. He was sipping coffee with Sebastian in the parlor of his boardinghouse, and had brought the morning Tribune with him. Both were early risers, even on Saturdays, so the place was quiet except for their voices.

Sebastian looked quizzically at Frank, awaiting an explanation.

"You can always tell when a person is possessed by an ideology," Frank continued. "One postmodern idiom pops out of her mouth, or sprouts from her pen. From this you can predict the next string of words. Once you hear rape culture' and narrative', you can be sure that 'cis- gendered straight white male privilege' and rape-apology' will follow, along with safe spaces' to escape oppressive patriarchy' and toxic masculinity'. Never mind that Virgin Spring' portrays rape as a crime punished by death. The underlying assumptions are predictable, too. All masculinity is toxic, patriarchy always oppressive. Campus is not a school but a home, where speech must be monitored to keep it safe. What do you think, Sebastian?"

I think that Margery Kemp never saw Virgin Spring'," Sebastian replied.

The news story was intended to foment controversy against the Bergman film festival. Instead, it doubled Friday's attendance at Wild Strawberries'. The Third Wave' protesters redoubled their efforts. They tried to get the event canceled, but this time, the campus police were present and kept the Biology building in good order.

Wild Strawberries', better translated as The Wild Strawberry Patch', is about an old man's recollection of an idealized place in his youth, which, if he chances to visit, will disappoint the visitor, or not, depending on how much was required to `round up' his childhood memories to keep his sanity.

"Watching the movie, I got the feeling that we're both too young to understand," Frank mused.

"Except for `rounding up' as a general concept," Sebastian replied. "I've benefited from that, big-time."

"How's that?" Frank asked.

"When were' together, Frankie, I feel like a scrawny kid who's been `rounded up' beyond all recognition," Sebastian said.

"I never thought of you as a scrawny kid," Frank replied. "Well, maybe I did at first, but when I got to know you, I saw the essential you' as a talented artist, and the best friend I've ever had. A man I can trust with my deepest secrets. Besides, what is friendship if not rounding up' between friends? You've got me rounded up to some sort of god, and yet, I'm just another gay man, like you, with the same feelings and imperfections. When we're together, we're equals no matter what other people think. That's what `Wild Strawberries' means to me."

"When I sketch a human figure, I try to portray a spiritual dimension, but in my experience, it's impossible to separate his essence from his skin," Sebastian said.

"What's your `strawberry patch', Sebastian?" Frank asked.

"A smooth boulder on Grandma's resort, shaded by a cedar and overlooking the Big Friendly," Sebastian replied. "I spent hours there, sketching and reading while my classmates played sports and video games."

"I know the place you're talking about," Frank replied. "I've been there. I grew up lonely, too, always suppressing my attraction to men. I was so good at self-suppression that I almost got married, which would have been a catastrophe."

"What's your `strawberry patch, Frankie?" Sebastian asked.\

"The loft in Sandy Point lighthouse," Frank said. "That's where I go when I need to think." He pulled his keys from his pocket. "Chris gave me a key to the lighthouse, you see?" He held up the key.

"I guess we both spent time watching waves crashing rocks on the shore of Big Friendly," Sebastian replied.

"If we decide to become lovers, well ... We'll both have to stop feeling sorry for ourselves on account of the miseries of childhood," Frank said.

"We'll say no more about it, if we decide to become lovers," Sebastian replied.

"Speaking about the loft in the lighthouse, I spent the night there last week, with Chris," Frank confessed. "Mostly, we talked about you."

"Tell me more," Sebastian replied.

"I told Chris that you're after my virgin ass," Frank said.

"What did he say?" Sebastian asked.

"He asked if you told me," Frank replied. "I said no, you didn't, not in so many words. He said that when I'm ready, I should tell you. So, now I've told you. As they used to say in Vietnam, `There it is'."

"Existential angst," Sebastian said. He knew Vietnam war idiom from a book on `Friendly Fire in the Literature of War'.

"Are you surprised, Sebastian?" Frank asked.

"Very surprised," Sebastian replied. "It's a great gift. One that I'll do my best to deserve."

Before they had time to follow their dialogue to its obvious conclusion, Frank got called to a crime scene near the ore docks. They made a date for Sunday after church.

Frank breathed a sigh of relief. He had unburdened himself of his most closely guarded secret by passing it to Sebastian. Still, he was relieved to get a three-day postponement for the loss of his cherry, even though he accepted its necessity as a sacrifice on the altar of friendship.

The next evening, they swam laps in the college pool, as they always did on Fridays. Sebastian looked at Frank in red Speedo with fresh eyes, Frank's sex appeal having increased by the prospect of sex transformed from a fantasy to a promise. Frank blushed, knowing that Sebastian was imagining him already in his grasp. Two or three other guys in the pool noticed Frank, too, but he was used to that. Even straight guys pay attention to the profile of masculinity that Frank presents. Women, too. Frank wasn't the extreme of a fulltime body-builder, but the best a man can be when he must exchange a `work out' for actual work, and read books in his spare time.

When they swam laps, Frank felt a rush of excitement and picked up speed. It cost Sebastian more energy than usual to keep up.

Under the showerhead, Sebastian groped Frank's butt when no one else was looking. "No jacking off. I want this ass hot for Sunday," he said. "Unless you want a quickie."

"Thanks, but we'll wait," Frank grinned.

"Anticipation is making me wait," Sebastian said.

"The longer the wait, the greater the passion," Frank replied.

Sunday morning. Father Andrew's sermon on Rounding Up Your Lover' started with the observation that love is possible because a man rounds up' his partner's score to match his ideal of perfection. Men or women, straight or gay, the process of rounding up' is the same. Friends round up' the score for each other, too, to a lesser extent than lovers.

Folks in the congregation nodded in agreement. "Just remember," Father Andrew said: "Each of you is a beneficiary of `rounding up', too."

Having established this point, Father Andrew gave the theme an unexpected twist: a counterbalance to rounding up'. "I call it the Balzac principle' in friendship, because Honoré de Balzac wrote about it in `Physiology of Marriage' in 1828. The key to a lasting friendship, Balzac said, is that each friend thinks of himself as slightly superior to the other.

"`Ah', you say, "but Balzac wrote fiction about hetero sex scandals. What would he know about gay friendship?'" The Balzac principle applies to gay friendships, too. Consider the case of Jonathan and David. Jonathan was a prince, the heir of King Saul, but David as the champion who slew Goliath. They became lovers and maintained a long friendship as equals, because each one was superior in his own way."

They walked four blocks to a diner called Cristo's, famous for its chili. Frank had eaten there often, usually with a partner on duty. Sebastian had been there a few times, on his own. Johnny Cristo did a double-take: "Oh, it's Frank. Hi! I'm used to seeing you in uniform. And it's Sebastian. Never seen you two fellas together before. You under cover or something? I mean, you're in civvies, right?"

"No undercover, Johnny," Frank replied. "I'm off work this weekend, just hanging out with my buddy Sebastian."

"That's cool, Frank," Johnny Cristo said. He was a heavyset man in his 40s, normal height, about five-feet-eight, with brown hair and brown eyes. No one would say he was handsome, though he might have been twenty years ago. He owned and operated the diner with his wife. When it came to interpersonal relations, he must have had something going for him, as he had quite a few steady customers. Cristo's was truly a `neighborhood' diner.

Sebastian walked with the hint of a feminine touch, but Frank was too much of a man for the fem to rub off on him, and besides, his package immunized him from criticism. Sebastian liked showing him off in public like a twenty-pound musky in June or a ten-pronged stag in November, even though he hadn't actually banged him. Imagine his pride when he does!

Frank and Sebastian discussed the Sunday sermon over bowls of chili. Sebastian credited Frank in the `good looks' department. Frank disputed this, saying that he hadn't done anything to deserve the points.

"Didn't do anything?" Sebastian retorted. "You jog and bicycle with Chris. You swim laps with me. You're active on the job. You keep your diet down. You've earned all the points. There's a proverb in Sweden: `Only a blind man can go anywhere in Lapland and not see a reindeer'. In the land of the Lapps, reindeer is king."

"Good looks count most for gay men who are still in a teenage mentality," Frank replied. "I've outgrown that. I don't want a mirror image of myself for a boyfriend, and I've met body- builders who feel the same way. Show me a narcissist and I guarantee he's a duddly lover."

"Duddly, that's a good one," Sebastian said.

"The opposite of cuddly and studly," Frank grinned. "Besides, you're an artistic genius, Sebastian."

"And you're Reason personified, just like Amik Ziibaang said," Sebastian replied.

"Suppose we take good looks' off the table and match Reason personified' with `artistic genius'. That adds up to equality," Frank said.

"You can't take `good looks' of the table, because that's part of the human condition," Sebastian replied. "I've got the hots for you on account of your looks, and I'd be lying if I denied it just because some third-party meddler calls it skin-deep or superficial. The only logical conclusion is that the Balzac principle applies to you."

"Where does that leave you, Sebastian?" Frank asked.

"The Balzac principle applies to me, too," Sebastian replied.

"How's that?" Frank asked.

"By the time this date is over, I'll be your top," Sebastian grinned.

"Bottoms and tops are supposed to be equal," Frank countered.

"That's politically correct, but it doesn't match sexual reality," Sebastian replied. "The bottom controls the situation, but after initial penetration, it's the top who conquers ass."

"Touché!" Frank exclaimed. He didn't say so, but he understood that this was the reason for his hesitations and postponements. Even now, he was apprehensive.

"Consider the equivalents," Sebastian said. He wrote them on a napkin:

FRANK -- REASON PERSONIFIED -- GOOD LOOKS

SEBASTIAN -- ARTISTIC GENIUS -- TOP

"It looks equal on paper," Frank conceded. "Looks like it's up to me to even the score."

Their eyes met. Testosterone flooded their bodies, and here the Balzac principle applied. Sebastian looked at the word TOP on the napkin and assumed that his testosterone level must exceed Frank's. Frank assumed that his own testosterone level must be higher, as his resistance gave way to a desire to entrust the fate of his virginity to Sebastian.

"When we get to my apartment, I want you to help me sort through my portfolio," Sebastian said. "When we met Don Evans, the Art professor who was in the campus gallery, I promised him I'd bring him a portfolio of charcoal sketches. I could use your objective judgment about what to include."

That's an episode that dropped out of my story about when Frank took Sebastian on a campus tour. They met Professor Evans in the art gallery. As a specialist in naturalistic figures, he said he wasn't partial to postmodern conceptual art. He was intrigued by the prospect of a student who was willing to do the hard work of drawing naturalist human figures. This was an oversight on the part of Goran Bixo; for what's the point of having a designated author, if not to take the blame for omissions in the narrative?

The pair of would-be lovebirds climbed the stairs to Sebastian's third-floor rooms in the boardinghouse. Frank led the way. His tight blue-jeans accentuated the curvature of thighs in motion. Halfway up the first flight, he reached behind for Sebastian's hand and pressed it against his butt. Sebastian accepted the gesture as an invitation. He pawed at Frank's butt and pressed fingers against the spot where he could have dug inside, had Frank been naked.

Sebastian emptied the contents of his portfolio: copies of charcoal sketches, including eight sketches based upon photos in the gay calendar. He asked Frank to help him select sketches to bring to Professor Evans. Frank nominated five `calendar' sketches, a landscape of Sandy Point lighthouse amid sand dunes and surf-beaten rocks, two Ojibwe dance scenes from the September powwow, and a close-up of Peter Red Crow dancing naked except for an elaborate headdress.

"This one's unfinished," Sebastian said. "When I draw a human figure, I start with a nude and sketch the clothes in later. I thought I could explain my method to Evans."

"Maybe you should sketch in one-third of Red Crow's festival costume," Frank proposed. "That would make your intention clear to Evans."

Sebastian agreed. Still, he thought that something was missing from the portfolio.

"Your close-up `life studies'," Frank suggested. "You've left them out."

"I don't save them after they've served their purpose," Sebastian said.

"Leonardo da Vinci saved his," Frank countered. "Well, some of them. If Leonardo could save his life-studies of a hand holding a quill or a boot in a spur or whatever, why shouldn't you?"

"I.ve got nothing on hand that's good enough," Sebastian said. "If Chris were writing a short story, would he save the drafts that were marred by beginner's blunders?"

"Probably not," Frank admitted. He sat in quiet contemplation, then sighed and brought his mug to his lips and sipped coffee, which by now had gone cold. Sebastian responded with an exact imitation of his sigh and gestures.

"I could model for you," Frank said.

"Really?"

"We've got all day. Time enough for a couple of sketches," Frank said.

Frank got naked while Sebastian set up his easel by the bed and mounted sketch-paper on it. Sebastian proposed a sketch of frontal nudity from the abdomen just below the navel down to his legs, two inches below the scrotum. They tried a variety of poses and agreed on one with Frank half-way reclined, his left leg folded at the knee. "It makes your balls hang low in rounded curvatures," Sebastian said.

There was no stopping Frank's erection. The outline of foreskin marked a shifting boundary between the deep dark brown of his shaft and the tannish top with reddish tinges. "Look, Frank, it's getting hard by its very own self!" Sebastian exclaimed.

"That's what happens when I donate my body to art," Frank grinned.

"It'll soften eventually," Sebastian said. "I need a close-up view of your penis at rest with a good view of your foreskin. Complex layers of skin make for a complex sketch."

"Touch it, Sebastian," Frank said. "I'm aching for your touch."

Sebastian fondled Frank's dick. He cupped his palm around Frank's scrotum. He reached between his legs and stuck his middle finger into Frank's hole. "You'll donate this to me," he said.

"Do you think so?" Frank asked, barely audible. He didn't say no.

To shorten a long story, Sebastian and Frank stopped fooling around and got down to the business of sketching and modeling. In two hours, Sebastian completed the `frontal nudity' sketch and went on to a few simpler studies: Frank's left shoulder, down to the pit and the left nipple; a scene depicting his left eye and ear; his right foot, with a detailed study of toes.

As a companion piece to the sketch of his frontal nudity, Frank proposed that Sebastian execute a charcoal sketch of his backside.

One would think that a man's backside would be easier to draw than genitalia, since outdoor plumbing makes men more complicated than women, but "some things are more difficult than they seem," Sebastian told Frank. "A good example is a horse's head. It looks like it ought to be easy, but once you try it, you end up going through many drafts because the shapes are so hard to get right, especially the muzzle. It'll be the same with your backside, capturing the curves and the depth of your cleft."

"So, you're saying my ass looks like a horsehead?" Frank quipped.

"Not exactly," Sebastian stammered. "I'm saying that your ass is aesthetically complex like a horse's head. Horses are beautiful, don't you think?"

Sebastian guided Frank into a back-arching anatomical position that complimented his curves, dug dimples into his well-rounded mounds, and shadowed a depth of cleavage that allowed a modest glimpse of areola. Sebastian put the scene into seductive words while he worked on the line-drawing. "Body hair is important, too. Dark body hair gives character, in the same way that three days without a shave lends sexiness to a man whose hair grows in dark. And there's a touch of comedy in the way the seat of your pants is entirely hairless and white. Your tan-lines in front are cool, but the tan-lines on your backside make a more erotic frame because the lines are sharper."

"That's a good line," Frank teased. "Better than Pandolf who said: `Her mantle laps over my lady's wrist too much'."

"That's Fra Pandolf," Sebastian countered, with emphasis on `Fra'.

"How about `No paint can hope to replicate the faint half-flush that dies along his cheeks'?" Frank countered back.

"That's why I'm using charcoal," Sebastian quipped. "How about this? —

"That's my one and only sketched on the easel,

Looking stretched out like the pelt of a weasel.

My hands worked busily a day at the stand

And there he waits for Cupid's next command."

"That's terrible!" Frank exclaimed. "Are you saying I'm a weasel?"

"What else rhymes with `easel'?" Sebastian grinned.

"I think we've exhausted the possibilities of the Duke of Ferrara," Frank said with a grin.

"Not quite," Sebastian replied. "How about the bough of cherries ... broke in the orchard', or here you miss, or there exceed the mark', or then there would be some stooping, and I choose never to stoop', or Your fair body's self, as I avowed at starting, is my object'?"

Frank looked back in Sebastian's direction. "You've managed to memorize all of Browning's little monologue," he said.

"I can see that I've evoked some approving speech from you, or at least an approving blush," Sebastian replied, and added: "Stop twitching your ass while I fill in your cleavage." He had finished the line-drawing and was busy fleshing it out with intricate strokes of his charcoal pen.

"Are you finished?" Frank asked.

"Nay, we will go together down sir," Sebastian replied, and then: Notice Neptune though, taming a sea-horse, thought a rarity'. You see, Frank, you started out as an unattainable weasel, and now you're a sea-horse, and a rare one."

The image flashed in Frank's mind: a gigantic stature of Neptune standing by the lift-bridge that marked the entrance to Sandy Point. "Maybe I'm just Frank lying starkers on your bed," he said. "Your bed, your fantasy."

Sebastian coated finger with lube and ran it up and down his cleft and into the hole.

"Whoa!" Frank exclaimed.

Sebastian wriggled the tip of his finger. Frank squirmed. "That's a `spot of joy ... too soon made glad'," he said.

Sebastian recognized the phrases from Browning. He got naked and planted his lips over Frank's nether lips. Some devilishly divine muse broke into song:

The dialect of his subduing tongue

Syllogized with silent, probing skill

Its reasons, made to receptive bung

Whose owner quite renounced whatever will

Was left to him to guard his virgin cleavage

From Sebastian's brazen rout and ravage.

Sebastian straddled Frank's midsection. If this were heroic fiction, Sebastian wasn't the sort of guy that Frank would have chosen as a hero for his epic; neither handsome nor masculine in bearing, being slender and pale-skinned, his flaxen hair unkempt, his body almost hairless. And yet, he pole-vaulted his way into Frank's body.

That's how Frank leaned that Sebastian's penis in arousal expanded to an eight-inch rod, wide as a beer can. In an involuntary reflex, Frank struggled to eject the invading organ, but Sebastian clasped him tight by the haunches. The more Frank squirmed, the more exquisite pleasure he transmitted to Sebastian.

It was Sebastian's good fortune that Frank was endowed with an overplus of masculine energy. Sometimes, opposites attract each other in unexpected ways. There was enough testosterone in Frank's system to accept an androgynous lover. A lesser man would have rejected the connection, but Frank accepted the sharp burning pain that came with it.

"This gives new meaning to the phrase browning queen'," Frank said, alluding to Robert Browning, whose My Last Duchess' lent poetic inspiration to the defloration of Frank by Sebastian, perhaps with a little help from Shakespeare. They lay together quietly, with Sebastian mounted on top, laughing and nibbling on Frank's ear. Frank turned his face toward Sebastian's and they shared their first kiss.

The orange and yellow leaves that blew against the window panes could be counted, but as for the number of strokes that Sebastian delivered to Frank could not be counted. When the fucked face to face, Sebastian said he liked the way Frank's nine-inch cock slapped between their bellies wet with sweat. When they fucked doggy-style, Sebastian exclaimed: "Oh, Frank! I love watching my dick go in and out of your hole!"

Sebastian poured himself into Frank. Silken balm soaked the bruises of a new-made `browning queen'. Frank responded in kind. Liquefaction of love oozed from his loins. Jizzy fragrance filled the room while autumn leaves spattered against the window panes. Frank fondled Sebastian's organ, arousing it to renewed hardness. He lay face-down on the bed, spread his legs, and offered his ass for a second attack. Sebastian fucked furiously. Sebastian grunted and moaned. Frank groaned. The result was a second sweat-soaked breeding.

I've heard young guys on the internet assuring virgins that their first time' would cost a little discomfort'. That might be true for some, but not for all. Frank learned the hard way that he was oddly constructed, such that intercourse, for him, would always be a mixture of pain and pleasure, as if he were getting fucked for the first time. "So, this is what my priest at St. Anne's meant by the miracle of eternal virginity," Frank quipped.

"I'm gonna like that, Frankie," Sebastian grinned. "You're a tough guy. You'll learn to like it, too."

Sebastian wanted to inspect the damage. Frank lay back with his butt at the edge of the bed and frog-legged, resting his ankles on Sebastian's shoulders. "You had a tight brown slit when we started. Now its rounded, like a brown aureole surrounding a pink flower. Ring around the rosie. That's awesome!" Sebastian exclaimed. "A red badge of courage."

Frank had a sense of satisfaction that his first time with Sebastian was a success. They walked down one flight of stairs to the communal bathroom on second floor with one towel between them. Sebastian wrapped it around his waist while Frank followed, starkers. Sebastian beamed with pride under the showerhead. Frank was determined to let him enjoy his triumph. They soaped each other's body. "I've always wanted to fuck ass, but you drove me beyond my wildest dreams," Sebastian said. "I never thought fucking would be so powerful."

"Most of the power came from you, Sebastian," Frank replied, and then said: "Swat my ass." Sebastian spanked his cheeks a few times. Just then, they were aware that a third man was present in the bathroom. Someone who heard them and lingered.

"Whoever it is, he already knows," Sebastian said.

"Swat my ass like you own it," Frank said, feeling suddenly bold about being spied on. Sebastian was glad to comply.

They took turns toweling each other dry while the third man stood around the corner by the toilet stalls. Sebastian saw his reflection in the mirror. "It's Jesse Kovic. He's a guy from Hibbing who works in the ore docks," he whispered.

While Sebastian rubbed his towel over Frank's torso, his said in a clear voice: "Ah, Sebastian, I can still feel the physical memory of beer-can up my ass!"

"Really?" Sebastian replied. "I'm glad I made a good first impression. Maybe you'll come back for more."

By the time that they climbed the stairs to third floor, Jesse Kovic was seated on a bench on the landing, smoking a cigar.

"Hi, Jesse, this is Frank. Frank, this is Jesse," Sebastian said nonchalantly, ignoring the fact of their nudity.

"Hi Jesse," Frank said. "Nice cigar. Cohiba?"

"That's right," Jesse said, impressed that the guy could recognize a cigar by its fragrance.

"Let's go, Frank," Sebastian said, and led him to his rooms.

"He can be bossy sometimes," Frank said to Jesse, and grinned. "Maybe I'll see you again sometime."

"Hope so," Jesse replied.

"Did I fuck you once, or twice?" Sebastian asked. "I mean, does a double-fuck count as one, or two?"

"Twice, I should think," Frank replied. "It's the Balzac principle in action. You get credit for two."