New York Love Story (Guess How Much I Love You!) - Episode 8

“───What do you think?”

“……terrorist”

“I see…what about this one?”

“Drug dealer”

“This is?”

“Prohibition-era gangsters?”

“this”

“John Lennon Mania”

“Then, this way.”

“terrorist”

“Another terrorist? Why are there so many bad guys?”

“For some reason, the things you choose don’t look legitimate. I don’t think it’s because of your beard, but… how about this one?”

　If you can guess what Paul and I do from the above conversation, great job!

We’re in an eyewear store on 14th Street right now, busy preparing to spend the long weekend we managed to win this summer at the beach. So the answer to the question is → “I’m looking for sunglasses for vacation.”

　Fire Island, a resort town on the outskirts of New York. We’re sharing a villa with a few friends and are going on our first trip together. It’s five minutes to the beach, and 20 minutes to the nearest restaurant. In an environment where cars are not even allowed, we can wash away the grime of the city and refresh both body and mind, so even working overtime right before we depart doesn’t seem like a pain (or so I’d like to think).

　Picking out sunglasses one after another is a lot of fun when preparing for a trip. The preparation stage is so exciting that it may even be more fun than the trip itself.

“Hey, isn’t this nice? Take a look in the mirror.”

“Which one?”

　A cool guy reflected in the mirror. Just like my boyfriend. Good luck.

“What does it look like?”

“Supermodel”

“Okay, let’s go with this.”

　Preparing for a trip is a lot of fun. Well, the preparation stage is very…

“I’m shocked. What on earth is going on? What were you thinking?”

“I didn’t mean any harm. I didn’t mean any harm.”

“How dare you do that? You’re the type of person who would immediately drop out if you were sent to Temptation Island.” (*Temptation Island is a TV show in which couples are confined to a tropical island and tested to see if they can stay in love even when they are approached by attractive members of the opposite s*x.)

　If you can guess what Roman and I are talking about from the above conversation, that would be a great thing. By the way, we are currently at our favorite bar in the Village.

“‘I didn’t mean any harm’ is a terrible excuse. If you’re going to apologize to people, wouldn’t it be better to be a little more sincere in your comments?”

　Roman is right. The answer to the question above is this: (He is confessing to Dean about his mistakes during the vacation and getting a lecture)

　A simple life on Fire Island. I bought fresh vegetables at the local market and opened the bottle of wine I brought with me. In the cottage next door were two women from Manhattan. As the sun began to set over the sea, they called out to me from behind the hedge.

“Want to join us for dinner tonight?”

　I reply, “Yeah, that’s nice.”

　That night, Paul and I had a nice dinner with the girls… but instead of spending the night together, we just argued. What should have been a fun vacation. Our first trip together. It ended up being a fight, and it became a memory that we’ll never forget.

“Paul just wanted some time alone, without any interruptions,” Roman said, turning up his nose and taking a sip of his cocktail.

“They said they had extra meat for the barbecue and couldn’t eat it all without the help of the men.”

“How stupid. That’s a completely transparent ploy to hunt for boys. I’m sure those girls were hoping to eat your meat along with the barbecue.”

“Don’t say vulgar things!”

“It was cute, wasn’t it?”

“What?”

“Those girls. They were beautiful, weren’t they?”

“Oh, well…”

　”Well” might be an understatement. They were blonde, tanned, petite, but busty. They seemed more like the kind of girls who’d been crammed into this Simple Life project than the kind of girls who’d be best suited to cooking for themselves in a beach house.

“If she hadn’t been beautiful, the fight probably wouldn’t have gotten to where it was,” Roman said.

“Was Paul jealous because they were beautiful? If they had been ugly, would things have ended peacefully?”

“That’s not it. You’re the one who started it all. If those girls had been ugly, you wouldn’t have gone for them, right? You accepted them because they were beautiful. Paul got angry because he was reacting to his lover’s ulterior motives… that’s it.”

　It’s hard to say that it’s “completely true,” but it’s also hard to say that it’s “completely off the mark.” As I did not comment, Roman spoke in a pitiful, theatrical voice.

“I feel sorry for Paul. He fell in love with such a stupid, perverted straight guy…”

“Yeah, I know that. I’m always the one at fault.”

“Oh dear, this guy has sulked and opened up again.”

“I was certainly in the wrong. But in my defense… if I were a normal gay man, I wouldn’t have ended up like this, much less suffer like this.”

“What do you mean?”

“When I go to the beach, I just feel like a girl. But I like Paul and I’m dating him. I’m not gay, but I’m dating a guy and we even have s*x.”

“Well, you’re not gay. You don’t feel anything when you look at me. You’re sick.”

“When I see you and start to feel you, that’s when I’ll go to the hospital.”

“I’ll stick it in your mouth.”

“You’re going to butt in? What are you talking about? …Ah, no, you don’t have to say it.”

“What’s wrong with your sense of aesthetics?”

“I admit you’re handsome. I might even admire you if I saw you without knowing. But that’s only until you open your mouth. The way you talk is just ridiculously gay.”

“Oh really, so I just have to keep quiet?… Like this?”

　Saying this, she ostentatiously crossed her legs on the stool. She rested her elbows on the counter, supported her chin with her hands, and gazed off into the distance. She had a well-shaped nose, deep hazel eyes, silky dark blonde hair, and caramel-colored, polished skin. She was a masterpiece of beauty that could have been created by Michelangelo.

“Agh! That’s stupid!” Roman yelled so loudly that the bartender flinched and regained his composure.

“I can’t take this anymore! I can’t stand being in a bad mood for no reason!”

　Yes, this is his usual self. The master himself forgot to put his soul into it.

“Isn’t it a new record to stay silent for 30 seconds?”

“I don’t want to extend that record. My chatter is part of me. I don’t want to be a sulky model. I don’t want to hide myself to be liked by others. The motto of Roman Destiny is to always be yourself and enjoy life.”

“Always myself. I don’t understand that identity anymore. I don’t feel sexually attracted to any guy other than Paul, so how do I put that?”

“Isn’t it okay to be bisexual?”

“You’re right. I don’t want to sleep with men. You’re comfortable being yourself, aren’t you? You’re comfortable with your gay identity.”

“Yes, that’s right.”

“In the sense that we’re a species that only loves one gender, gays are in the same position as straight people. But what about me? I’m neither. I used to be completely straight, but now I’m in a pretty delicate position, and that position feels a bit ambiguous to me.”

“What’s the problem? You guys are doing great.”

“It’s not about Paul. It’s about me. I feel uneasy if I don’t know who I am.”

“Your concerns aren’t very specific. What is the problem, and what do you want to do?”

“The problem is we don’t know that.”

“It’s because there are so many people like that that psychoanalysts in New York can own a Mercedes. It’s fine to worry, but you have to be able to distinguish between ‘holes that need to be dug’ and ‘holes that don’t need to be dug’… Oh, excuse me, you have a message…” he said, taking out his lit cell phone and opening it.

“Hey, it’s from Sean! He says, ‘Are you free tomorrow night?’ I have to go see Alex’s play tomorrow! There are 365 days in a year, so how can all these days overlap? What should I do? I’m so worried!”

“…………Worry about it.”

　After all, this guy doesn’t know how I feel. He’s gay, and so is my lover. If there’s anyone who can sympathize with me, it’s a “straight guy with a gay lover,” but I don’t think there are many people like that.

　Roman typed out a reply, then closed his phone and turned to face me again.

“There’s only one solution… Be gay!”

“That’s unreasonable, Yuna!”

“What’s so outrageous about that? To begin with, aren’t you Paul’s ‘boyfriend’? If you just give up on women and become a proper gay man, Paul will be relieved, and you won’t have to suffer. All the women in the world will live in perfect peace. What do you think? Isn’t that the best solution?”

　That may be so. The cause of this suffering is that I have the identity of “I am straight”. However, being told to “become” is not an easy path to becoming gay.

　When I said that, Roman nodded in agreement.

“Well, she’s not even showing off to me… this might be a bit difficult.”

“‘Unfortunately, there’s nothing we can do, ‘ is that what you mean?”

“I wonder…” he thought for a moment, then opened his eyes wide and said, “Hmm! I’ve got a great idea.”

　I thought I had come to understand all too well during our relationship that Roman’s “good things” were usually strange, but at this point, my ability to make judgments, plagued by my instability, had significantly deteriorated.

“Let me introduce you to a certain man. Meet him and talk to him. I’m sure you’ll gain something from it.”

“What’s that? A counselor?”

“No, he’s just a lovely grown man. A lovely gay man. Some people would even describe him as the gayest of gays.”

“The gayest of the gays?… Oh my God.”

　A grown man with a police hat, leather shorts, and a thick black moustache. Or a man in tight-fitting shorts in a Marine uniform.

“Hey… you’re imagining something different! That’s not the kind of taste I have!” she shouted as if she had seen inside my head.

“You want me to be taught by the gayest of gays? How to be a proper gay?”

“Gay or straight doesn’t have anything to do with growing into an attractive person. Hey, are there any attractive adult men around you?”

“Yes, I am.”

　Roman waved his hand in front of his face as if to say, ‘Stop joking.’

“No, I’m talking about an older, grown-up man who can be a good role model. How about you? There aren’t any out there, are there?”

　That’s true. There are no men like that around me. To begin with, the existence of “men” itself is rare. My father passed away soon after I was born. I was raised by my mother and older sister, and after I grew up, I worked in an office where 70% of the staff were female, and I was “adored” by my female boss. My life is full of women. Until recently, I was grateful for that.

“In modern America, there are no adult role models for young people,” Roman said. “In Native American society and ancient China, there were always elders who showed young people how to live, and they helped them grow up in society. But I think it’s become very difficult to find such people in this country now. Heroes and heroines only exist in fictional stories, and that’s not a very happy thing.”

　That opinion certainly has merit. When I resignedly agreed, Roman pursed the corners of his lips and said, “What do you think? Even a ‘silly gay man’ can say something good sometimes, right?”

“I don’t mean ‘faggot,'” I chuckle, picking up the cherry from my cocktail and dropping it into his glass. Roman smiles with satisfaction (it was truly beautiful) and continues.

“Everyone is so quick to make a fuss about ‘gay or straight’, right? These notions and the fear of the unknown narrow our world… don’t you think?”

　He said “everyone” in a gentle way, but I was the one making a big fuss about “gay or straight”. Am I a straight guy full of stereotypes who gets hung up on trivial things and makes a big fuss?

“So? If we expand our horizons, can we have the perfect gay life?”

　Roman continued to be patient with me as I made snobbish remarks, partly due to the embarrassment of having been pointed out.

“Don’t make me repeat myself. It has nothing to do with being gay or straight. I’m just saying, ‘I want to introduce you to some nice adult friends.’ Well, if you don’t want to, I won’t force you.” He stopped there and looked me in the eye and asked, “What do you want to do?”

　What to do? The answer is already clear.

　A grown man who has come out and is in a successful position in society. It’s not uncommon for musicians and artists to do this, but it takes a lot of courage to declare one’s homosexuality in a regular company. It’s not that hard to find gay people in companies in the San Francisco Bay Area or here in Manhattan, but I don’t know anyone who is at the chairman level of a listed company. There are gay people in politicians too. But if you ask whether they can get a high-ranking position, it’s probably just as difficult as it is for a woman to become president.

　The man I’m about to meet is a man who lives his life as a gay man and has established a certain status in this male-dominated society. I think that in itself is wonderful, but I’m not looking for a “model adult man,” and I certainly don’t have the qualities to be excited about a “really nice gay man.” I got into this story simply out of curiosity. I was interested in what it’s like to be “gay among gays,” and I have a few questions I’d like to ask “gay among gays.”

　The place my date specified for us to meet was a bar near Washington Square. The bar wasn’t very spacious. There was a counter and small round tables. The jazz music playing at a moderate volume was probably the preference of the bartender. There was no unnecessary decoration, and the amber-colored pillars and chairs quietly asserted their presence. It was almost a miracle that this bar, with all its vintage furnishings (including the bartender), had been saved from becoming a tourist hangout. Good old America. The lovable old country. Is this what the gays of the gays like? If so, I can sympathize. At least, it’s hard to associate a man in leather shorts with this place (phew).

　I settle down in the corner of the counter and continue to wait for a man I have not met yet. This arrangement is made through Roman, and I do not know his face, voice, or even his email address. The appointed time has long passed, and I kill time by playing roulette on my watch, but I soon get bored with that. As time passes, I become more and more uneasy. Every time the entrance door opens, I feel more and more nervous. After all, this is my first blind date with a man, and on top of that, the day when he is a “gay among gays”… As I look at the entrance from my stool, all the customers who come in look gay. Maybe this is “that kind of place”? That’s why tourists don’t come? …Ah, that’s overthinking it. This is a bad habit of mine. I’ll play roulette to clear my mind. The other person will come eventually.

　I continued to play mindlessly against my watch, and when I reached a point where I had won eight games against my imaginary opponent and lost five, someone called out, “Dean?” When I answered that it was him, he apologized, “Sorry to have kept you waiting.” A tall man of about fifty showed up late. Annoyed that he had kept me waiting, I asked him curtly, “Are you busy with work?”

“No, it wasn’t work. I was swimming at the gym and accidentally lost track of time. I’m sorry.”

　”A grown man loses track of time in the pool” – a copy like that from Esquire comes to mind.

　The man introduced himself as Harry Flanders. He said “Flanders” instead of “Flanders,” which suggests his noble roots. When I called out “Flanders,” he corrected me and said “Harry,” which meant that this was not a company relationship.

　Harry Flanders ordered a Glenlivet. “The larger one,” he added. The waiter replied, “Understood,” with a slight quirk in his lips.

The “larger number” is a murder code. No, that can’t be the case. The guy sitting next to me isn’t a 007 character. On the contrary, how should I put it… the “gay among gays” seems pretty normal. I thought he must be a handsome guy because Roman, who is obsessed with looks, praised him so much, but I was wrong. I thought for sure that he would be a George Clooney type of guy.

　He seems to be a regular at the bar, and I observe him while he talks intimately with the owner. His strong features remind me of an Italian-American, but his last name sounds French, so he’s probably not an Italian immigrant. He’s wearing an antique brown suit, but no tie. Looking closely, I can see that the jacket and pants are different. Judging from his outfit, it’s unlikely that he’d accidentally put on someone else’s jacket in the gym locker room. Wearing different tops and bottoms of the same color can be a big problem, but he manages to pull it off well. He seems to be quite a stylish guy. His shoulder muscles can’t be hidden even in a classy suit. Is this the result of swimming? Planning a date after the butterfly stroke is impressive for someone his age. I’m 28, but I have no energy for it.

　The bartender, who looked like he had made drinks for Humphrey Bogart, quietly slid the glass over. Harry raised his glass lightly, saying, “To a new encounter.” He didn’t clink it together nastily. The watch he peeked out from his sleeve was a Breguet tourbillon. Just as you’d expect from a businessman. He was on a completely different level from me. I thought I’d worked hard, too, but there was no point in competing with him. Mine was luxury goods, his was a work of art.

　Harry said, “I hope you like it,” as I took a sip of the drink. I nodded and commented, “It’s delicious.” Although I despised people who showed off their knowledge at times like this, I was a little embarrassed at being so ignorant. I don’t have a high tolerance for alcohol, and neither does my knowledge. Glenlivet, which has a high number. It was certainly delicious, but I think I could only have one glass.

“It seems a bit strong for me. Can I mix it with water?”

“Of course.”

“They say that sensible people drink whiskey straight,” I said, reciting the conventional wisdom. “In my opinion, that theory has no basis whatsoever,” the bartender interrupted. Harry told me, “The water here is of high quality, natural spring water.” “If you don’t have a high tolerance for alcohol, diluting it will make it more palatable.”

　”I think Georgie would be good for rivets,” Harry said with a gentle smile, and the Master twirled his mustache.

“If it’s a chaser, maybe it’s okay to use the same water as Mother Water. But if you’re going to drink this, I think soft water would be better…”

“Oh, okay, okay. Do as you like,” Harry said, waving his hand and laughing. The master also smiled slightly. I have no idea what he’s talking about. I don’t know, but there’s something cool about it. I think it’s best to leave this to the other person.

　Water was added, and I took a sip of the diluted amber. It was just as Harry had said. Just by diluting it a little, not only did it go down better, but the aroma became easier to discern. The rich aroma soothed my mind. It’s a well-known fact that the best way to relieve tension is with the help of alcohol.

　After we briefly introduced each other’s occupations, I asked him something along the lines of, “How on earth did you achieve your success?”

“I was just lucky,” Harry said, taking a sip of his drink. The answer was simple. So simple. Of course, there was no such thing as “just luck.” It was a very humble comment, almost uncool.

“That sounds like a Business Week question,” Harry said. Since he says “like,” it seems like he might have been asked that question by that source.

“Is that what you wanted to know?” he asked, raising his eyebrows.

　Ah, that’s right. That’s not it. I didn’t come here to ask for business tips. I have a more pressing problem, and I’m here today because I thought you might be able to help me with it.

“Um… can I ask you a bit of an intrusive question?”

“A nuisance question — what is it?”

“Since when have you been gay?”

　Harry’s eyes widened at the sudden question, then he looked into his glass and quietly replied, “Fifteen years ago.”

　Fifteen years. That’s more recent than you might think. He looks to be over fifty, so that would mean he became gay in his late thirties.

“I was straight before that, but then my wife died in childbirth. That’s when I became gay.”

“Huh? But… you’ve loved your wife up until now? Is it possible to suddenly become gay like that?”

“Yes, that’s right. It was the third time I’d lost my wife.”

“The third time?”

　As I repeated that, an angry voice suddenly came from the other side of the counter.

“You nasty old fool! The boy is rolling his eyes!”

　My eyes widened, startled by the quiet Humphrey Bogart barman inappropriately yelling at Harry.

　The Master’s attention was so caught that I couldn’t immediately process what he was saying. Harry was trying to hold back a laugh. It was only when I saw his expression that I finally realised he was making fun of me.

“Harry, that’s terrible, how dare you make such a joke?”

“Oh no, sorry, but you’re being rude too. I don’t think asking someone you’ve just met for the first time is a good question.”

　Now that you mention it, you’re right. Maybe I was drinking too much. When I apologized, he smiled and said, “Then I’ll answer properly,” and straightened up.

“I was born gay. I’ve never had a wife. Are you satisfied with that?”

　I was born gay. Born good at dancing, born good at drawing. Born handsome, born gay. Is there nothing I can do about this? Somehow, being straight seems like a handicap.

“Is it rare for someone to become gay midway through life?”

“As far as I know, it’s rare. You hear stories of men realising they’re gay after they’ve married a woman, but I think that’s simply because they married a woman before they realised they were gay. People don’t necessarily realise they’re gay in adolescence. Some people only discover themselves in middle age. It’s just a matter of whether it happens early or late. It’s hard to imagine someone who’s fundamentally straight becoming gay halfway through.”

　Disappointed? Hurrah? How should I react? As I stared at the glass in silence, Harry gently touched my hand, which was on the counter.

　Here it comes────. I thought, and stiffened. Calm down. They didn’t rip my clothes off. Don’t panic, just because they touched my hand.

“‘Caesar’s goes to Caesar,'” said Harry, touching my ring with his fingertip, “This coin is one shekel.”

“Shekels?”

The shekel was a Roman unit of currency. It bears the inscription Julius Caesar. It is a currency that features prominently in the Bible. It is the currency with which Jesus famously spoke, ‘Caesar gives to Caesar.’ With that, Jesus agreed to pay taxes.”

“One shekel… I didn’t look very closely. I knew it was a modified antique coin, though.”

“Businessmen are good at making money.”

　Harry jokes about culture. He doesn’t get annoyed when he gives away his knowledge. It’s amazing how much culture can come from a single piece of jewelry. Roman would say, “Oh, what brand is that?”

“In the first century AD, one of these coins would have been worth about a hundred dollars. Two thousand years ago, this coin may have been in Christ’s hand. And now it’s on your finger. I wonder where it has traveled to get here and how…it’s quite romantic, isn’t it?”

　A man’s romance. Romantic. Could it be that she’s trying to woo me?

“It suits your beautiful fingers well.”

　And with that, Harry quickly withdrew his hand from mine. It was decided. I was being wooed. And what a good way to woo someone. Touching my hand felt natural, and when you add in the topic of the Bible, it didn’t seem unpleasant at all. And just as I was complimenting him on my hand, he removed it. Just as I was starting to notice, he pulled away. That was a tactic. A businessman’s skills are impressive. A man who appears in Business Week must be just as good at wooing people as he is at making money.

　Harry drank glasses of whiskey. From the second glass onwards, we changed to cocktails. I was thinking of something refreshing with a citrus taste, and Harry asked me if I wanted a “Champagne à l’Orange”, and he ordered me one. It was an unfamiliar name, but when it was served, I realized it was just another name for “Mimosa”. As the name suggests, this cocktail is based on champagne, and it is known as a very luxurious drink, as an entire bottle is opened just for one glass.

　The champagne that was poured out with a booming sound was Dom Pérignon. The moment the bartender picked up the bottle, my bl00d ran cold, but I told myself that today I was sitting next to a reliable man, and I managed to hold back the scream that was about to rise from my throat.

　I don’t know if they paid while I was in the bathroom, or if they put the bill on the bar’s credit, but in any case, things didn’t go as I had feared. We left the bar smartly without leaving our watches behind.

　The back alley turned indigo blue, and the food waste bins with signs saying “Not edible” were quiet and not emitting any foul odor at this time.

　A bar that only real adults can enter. Expensive watches and high-end cocktails. It was certainly a good harvest to get a glimpse into a world that I can’t usually see, but what on earth did Roman want me to experience? A police hat with a mustache, a Marine in shorts, a man-loving George Clooney… Today’s encounter was not like that. “Even if you’re gay, it’s more normal than you think.” That’s the truth I’ve learned so far, and dating a gay man among gays is more normal than I thought.

　”You’ve been judging me this whole time,” Harry said suddenly as they walked side by side onto the main road.

“So, what do you think? Am I a good enough guy?”

“Even if you say you passed…”

“Did you fail?”

“What does it mean to be ‘passed’?”

“That you wanted to sleep with me?”

　A breathtaking turn of events. Who would have thought that a man who had been talking about Roman coins would suddenly throw such a straight pitch? Is this what they call “contrast”?

　As I froze, he asked me, “What’s wrong?”

“Well, you know… you’re being very blunt about it.”

“Even if I’m gay, I’ll say it’s ‘straight’,” Harry said with a grin.

　A back alley with an indigo curtain hanging down. There are no people around. The only thing there is a stray cat. If this is Bogey, it is the scene where he kisses Bergman.

　Silence flows between the gays. I wonder what Roman said about me. Could it be something like “You can eat this girl”? Does Harry not know that I have a lover? No, even if he did know, it doesn’t matter… In any case, this is bad. I don’t know if it will have any effect, but I’ll tell him the truth anyway.

“Um… Harry. I have… well… a partner.”

“Partner? A woman?”

　I chose the word “partner” to avoid identifying the gender of the person I was referring to, out of self-preservation. But now I can’t pretend to be straight.

“…Male.”

“I see. If you had said you were a woman, I would not have forgiven you.”

　Hearing this, I tilted my head up. That was a close call.

“Then why did you date me?”

　Harry frowned suspiciously, and I couldn’t answer his question. Seriously, why am I dating him? Why not when I’m not even planning on sleeping with him?

“Partners… so you’re not lying?”

　The questions continue. This one isn’t that hard to answer. I’m giddy. I’m dazzled by a lesbian couple on the beach. The answer is simple, but the only way to answer this question is with silence.

“Then go home, to the house of love where your lover awaits.”

　”Harry,” he said, waving his hand to shoo him away. “That’s annoying. I mean, if it were the other way around, I’d be angry too.”

“You’ve been very disrespectful to me, to your boyfriend, and most of all to yourself.”

　I’m not sure what the last part, “to myself,” means, but I do understand that it’s disrespectful to Harry and Paul.

　I apologized sincerely and added, “I thought we had understood each other better.” Sincere apology, explanation, and justification. This is a conversation I often have with business partners. I will keep pushing until the other party is convinced and willing to accept my situation. I never expected things to turn out like this.

　After hearing my story, Harry summed up my long list of excuses by saying, “So you’re insecure about your identity.”

“Let me reassure you. You’re not the ‘gay guy’ you worry about. Your personality is very different from the gay kids I know. If I had to compare you to someone else… well, you’re a lot like my subordinates. You’re combative and full of manly pride.”

　Bang. That’s it, it’s true. What Harry said wasn’t “everything to describe Dean,” but it wasn’t completely wrong. For the past few hours, I had certainly been that kind of guy. I had been watching Harry through the filter of “being gay.” I was so busy observing him that I didn’t try to guess his feelings. I didn’t realize what I was doing, and I was bombarding him with rude questions. I wasn’t watching. Not at him, not at myself. I was rude. To him and me.

　Harry shook his head and muttered to me in silence.

“What can I say… I’m shocked by what happened tonight. I’m sad, to put it bluntly.”

　”Sad” – I was a little surprised that such a grown man used the word “sad”. It was a bit of a shock to me. Did I make him sad?

“I thought for sure… I had made you angry.”

“Of course I’m angry,” he said. “But there’s more to it than that. Human emotions are more complicated… no, they’re simpler than that. What do you think is beyond anger? It’s sadness. Sadness transforms into anger, and anger can transform into many other things. There’s violence, ignoring, pretending not to be angry, you know. I don’t adopt any of those. I just feel sadness.”

　As I listened to Harry’s story, I thought back to the reason why I was here in the first place. It was about the fight with Paul. Paul got angry at me on the beach. It was because he felt “sad”. He must have felt lonely, as if his existence and feelings had been belittled. He expressed those feelings in the form of “anger” and behaved unpleasantly towards me. I, too, got angry about that. Just like Paul, I felt that my existence and feelings had been belittled. Human emotions are simple. The reason for our fight, Paul and I, was simply that we were both “sad”. And now, I was facing a “human being with emotions” again. It was telling me that it was “sad”.

“I’m sorry… how can I put it… Well, thank you for taking up your time tonight…”

　I was able to talk properly until a moment ago, but now I’m flustered because he said, “I’m sad.” I’m used to apologizing at work, but it’s hard to say “I’m sorry.” Saying “I’m sorry” to a man in a senior position, like you would say to a friend, is difficult.

“Well, how are you going to take responsibility for that?” said Harry, folding his arms.

“responsibility……”

“You either get punched or you get kissed. Choose one.”

　What do you think would happen if I got punched by a guy who swims miles at the gym after work? If I were a muscular guy who was willing to take a beating here, this wouldn’t have happened. Kiss or punch—. All right! I don’t care if he’s weak! I’d rather kiss a moose than get hurt and get a bruise on my face!

　Just as he made up his mind and was about to ask for a kiss, Harry burst out laughing.

“Don’t look so serious. I was just teasing you. Sorry, kid. Excuse me.”

　Harry looked at me as if he found it funny. This was the second time today that he had teased me. When I was with him, I had no idea how much was a joke and how much was serious.

“I thought you were going to knock me out,” I said, shrugging.

“I told you before. I have no choice but to resort to violence.”

“I had made up my mind to do this.”

“Really?” Harry raised his eyebrows.

“Well, I don’t want to be hit. But a kiss…”

　As soon as I started to say that, my lips were sealed with his. Warm, full lips. I was being kissed by Harry Flanders, whom I had only met a few hours earlier. And he kissed me as deeply as he could…

　Okay, I’ll be honest. It was the first time in my life that I’d ever been kissed so beautifully. I’m not that inexperienced. I’ve had girls tell me many times that I’m a good kisser. But what about this? Just his lips were stolen, and my spinal cord melted down. I was being kissed like a 16-year-old girl, and the sensation was so overwhelming that I felt like I could give everything away… I’ll admit that I did feel that way. That was until I opened my eyes. The face in front of me was certainly attractive, but it wasn’t the kind of thing that could make me even more passionate after the kiss. He was Harry Flanders. He wasn’t my boyfriend.

　Harry sighed and said, “I couldn’t stand it.”

　I scratched my head and muttered, “Oh no…” “I thought you were a gentleman.”

“A gentleman? If doing nothing in front of a child like you is what it means to be a gentleman, then gentlemen are bullshit!”

　Harry laughed. It was a big Santa Claus laugh. It was amazing. He was so nice. I honestly thought that. I could admire Harry. But I wouldn’t want him as a boyfriend. And it’s not because I’m not gay or anything like that. I like Paul.

　Human emotions are simple. But I took that simplicity and made it very complicated by replacing it with an issue of sexual identity. Simple emotions that you only discover after digging deep enough. “Happy,” “sad,” “like,” “dislike.” Where do they come from? Why can I love Paul and not Harry? Why did I fall in love with Paul? I don’t know that either. It’s not something you can understand with your head. I want to see Paul right now. It’s not logical that I feel so strongly that I want to see him and hold him.

　I went on a date with another guy, but it ended up reaffirming my love for Paul. I wonder if Roman had predicted this would happen. Or was it just a coincidence, like, “You can eat this girl up.” Of course, here’s what he said:

“Yes, he said, ‘It’s okay to eat it,'” he says, crossing his long legs on the stool. This is my favorite bar in the Village. The bartender is a young gay man. The interior of the bar has nothing to do with vintage. It’s not a bad place to be as an adult hideaway, but it’s too far out of my league for now. The Eames chairs and Venetian glass lights make for a comfortable, modern space.

“That’s a pity. I wanted to hear how your night went.”

　The devil is saying something. Curse words. Don’t listen to him, Dean. Don’t listen to him anymore. You shouldn’t do anything he says.

“But I didn’t think that would happen.”

“Yeah, I’ve got Paul.”

“What are you talking about? I’m talking about you being a dropout from Temptation Island. I’m talking about Harry.”

“he?”

“She’s very picky. She’s not going to go after a boy that easily. People say Harry’s kisses are amazing, but no one has tried them. There are only legends about him, which shows how picky he is. Even I’ve never received a kiss from him anywhere other than on the cheek.”

“Wha-aat? Is that so?”

“Oh, what’s that ‘Wha-aat?'”

“Hehehe “

“What’s that ‘Hehehe’?”

“I swear his kissing is just as the rumors say.”

“Eh?… What’s that?! No way! No way!… Really?”

　Roman looked at me quizzically. I looked back at him with triumphant eyes. The next shriek he let out was the moment I knew I had won.

“What the hell?! You’re not gay! Come and switch places with me! I hate you! I’ll tell Paul about you!”

　It felt good to see his cheeks flushed with anger. It gave me a little relief. This was the kind of exhilaration that only a “competitive spirit and full of manly pride” could give me. I certainly have the qualities Harry mentioned, and I want to actively acknowledge that fact.

　What I learned from Harry that day was “honesty.” He acknowledges his gayness and his feelings. He doesn’t complicate his life, he just looks at himself honestly and expresses them.

　That adult, Harry Flanders, wanted to kiss me, and he did it. Even a kiss that melts my spine doesn’t mean much to me. There is only one “meaningful lip” for me. I kiss those lips that sometimes whisper love and sometimes spout insults.

　My name is Dean Kelly, a 28-year-old American male. My sexual preferences are currently unconfirmed. All I can say is that I love Paul, and I couldn’t disagree more than a sheet of toilet paper about that.

　Gay Paul loved me, a straight man, and I, a straight man, loved gay Paul. I could list all the contradictions in this sentence, but it’s not that important to do so. What’s important in my life is to kiss Paul. I can put the grammar errors out of my head. And another important thing in my life is not to easily follow what Roman says! I wrote the lesson I learned in exchange for a wonderful kiss in my mental notebook with a permanent marker. I learned “obedience,” but this is one thing I should be on alert for. Just because I trusted him, I was treated to expensive drinks at a nice bar, he complimented me on my ring, and I received a wonderful kiss. What’s wrong with that? It’s a bit of a hassle to find the errors in the sentence. I put this experience in my mental notebook and showed my hand to Roman.

“Do you know what this ring is? It’s a Roman coin called a shekel. So this is a currency that may have been in Christ’s hand… what do you think? Don’t you think that’s a romantic story?”

　Tonight, the back streets turn indigo blue again. The sun sets every day, even before the first century AD, and I think it’s a natural but romantic thing. The same goes for lovers. Tonight I kissed Paul again, and it’s a natural thing now, but I think it’s a very romantic thing.