...-J BY MICHAEL C. ALBERO ighing deeply, I briefly rested my hands on my head and began to slide my fingers through a mane of filthy, blonde hair. It was my first ’ break in several hours, as I had been diligently writing my end of semester evaluations and, conse- quently, slowly venturing into the world of academic insanity. Clos- ing my eyes, I attempted to con- jure soothing thoughts of rivers, springtime flowers, a clove soar- ing in flight and a winter night in front of a warm, crackling fire with a loved one. However, the furi- ous sounds of car horns and the perpetual screams of intoxicated youths shattered my reverie, and I once again opened my eyes to stare at the harsh glare of my com- puter screen. After several more halfhearted ventures at work, I closed the word processing docu- ment and signed onto America Online, with the sole purpose of checking my e—mail account. Yet, realizing I would be returning home to Virginia in a week, I de- _ cided to enter the state’s gay chat room and attempt to renew some of my old associations. Upon en- tering the room, I was immedi- ately inundated with instant mes- sages from horny, older men, each desiring a ”midnight rendez- vous.” Laughing to myself at their desperation, I quickly deleted each chat request and was about to sign—off and return to work when I received another message from a seventeen year-old yearn- ing to converse. After introduc- ing ourselves, Peter quickly re- vealed that he was having trouble dealing with his strong desires for men and, being ”the only gay teenager in Virginia," he planned to commit suicide. Startled, I could not respond and silently stared at the computer screen; memories of my ”coming out" experience rushing into my mind like an unchecked river. Much like Peter, my search for an organiza- tion such as OutRight, or a gay role model had proved fruitless, and I was forced to suffer the con- sequences. Although it has been almost a year, the events of that Saturday in early March, when I finally ad- mitted to my sexual preference, are never too far from the surface of my memory. The day was un- seasonably warm and a glorious sun filled the sky, a welcome change from the rain, which had bombarded the area throughout the preceding week. Having awakened in the same bed I had occupied since early childhood, I was somewhat surprised that I did not feel any pain from having my wisdom teeth removed the previ- ous day. Wiggling my tongue, I began to tentatively explore my mouth and the peculiar stitches before beginning the arduous pro- cedure of dressing for my first ”real” date with Christian, whom I had met earlier in the week dur- ing my first excursion to a gay bar. Tall and slender, with deep blue eyes that reminded me of an ocean's abyss, and extremely short, black hair, Christian had immediately enchanted me with his knowledge of French philoso- phy and European literature. Al- though thirty-two years old, he appeared at least five years younger and conversed about popular culture with great ease. At first I thought it was strange to have so much in common with a man who was almost twice my age, but eventually I found the fact exciting. Almost instantaneously I trusted Christian, and when the bar closed, I found myself need- ing to see him again. When he agreed to meet me at a local cof- fee shop later in the week, a feel- ing of exhilaration coursed through my body, like water spill- ing from a pitcher into an empty, awaiting glass. Throughout the week I suffered from a deluge of emotions: nervousness, sadness, joy, and anticipation. However, upon leaving the coffee house af- ter consenting to Christian's proposition of a Saturday meeting, the complex emotions dissolved and, I was left with a single senti- ment—— an overwhelming desire. Seating myself in the candlelight at Christian's dining room table in a beautiful house located in the artists’ quarter of town, I found myself famished in me and eagerly awaiting the gourmet Italian meal he had been prepar- ing for over an hour. The day had passed extremely quickly, but I could not recall ever having expe- rienced such an enjoyable time shopping at the mall and just driv- ing around the beach in Christian's beautiful fire—red Cor- vette. Not wanting the day to end, I had called my parents and re- layed a false story about spending the night with a friend, shortly af- ter Christian's offer to cook. The food was delicious, complete with sweet tasting strawberry daiquiris and a lus- cious atmosphere, made even more exquisite with the romantic sounds of Celine Dion singing in French. After helping Christian wash the dishes, and preparing another batch of drinks loaded with liquor, we adjourned to the candle lit living room. Soon after, Christian retreated to his bed- room, and almost immediately the Romeo and Juliet soundtrack be- gan to play with Garbage’s song ”#1 Crush,” echoing throughout the residence. Feeling the desire to dance, I arose from the couch in search of Christian. Meeting him at the entrance to the bed- room, our eyes locked and an in- stant message was transmitted be- tween our bodies. Perhaps it was the alcohol, but I gently graspedi his hand and allowed myself to be led in the direction of a welcom- ing bed, where I would relinquish my virginity. Waking up the next morn- ing, I remained in a groggy state for several minutes trying to re- member where I was and figure out why my butt was throbbing. Futilely I searched my memory, slowly transgressing into a more lucid state. Suddenly, I heard soft moans and a groaning coming from somewhere behind my back, as pieces of the previous evening flooded into my memory like a rushing waterfall. Attempting to roll over, I met with resistance as Christian's body was firmly pressed against mine, forcing me to remain in my original position, VOICES, p6 OUT IN THE MOUNTAINS — FEBRUARY 1998 — 5 * I 9/ Seafood and Steak Tavern LUDLOW'S PREMIERE DINNER HOUSE Route 103 ' Ludlow, Vermont 0 802-2%-5622 Visit Our Web Page: http:/ /www.sover.net/' ~seafo0d1 Fnesn Saxrooo. Luucnes, Dmueas, SPECIALTY Fooos. 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