The smell of good food enters your nose as you walk through the door. You walk past the young couple near the door looking at each other like they're trying to memorize each other's every feature. You see the old couple in the corner sharing a cappucino and a newspaper after having shared years together. There are still others laughing and carrying on. They're all sharing, all together. From your place at the counter, you are presented with so many choices. Soup or salad. Biscotti or bagel. White or wheat. But you forget all of these as a smiling man bumps into you. "Excuse me," he says with a red face and quivering voice. You smile and answer him shyly, "That's okay." Small talk ensues. Laughter follows. And a smile stays with you the whole time. You have yet to learn to hate each other.

"Are you here alone?"

I myself was rather young at the time, twenty-one, but he was younger than me. He was maybe a little naive, but a nice guy anyway. I remember when we first met. I remember when he first came back to my place. I remember having with him one of the best nights I had ever had with another man.

A couple of days later, we went to Birmingham together on an impromptu trip. We went shopping at the galleria then got a hotel room. We had planned a night of even more law-breaking festivities, but we didn't want to do it on an empty stomach. So we went to this little gay pub and restaurant on Birmingham's southside.

We were in the middle of our conversation before the bartender walked up to me and said, "There's a guy at the bar who wants me to ask you something."

"Okay."

"Are you here alone?"

I looked at my companion. We had yet to discuss our status. He had no reaction, so I said, "Sure. I'm alone."

He still had no reaction. A second later the bartender returned asking, "He wants to know if he can bring you a drink."

Still, my companion had no reaction.

"Sure," I replied.

I looked across the table. His eyes were glued to a nearby television. Then I looked to the bar. What I saw was this old, skinny, nasty man walking toward me with a drink in each hand. I deserve this, I thought. But he walked past me. Behind him I saw this stocky young man of average height. His hair was short and dark, matching the stubble on his face. He was unbelievably gorgeous. As we talked, my companion ceased to exist.

I remember the new guy and I decided to do something together. My companion had no objections. So I dropped him off back at the hotel and went out with the new guy.

I never thought about my old companion as the new guy took me to his place and eventually to his bedroom. I never thought about him until the next morning when I left the new guy's apartment to pick him up and take him home.

I use the excuse of "youthful indiscretions" to try and justify what I did that night. But it really came down to one thing. That new guy was just so damn hot. He had his own place. And, once again, he was hot. And in the mind of a twenty-one year old like I was, that was all that mattered.

"He's looking at you."

"He's looking at you," my lesbian friend whispered to me as loudly as she could above the thumping dance music engulfing the dance floor. I looked behind me and into the DJ booth. And sure enough, he was staring at me. I smiled and shook my ass before dipping to the floor. I could feel his eyes still one me. Then, at the beginning of the next song, he ran from his booth and turned me around. He planted his lips on mine. He tasted of stale cigarettes and lipstick. I didn't care. I kissed back. Hell, he was the DJ.

He was also one of the city's most revered and respected drag queens. We started dating, and that was quite an experience. He was in his mid thirties while I was just twenty-one at the time. To tell you the truth, I really wasn't attracted to him at all. I hate to admit it even now, but when I found out that he was interested in me, I just hung along for the ride.

He was a local celebrity and since I was with him, I was afforded all of his priviledges. Free drinks. Free meals. And I got to see the inner workings of the drag subculture.

But he wanted something in return, something I was trying to hold off giving for as long as I could. One night he was particularly aggressive. I held him at bay and eventually went away unscathed.

When I saw him the next day, he turned his back on me. The people at the bar treated me like a leper. He was focused on some other guy. I knew my gravy train was over. I mean, it was fun while it lasted, but I hated putting my hand on a manly leg and feeling panty hose. So I shrugged my shoulders and walked away. I remember his calling after me, knowing that his little game didn't work. I never saw him again.

These days I prefer to watch the action from at least a few yards from the stage. But I'll admit, he was a really good drag queen. He was one of the high-energy types. I remember he'd watch me while he was performing, always with a smile on those exaggerated red lips of his. People envied me. It was great. But it sure as hell wasn't worth giving myself to him.

"Meet my boyfriend."

"If you want to go out with me, just ask," I said to the could-be-attractive-after-a-few guy behind the counter. He smiled at me. It was crooked and not so pretty, but what the hell. I was young. Besides, everyone needs their share of dating horror stories.

We went out a couple of nights later. We had a quiet dinner where I discovered how utterly boring he was. We finished our meals and went back to his place. I remember sitting on his couch while he just stared at me. Then, as the cliché goes, one thing led to another...

It was the worst ten minutes of my life.

Afterward, he felt the need just to hold me. "I don't know what I'd do if I never met you," I heard him whisper from below. I got out of there as quickly and as tactlessly as I could.

He kept calling me. I kept avoiding him. Finally one night, we talked. "Why are you doing this to me?" he pleaded.

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"You're avoiding me."

"No I'm not."

"Then meet me tonight at the club." I had no answer. "Okay?"

"Okay." Dammit, I thought as I hung up the phone.

He was with a group that could loosley be described as friends when I met him that night. He smiled, ran to me, and kissed me. He pulled me over to his friends and and said, "Meet my boyfriend." He held my hand. I wanted to kill him.

We went to the dance floor together. I danced with some people I knew, but he kept butting in. Finally, I had enough. I pulled him outside into the parking lot.

He was all smiles. "What do you want, dear?"

That did it. "Look, I'm not your boyfriend, I'm not your dear and I don't even know if I want to be your friend."

He started crying. The little bitch started crying. "Why are you doing this to me? After that night? I love you. I just might kill myself without you."

I was finished, and half hoping that he'd do me the favor. I left him there in the parking lot that night. I never heard from him again, although I think I saw him at the club not too long ago. He had his hand down his pants while the strippers were on the floor. I tried not to laugh, but he wasn't worth the effort.

"Can I stay here tonight?"

I was in Minneapolis on business, but it turned out to be more pleasure. I had spent the previous nights getting hopelessly drunk and participating in late night nekkid adventures in our hotel swimming pool with others from out of town. Yes it was exciting, but believe it or not, there was something making me look forward to getting back to business each day.

He was a soft spoken young man who sat next to me in our class. We talked as much as we could and became pretty close. Then I invited him to a little get together some others were having in my hotel room. There would be much beer and little studying. He agreed.

He didn't touch the beer. But by the time things settled down, it was pretty late into the night. "Can I stay here tonight?" he asked.

I nodded. I had a king size bed. Plenty of room for the two of us. But I offered to sleep on the couch.

I watched him sleep that night and began noticing something I hadn't noticed before. He looked so damn cute in that aloof midwestern way.

Class was done the next day, so he, a Minneapolis native, and I planned one final hurrah.

I hadn't returned to Saint John's University since my forced departure years before. He was from near there, he told me. He offered to take me.

On our way through the back roads of rural Minnesota, he announced that he was taking me to his folks to get a bite to eat. They had celebrated one of his nephew's birthdays that day. I'll never forget pulling into the only driveway within miles to be greeted by a young boy, his nephew, running to the car. He picked his nephew up and twirled him around. They hugged. Then they proceeded to play catch. It seemed almost contrived. But it worked.

I met his parents, his sisters and their families, and his cousin. They were awesome. I ate a home cooked meal and just felt so welcome in their house. But even as his family kept pulling me aside to ask me about life in the South, I always kept an eye on him. Everything about him was just so damn perfect. His attitude. His personality. His family. And his future (he was studying to be a commercial pilot.)

By the end of dinner, I was "in love." I don't know with what. Maybe with him. Or maybe with that almost impossibly perfect image that I was presented with.

They invited me to visit again during the winter, and he promised to take me on one of his snow-mobiling excursions way out into the countryside. It was so perfect. Except for one thing. We lived a thousand miles away from each other.

We eventually got to campus. It was an emotional experience, but he just stood by me. We spoke very little while there, but that was okay. I didn't really feel like saying much. In fact, when I think about that night nowadays, I remember very few details about our actual visit to Saint John's. Just that I felt so complete just being with him, tempered with this sadness. I knew that night would it between us.

I flew back home the next day, thinking to myself what the hell was that? Who was this guy who in the space of a week had completely swept me off of my feet? We saw each other a few more times after, even taking a trip to Atlanta. But, I guess, things just didn't fall into place as perfectly as they did that night. But that's okay. The memories are good enough.

"We're heading out now."

There I was, in the city I love inside of a club that I was loving. I was surrounded by acres of fucking hot men, all bumping into me, cruising me, and making me feel years younger than twenty-seven.

I was at The Cuff in Seattle, standing next to the pulsating dance floor. I didn't expect much that night, I was there just to guage the nightlife of the Emerald City. The men were beautiful and plentiful. There was one guy near me who I was half keeping my eye on. I think he was doing the same to me.

Then, a young, HOT man walked past me. He kept his eyes on mine and ran his hand across my torso as he swept on by. I was thinking Wow. I like Seattle. I continued watching the dance floor and half-flirting with the other guy.

Then, before I knew what was going on, a reconizeable face was looking at me. It was the guy who had just walked past. His eyes were as high up as mine. He was draped in a grey t-shirt with indistinct lettering across the front. His hair was short, almost to a buzz. The smile across his olive complected face completed the picture.

"You want to dance?" he asked.

I couldn't refuse. In a second we were among the panting, sweating and glistening sea of men.

His name was Moine. It was Arabic, he said. I didn't care. His face, so close to mine, was just so beautiful. His body, which I ran my hands over freely was stocky but not too tight. He was in my hands. He was all mine. At least for the night.

We made our way to the outside porch where he ran into some friends. They spoke amongst themselves, looked at me and smiled, then talked a little more. When Moine went to the bar to get a drink, his buddy pulled me to the side and said, "You are so on that."

I was so on that. I wasn't stupid. I knew that if anything happened it would only be a one night stand. And I knew that a man as gorgeous as him probably had a man at home waiting for him. Then he mentioned his boyfriend right there in front of me. I wasn't surprised.

What did surprise me was that all the time this beautiful, young, tight man was in front of me, all I could think of was his boyfriend. I didn't want to be the other man.

I stood there at the dance floor alone watching the sea of men move with the beat. Then I felt two strong arms reach around me from behind. "We're leaving now." It was Moine.

I kind of looked back at him. "Okay."

"Yup. We're heading out."

I turned my head and looked straight back at him. "Well, I guess I'll see you around."

He slightly nodded his head. His lips touched my face before he turned to leave. I knew that I would never see him again.

Had I gone home with him, he would have been the hottest guy that I would have ever been with. And that would have made for some great storytelling. But now that I'm older, I'm not about gossiping (as much) or beating my chest anymore. Unfortunately, that usually leaves me beating something else. God, age and enlightenment suck.

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