Solcar - 8. Chelsea 2014 & Quinto 193012.23

“You’ll get it back over my dead body!” Why did sex have to complicate friendships as often as it did? “Yes, this is the same Colton you’ve shared a guy with so many times. Yes, the memories of tag teaming one or three of them still get me hard. No, not sharing this one.”

When my buddy had us over for dinner last week, I wasn’t expecting another push to get in bed with Tony and me. Then I discovered one of my man’s used jockstraps, with his name on the waistband, hanging behind the bathroom door. I walked back to the living room with the crusty jock in my hand and confronted him; he had the nerve to smile and admit he stole it from the gym’s locker room so he could smell it while he spanked the monkey.

“Yes, you’re still my BFF, but you’re not getting the jock back.” The sun was barely up, and I needed a drink. It was five o’clock somewhere, right? “Dude, we see each other at the gym every day; stop whining about not getting a shot at Tony; you sound like a fucking chick! ”

The gym is Working On Our Fitness, better known as WOOF, located on W 20th Street. An old building-materials warehouse underneath the High Line which my partners and I purchased and converted into a top-flight fitness center. They both have full-time jobs; I’m the gym’s general manager. We work our asses off to keep the place profitable; we borrowed a lot of money to start, and the loans will not pay themselves.

“You asshole! Just ‘cause I have a cat and a boyfriend I won’t share doesn’t mean I’m now a lesbian!” Guess I’ll settle for water since there would be plenty of rum tonight. “No, I am not wearing Birkenstock sandals; Lucchese Diamondback Snakeskin boots, if you must know…”

How the fuck is it the end of August already? We’re leaving for our last week on Fire Island after lunch, and this is supposed to be my packing time. Yet here I am, on the phone with my best friend, and he wants to have a long-assed conversation. I may be the blonde Mid-Westerner, but I’m ready to go all Brooklyn Italian in a minute. Oh hell, I might as well spill the beans. The interrogation won’t stop otherwise.

“Look, you can’t share this with anyone, but there’s been some bad shit going down.” He better be discrete about this; I don’t need the world knowing about the bodies. “Both Prime and WOOF were targeted by gangster wannabes demanding protection payments.”

I recount how Tony and I were visited by a distinguished-looking man claiming to represent a startup security company. They planned to establish operations in Chelsea and cater to the gay community. He talked about the recent series of break-ins and muggings in the neighborhood and how his company would provide technology and qualified personnel to ensure the safety of the premises, the customers, and the owners.

“The guy explained how his company would establish regular patrols by its security guards; they would act as a deterrent against threats by any individuals or groups.” The comment was nothing but a veiled warning. “He then explained payment would be expected in cash.”

Using the handless feature on the phone so I can finish my task, I share the information I was given about how most of the so-called guards were undocumented foreigners, and wages were therefore paid in currency. The men were hired as part of a service to the community; regular jobs would prevent them from turning to crime and becoming a menace to the area. Leaving behind a sheet with rates and contact data, the man promised to return in a week.

“After calling friends, we found out they had also been targeted. So we discussed our options and began to think of a response.” He recalled how Tony was ready to grab a shotgun and hunt the fucker down. “We agreed to call my stud muffins ‘connected’ uncle and ask for advice.”

A week later, the extortionist was surprised to find both of us at WOOF waiting. He ignored the older gentleman wearing a suit, who was cleaning his nails while leaning against the wall and looking out the large front window. That meant he missed the subtle signal, which caused the thug’s two goons waiting outside to be surrounded by several large individuals. The two were thrown into a waiting van and were never seen or heard from again.

“We invited him into my office and explained we would not require his services; we were quite happy with our current arrangements.” The idiot was probably not used to rejection. “Then he made the mistake of opening his jacket and showing us a gun.”

I heard the gasp on the other side of the phone connection while I recounted how it was over really fucking quick. My man threw a punch, and I twisted the asshole’s arm back hard enough to dislocate his shoulder. The gun clattered to the ground as blood spurted from the man’s broken nose. The hard kick to the groin was unnecessary, but who gives a fuck? When Tony’s uncle knocked on the door and walked in, our visitor was curled into a ball, mumbling about a misunderstanding.

“Still not quite sure how the creep could walk out on his own. He was bent over, limping, and holding his useless arm to his chest.” Fortunately, it was a slow time, so not many saw the show. “When he left, he was aware that if anything happened, his ass was grass.”

It probably sounded like a canned speech when I expressed my belief that, whether in the schoolyard or in the business world, bullying is still abuse. Sometimes you can walk away; other times, you have to take a stand. Violence is not always the answer, but if you try to fuck with me and what is mine, watch out. Knowing I was fighting to protect the man I love increased my motivation to get rid of the bully. Just because we’re gay boys, we will not run and hide.

“I have suffered enough losses to last me a thousand lives.” Fucking memories and the tears they bring. “Losing WOOF I could deal with; it’s just a business. But I’m terrified of losing Tony. I might as well die if I did.”

•••

“Solcar, High Lord of star cluster ΔΣΠ∞1907, you come before us accused of committing an act proscribed by the Council. Engaging in an illicit liaison with a Canis Lupus Kittean named Winged Wolf, a native of the fourth planet orbiting star AC732. The Council will hear from you at this time. A verdict, and sentence if necessary, will be adjudicated at the conclusion of your remarks.”

“Pater, Fater, my Lords, over millennia, we have watched over this universe and the life forms which have evolved in many of its environments. Some of us have been chosen to nurture our young; some to study the workings of our realm. And some of us have been chosen to serve on the High Council as Star Cluster Guardians or as members of the Supreme Circle. We have remained content to accept the choices imposed upon us by our predecessors and not to deviate from the path selected for us.”

“The same blind adherence to established traditions has enveloped our reproductive process. We look with disdain at those races where two or more individuals of different genders must come together to reproduce. Our merging of two alike entities to generate a new spark is deemed superior.

“I refuse to remain on the indicated lane. I will continue my exploration of new worlds, new civilizations, and new experiences. I view my actions not as a crime but as an act of civil disobedience, one I hope will make us question our rigid ways. Under current rules, I am guilty, and you may proceed to sentence me. But I do not in any way regret my actions. It is not something I wish to engage in again; once was enough to satisfy my curiosity. I admit it. I had sex with that female.”