Tango

Excerpt from Tango:

There's nothing like the presences of masculinity. In a society where it's forbidden to like the same sex, sub-culturally, sensuality and sexuality dominates the Black SGL (Same Gender Lover) community. Sexual prowls of older men towards younger men and vice verse, have become the new method of communication. I never would have thought I would be uncomfortable, nervous, and anxious discussing the tango of courtship. Yet, this observation was all too familiar.

The air smelled of Autumn as the sound of leaves crunched underneath my feet. Swirls of wind nip at my exposed flesh. A shiver causes me to shove my hands deep inside my coat pockets, while swiftly walking towards the end of the long CTA Blue Line platform. Hat, scarf, hoodie, and an Italian wool and cashmere coat shields my body against the war of the winds. With lips chapped and eyes squinted, I waited for the arrival of the train. The conversation of two gentlemen sitting on a nearby bench catches my attention. Both are black, one is obviously older than the other.

The youngster was about 5'8, 150lbs, dark-brown complexion with an athletic built. His hair was nicely faded, accompanied by business casual attire: a black tailored quarter length trench coat, a barely visible dark-colored sweater, fitted black slacks, and black loafers. A pair of designer eyeglasses completed his look. The older was a little bit stockier, about 6'1, 180lbs, golden-brown complexion with an athletic built. He sported a freshly lined faded haircut, accompanied by a more business professional attire: a light-colored shirt with tie, black blazer, a black full-length trench coat, black slacks, black loafers, complete with a blue messenger bag.

It was clear the infatuation was there. The vulnerability of body language exposed the inexperienced youngster. Instantaneously, I saw myself in the young man's shoes, nervously trying to conjure up conversation to subside my anxiousness. It's weird staring at your own reflection.

There are two entries into the train car, dissecting the car into three sections: front, middle, and back. The second entry to the first car of the train pulled up directly in front of us, allowing us to get on. The gentlemen proceeds to the left of the entry way to sit in two sets of seats towards the back of the train car. One set, the youngster sat in facing the set of seats directly across from him. Another set, the older sat in facing the set of seats of the youngster. When the train moved, the youngster traveled sideways, and the older in the direction of travel.  I sat in adjacent seats facing them both in the middle section, separated by the second entry way of the train car. In the direction of travel, I was facing backwards.

Public places makes it very hard for SGLs to date, let alone court each other. This leaves us to develop a secret method of communication: the classic cell phone display.

When two SGLs have spotted one another in a crowded public place, one or both parties would dial their number on their phones, hold their phones in a position that is seclusive to one another, and pause long enough to allow each party time to input and save the number for an immediate call following. This display of courtship is one of the safest and easiest ways to obtain a number.

The opportunity for connection lapsed each time the youngster slid his phone from his left coat pocket to his hands, or from his left thigh to his pocket. The older would glance over only to be disappointed. At unexpected times, the older's eyes would trace the youngster's body.

The younger leaned against the back of his seat and closed this eyes. Locking his ankles, he pressed his hands in-between his thighs and squeezed them together.

Pulsation of his thighs provided warmth to his hands, not to mention, injection to his fatty. The curves of his ass salivated my mouth. As he inhaled and exhaled, his chest rose like homemade biscuits, and fell like melting butter. I suspected his body was to die for: dark-brown pecs with nipples of brown sugar, towering over a set of six-pack abs. Sports trunks snug his lean 32" waist, carving an imprint of his meat.  His thighs inviting, tempted me. I was mesmerized by the youngster's temple and could not stop staring. Yet, my imagination was paused by an abrupt stop of the train. I glanced around to see if anyone noticed. Convinced no one had, I proceeded. With each bowing of the older's head, opportunity provided the youngster with a much needed overview of his body.

The opening of the older's legs occupied both seats. I could imagine the massiveness of his sleeping flesh. As my eyes traced his body, his hands took me hostage. Thick, long, manicured golden-brown fingers rest upon his knees. Pulling out Carmex from his left coat pocket, he emerged his left index finger deep into it's gooey core. Subconsciously replacing his finger with mines, I caressed his top lip and pressed against his bottom.

The infatuation intensified with each visual intake. Replacing his Carmex, he opened his coat and dug into his right breast pocket. It was exposed. The top three buttons of his dress shirt were unfastened, revealing small strands of hair resting against the dissection of his chest. My erogenous zone. Hesitant to leave, my eyes travel to his, and fainted. Piercing hazel-brown with long curled eyelashes stared back at me; darting to the right, then back at me; to the right again, then to the ringing phone he took out his breast pocket. Startled, the youngster opened his eyes and leaned forward towards the floor, turning his head towards the older to listen. Moments later, the older asked the youngster for help with sending a text from his phone.

Word bubbles congest my brain shoving desperation and absentmindedness forward. I fought hard to burst them all. The youngster typed and sent the text, returning the phone back to its owner. Unrehearsed, they both glanced my way causing my head to turn towards the window. I could feel their eyes cutting through me. Surprisingly, they continued to stare. Squinting, I zoned in on their mirrored reflections.

The train came to a halt allowing more passengers on and off. I continued to watch. At one point, I started to allow the thought of them being friends or relatives to prove itself, but quickly changed my mind at relative. Approaching my stop, I stood up and moved towards the exit getting a nice close up of my study. The expression on their face caused me to quickly turn my head. The train stopped and the doors opened allowing me to escape. I stepped out and onto the platform heading towards the stairs.

More stares followed. Ascending the last flight of stairs, I became desperate to know if things would go all the way. I wanted to know if they were going to fuck.

"Damn!" I shouted.

I exit the train station headed towards school.

"Is the Thompson Center this way?"

Turning towards the direction of the question, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror.