Happy Ending 2:3 – The Ball – August 2013

Jerome Apolda - ColumnistHis lips lingered, tantalizing. We were but one; intrinsically linked by the softness of our flesh pressed against each other. His lips embraced mine and my lips welcoming his in a surge of passion. We couldn’t stop, severing the connecting was unthinkable. It seems as though it was a lifeline, a thread bringing us home, bringing us together, closer, closer, closer…

I grabbed him tighter, lifted him up and brought him into the bedroom. What followed was firework. Lost in his gaze, I felt like I was floating, made of pure light and literally levitating with happiness. Our bodies became one, transcending physical boundaries and reimagining the very construct of reality. We weren’t making love, we weren’t having sex; it was a symbiosis of souls, of minds, of flesh. It was indescribable. And as we climaxed, eyes burying into each other’s, I glimpsed at Eternity…

I never asked him why he came back and he never explained. Everything was the way it was supposed to be. He was here with me and that was all that mattered. He moved in that day, that bright March afternoon, some five months ago. And we have not been apart since…

I would have called this wishy-washy nonsense before, I would have rolled my eyes, growled vomiting sounds; I would have most probably left the room if I had had to witness our complete and utter adorableness together. It would have made me sick to my stomach. But I’m not the one standing on the outside this time round; I am the one being all lovey-dovey and I’m loving it. We walk hand in hand, we share everything, he sits on my lap while I stroke his hair and we laugh, almost in unison. It is gooiness at its worst, yet I can’t help myself. I’m so giddy (Who has ever thought I would use the word giddy?) with elation I can barely contain myself. If this were a musical, I would spend my days dancing in the streets surrounded by little critters while jazz-handing it Chicago Style. I didn’t know it could get any better until it did…

Last week we attended an all-men’s choir performance. Most of my friends were there, some actually singing on stage. It was a show tune extravaganza and I couldn’t have been more exited. (I realize that I’ve tried my very hardest through the years in this column to deconstruct stereotypes about us gays but when it comes to musicals, I am at lost: I’m gay and I love musicals, full stop.)

The last song of the night was ‘You’re a lady’.

Now the evening has come to a close. And I’ve had my last dance with you…

I went to grab his arm but he wasn’t there. I looked around, I couldn’t see him anywhere. Suddenly the back curtains opened and the singers stepped aside. It was him, microphone in hand: majestic, resplendent; he started singing. You’re a man, I’m a man; you’re supposed to understand. […]You’re pure magic, unlock my chain. Nothing ventured, nothing gained. So I say with no restraint, be mine, be mine… As the choir was doing its lalalas, he walked slowly towards me. As he kneeled, I gasped, I’d never been such a girl! He presented me with a ring and with the most luminous grin asked me to marry him. I nodded, unable to utter a single word. He put the ring on my finger and kissed me; I didn’t know such happiness was possible… And then, we waltzed under the applause of the assistance and the joyous sound of the choir…

 

To be Continued…

Click here for Part Trois

Written by Jeronimo

This is nothing more than the witty rumblings of a Fairy (Capital F) who tells it like it is...Erm, thinks it is... or well, just dreams it. After escaping the evil grip of abismal Moscow (where the saga started - see the GULAg episodes), our Fairy found himself in the...
Read more