The Johnathan Mones men's choir and saxophone version of "Steal Away" was working just fine. The Savannah Gay Men's Choir had some excellent voices in it and the black hunk, Jamie, who was accompanying on the soprano sax was as accomplished as he was handsome. I was one of the youngest one who showed up that night to sing in the choir for the first time, drawn because the director, Erik Switzer, had told me about this saxophone and choir composition, and the saxophonist was giving me chills by turning his eyes to me frequently and smiling and nodding. He made me feel like we were the only two men in the rehearsal hall.
The invitation had come two days earlier when Erik had picked me up at the airport and driven me to the very nice one-bedroom apartment on East Jones Street, within the pocket park section of the old city that I was being provided as a part of the six-month sabbatical stipend with the music department of the Savannah State University. Despite only being twenty-three, I'd already put in a year teaching music composition and both choral and instrumental performance at the Shenandoah Conservatory in Winchester, Virginia. I had been somewhat of a child prodigy, graduating from high school at fifteen and finishing both a BA and a masters at Shenandoah by the time I was twenty-one and being invited to stay there to teach after taking my degrees. Like most of partial Asian descent--despite my Western name, Neal Gordon, I was half, the mother half, Korean--my parents had pushed me hard academically. This had worked out in launching me into a desired career, but it had stunted my socialization, so that when I discovered I was gay, it helped making me a pushover for older men. There were plenty of men interested in the experience of doing an Asian.
It had made me easy prey for the mixed German and American black music conductor and professor at Savannah State University, Erik Switzer, when he'd come for a semester sabbatical at Shenandoah. After he had pursued, seduced, and bedded me, he arranged this semester sabbatical of my own to his university, a traditionally black southern university, to have a chance to compose something significant myself. I had come down here with no idea yet what that would be, but I was counting on inspiration to hit early in my sabbatical down here. This evening, hearing how well the choir and saxophone fit together, my mind was spinning on the possibility to pursue that combination. It was quite unusual. If I managed it, it would undoubtedly take notice--I just would have to gamble on it being good rather than bad notice.
The one thing I wanted to do in this six months of sabbatical was to do something different--and risky--both in music and in my personal life. The first thing Erik Switzer did in bring me from the airport into old Savannah to a fine one-bedroom apartment in a renovated vintage townhouse where all of the other units were stores or offices and that was provided at heavy discount by a college alumnus was to make the bedroom the last stop in the inspection of the apartment and to fuck me in a close-embrace missionary on the bed. That wasn't new and different. He'd done the same in Winchester, professing to be fascinated that I was half Korean, as he was half black, and so young--and, he said, had so much musical talent. But I thought that, with luck, there would be other presentable men in Savannah who would be more of a risk. Erik was a handsome man, but he was beefy and quite a bit older than I was.
When he invited me to join his gay men's choir, I saw this as a start for a six-month breather with some spice and excitement in it. I was given hope when I made eye contact with the black saxophonist. I'd never done fully black before, as Jamie obviously was, dreadlocks and all. I'd heard the legend that black men were specially endowed. Jamie was endowed with very good looks and youth as a start. It might be fun to know what other endowments he had the right to be proud of.
* * * *
"So, how did I do?" I turned at the sound of the voice. The black saxophonist, Jamie. The gay men's chorus had practiced in the sanctuary of an old church in the historic area of the city, refreshments had been laid on for us in the fellowship hall afterward. Erik had brought me, but he was being swamped with questions and comments from the choir members after the practice, so it would be a while before we could take off. I was confident that he planned to spend the night at my apartment.
You do great in everything I can see, I wanted to answer to the young black saxophonist who had come to me by the refreshment table. I wasn't that forward--or hopeful, though. "You play a sweet sax as far as I can determine," I answer.
"Switzer tells me you are a music master on sabbatical at the university, so I was very interested in what you thought of my playing."
"You are the best I've heard," I said. He obviously was happy with that.
"I could hear your tenor voice coming through," he said. "You have a great voice," he added, returning the compliment. "So, what is your emphasis--voice or instruments?"
"Composition," I said, "for either or the two combined, as we're doing here. I have time down here to try to compose something unusual. Hearing the men's choir put together with the saxophone has given me inspiration."
"I'm glad to be inspirational for you."
"Inspirational in more ways than the saxophone," I said, pushing the envelope. The man was a real hunk. I gave him the look that all active gay men recognized. I had no idea if he was active or not--or a top or bottom, if he was active. I saw no reason not to take a chance, though. I had come to Savannah to take some chances.
He caught the ball. "This is a gay men's chorus," he said, "and you are singing in it. Can I hope that you are--"
"Yes, I am. A submissive," I added to pin it down.
"This is the South. I'm black. Does that... have you ever?"
"I never have but have been looking forward to it. And I am half Korean. That sometimes is as much an impediment in the South as being black might be."
"I can't see that it would be anything but intriguing. Can I give you ride home from the rehearsal, or do you have your own transport?" Was that a direct proposition, I wondered.
"I don't have a car--at least yet. I came with Erik, but he looks like he's going to be busy for some time. If you are planning to leave soon--"
"I can leave right now. My car is a couple of blocks away. You could tell Switzer you're leaving while I get the car and I could pick you up in the front of the church."
"It sounds like a plan." It actually sounded like a very good plan, maybe one he had cleverly devised. Erik was less likely to ask that I not accept the man's offer if he had already left to fetch his car and would be idling at the curb.
Erik wasn't pleased that I wasn't leaving with him, but he, indeed, was being swamped with choir questions and business, so there wasn't much for him to say. He knew too that he was my mentor here in Savannah, and he had six months of coverage with me.
I went out to the steps in front of the church to wait for Jamie to bring his car around. There was some sort of warehouse across the street, with big trucks arriving, even this late in the evening, and unloading goods. A couple of truck drivers had come out of their cabs and were standing around and talking as the trucks were being unloaded. The men looked like rough-and-tumble, meaty hunks from where I stood, and I felt myself stirring. These were men from an entirely different world than the safe, refined music world I had been steeped in, and they fascinated me. With the intent of a freer, riskier life I had come to Savannah with, I'd been ruminating on the possibility of discovering men like this. If I found it was something I didn't like or couldn't handle, I'd be returning to my own world in northern Virginia in a few months anyway.
Jamie didn't drive me directly back to my apartment. With my enthusiastic acquiescence, we went to a jazz bar, the Good Times Jazz Bar, not far from my apartment, where we had a couple of drinks, listened to some live jazz, and engaged in a bit of conversation after he'd been called up on the stage and had played some smooth, haunting music with his saxophone. Jamie obviously was a well-known and welcome musician in downtown Savannah. It was making me very comfortable--and mellow.
"The jazz seems to be smoother, more romantic and introspective here in Savannah than where I've heard it before," I said when he'd returned to our table.
"Each region and city serves up jazz a bit differently from others," Jamie said. "The personality, history, and experience of the city or region is folded into their music. You'll hear it in their jazz. Savannah is deeply embedded in my music. Yes, introspective and classic in Savannah. And, I hope to think that the music I produce is romantic. That's just me, a romantic." He was looking deep into my eyes and gliding my fingers over the forearm I had leaning on the top of the table between us. "Are you ready for me to drive you home now?"
"Yes," I said, feeling myself panting at what was to come. I had no question that he'd propositioned me--or that he understood that I'd said yes.
"You know, I never thought about it before but I'm finding I'm thinking about it now," he said before we got up to leave.
"Thought about what?" I asked.
"Making love to a Korean."
