It’s the summer of 1953. A couple months ago I turned 18. A couple weeks ago I graduated from High School. First one in my family to ever do that. I was class valedictorian too. So now I’m in an old model-A heading to Los Angeles California. I couldn’t have afforded even an old used car like this one if my Dad hadn’t helped me out. Said to think of it as a graduation present.
So my cousin has been in Los Angeles for about 3 years. He sent a letter telling me he could get me a job with the pool maintenance company he works for. Guess everybody in Los Angeles owns a swimming pool. The money is better than I could make back home and according to Tom (my cousin) the company provides scholarships for their employees. Imagine that. I might actually get to go to college. So that’s why I’m heading to L.A.
Anyway, I’m going through a tiny town in the middle of the Mojave desert and the engine starts knocking , and with my foot on the accelerator the car is barely crawling along. I’m in luck. There’s a gas station only a block and a half from where the old car finally gives up the ghost. I put it in neutral and with one hand on the wheel I start pushing. From out of nowhere a couple of the locals show up to help me. We get the car into the gas station lot.
The mechanic comes out and directs us to push it into the garage. He’s a tall man, with broad shoulders and a handsome, grease stained face. The name on his overall says Jake. For the next 15 minutes he looks under the hood, crawls under the car and finally comes up with a verdict. “I’m afraid you’re going to need a kibopple and a whizzerkabob. And you’ll likely also need a fizappermeter.” Anyway that’s what it sounds like to me. I don’t know a carburetor from a radiator. But it sounds expensive.
“I don’t think I can afford to fix it.” I say, “I don’t suppose you’d want to buy it, maybe for parts?” I say, hoping I might get enough for a bus ticket so I can finish my journey.
“Don’t worry about the cost of repairs,” he says, “We’ll work something out. But I won’t be able to have it for you ‘til tomorrow afternoon. Maybe the next day. Depends on how hard a time I have finding the parts.”
I ask, “Is there a cheap place to stay around here?”
“The Oasis Motel across the street is as cheap as you’re going to find and the rooms aren’t as bad as you’d think looking at it from the outside. Tell Jenny in the office that I said to give you the small room.”
“The small room?”
“Yeah, somehow when the place got built they wound up with one room that’s almost half the size of the rest. So they rent it cheaper. So tell her I said to give you the small room. And when you want something to eat, the diner 2 blocks down is good. Just stay away from the roast. They always over cook the roast.”
I thank him, grab my suitcase from the car, and walk across the street to the Oasis Motel, where I do get the small room. It is small for a motel room but my bedroom at home was smaller. The double bed has a firm comfortable mattress. There is a small dresser with an ice bucket, a bottle opener, and a radio on top. The radio doesn’t work. At least the room has it’s own bathroom. It’s not much, a toilet, small sink, and very narrow shower. It’s summer and I’m in the middle of the desert. There is a fan in the room but of course, like my Mom says, it just moves the hot air around. I take a shower to cool off. After I dry myself I lay down naked on top of the bed. I close my eyes and drift off to sleep.
I am startled awake when someone knocks on my door. I realize I am still naked, so I throw on a robe before I open the door to see who it is. It’s Jake the mechanic. He’s not in overalls now. It’s a t-shirt and blue jeans. He holds up his hands and he’s holding up two beers in each hand. “I thought,” he says, “that with this warm weather you might appreciate a cold beer.”
“Sure, come on in.” I say. He goes over to the dresser, puts two of the beers in the ice bucket. Reaches into his back pocket pulls out a bottle of baby oil and sets it on the dresser. He uses the bottle opener to open the other two bottles of beer and hands me one.
There are no chairs in this room. Not enough space. So I sit on one end of the bed and pointing at the other end invite him to sit down. He sits, not on the end of the bed but towards the middle. I feel a little uncomfortable with him so close and me wearing just a robe with nothing underneath. But what can I say or do that wouldn’t seem rude. He says “Nothing like a cold beer on a hot day.” and he puts the bottle to his lips, tips it up and takes a couple gulps. I’ve only had beer a couple times before but I try to look like I drink it all the time. So we sit there sipping our beers until the bottles are empty.
He says “I’ve been thinking about the repair bill on your car.”
I remember he had said we’d work something out, so I say, “I’m going to have a good job when I get to L.A. I can probably send you the money in just a few weeks.”
“That’s one way we could do it,” he says, and he slides over closer to me on the bed, “but I was thinking that you and I might become friends, very good friends.” and now he reaches across and grips my leg above the knee. “and for such a good friend,” he says “ I would do repairs like these as a favor.”
I can hardly believe it. This man, I admit to myself this very handsome man, seems to be propositioning me. I say “I don’t think that would be appropriate.”
He asks “Have you ever kissed a man?”
“Of course not.” I reply.
“I’ll tell you what,” he says gripping my leg harder, “I’m going to kiss you and if you don’t like it I’ll forget all about it and you can pay for the repairs when you’re able.”
I start to say no to this but before a word has left my mouth his mouth is covering mine and his tongue forces it’s way past my lips. I try to pull away but his one hand is firmly gripped on my leg and the other is at the back of my head holding it in place.
He takes his time. The kiss is long and thorough. I think he enjoys my attempts to squirm free of it. And when he finally finishes the kiss he looks at me and asks, “So, did you like that?”
I say “No.”
“Well,” he says, “you may say you didn’t like the kiss but that says you did.” and he looks down between my legs at my fully erect manhood which is not even partly covered by my robe.
The words homo and queer flash into my mind and tears come to my eyes from the humiliation of being confronted with evidence of my perversion. And then he is kissing the tears from my cheeks and saying “It’s alright. It’s okay for you to feel what you’re feeling and it’s okay for you to enjoy doing what we’re about to do. It doesn’t make you any less of a man. Think about history,” he says, “the Spartans, best soldiers ever, and every man jack of them was queer as a three dollar bill.”
That last bit actually makes me smile. The sports teams for my high school were called the Spartans.
Then his lips are on mine again, gentler this time. Once again I feel his tongue pressing at my lips. This time he doesn’t force his tongue into my mouth. This time I open my lips to let it pass. I feel his hand on my manhood and I should be resisting. Resisting the kiss. Resisting the caress. But I don’t. I don’t resist. I welcome them both and I respond. It’s no longer him kissing me. It’s us kissing each other.
Between kisses I hear him saying. “Where did I put that baby oil?”
“Dresser?” I say.
