The Last Time

The Last Time

The sun was setting, the shadows from the buildings of old New York were long and the stone supports of the iconic bridge were showing a darker gray against the backdrop of lower Manhattan. I nursed the bourbon in my glass, my second, just adequate to bring on the nostalgia but not enough to usher in the depression I felt on this day every year. This year I acknowledged a milestone anniversary, five years since my world was shattered and I was destined to have a hole in my heart and carry the burden of guilt and loss for the rest of my days.

Gabriel and I sat on this rooftop terrace five years ago, sharing a drink while watching the afternoon slowly turn into evening. It had been a wonderful weekend, Friday night dinner in the Village and going to a club in Soho until early morning. We went to his apartment in Brooklyn for a hot night of love and sex that lasted until almost dawn. Gabe was not a one-night stand but not what would be considered a "significant other" either. We were close, shared common likes and dislikes, as well as quite a few experiences, close friends with benefits might best describe our relationship at the time. We talked about everything, well almost everything, and he was a confidant who I loved and vice-versa. Perhaps both of us were frightened about life and what was in store for us during the inevitable difficult times that await everyone as they get older and become true adults, whatever that means, and when we talked there were obviously some things that we considered taboo for some reason. Weakness, pain and fear were off limits.

When we entered his 14

th

floor apartment that Friday night, half studio and half comfortable bachelor pad with a large living room terrace that faced lower Manhattan, we kissed and immediately walked to the terrace to look at the lights and the outline of the bridges crossing the East River, my favorite view. Gabe always humored me and gave me some time to take it in, most times with a glass of wine that he brought to me with a hug and a kiss. This night was no different and after a short time looking at the night sky and the skyline, we moved to the bedroom.

Gabe's bedroom had a large window that he never covered at night, and we usually made love with the lights from distant buildings providing the only light in the room. Gabe was a good lover, flexible and caring, but he could get into being a little rough on occasion if that was the mood that we were in at the time. This night was not like that, and I wanted tenderness which he easily provided since that was his nature. He gave me a nice massage with warm oil, hot kisses, strong hands and fingers in all the right places. When he lifted my knees to his shoulders and leaned into me with the head of his hard cock just beginning to enter my anus, I was shivering with anticipation and desire. Every inch of slow penetration brought new sensations that had me clawing his back with frenzied desire. He had tremendous willpower and timed his movements to keep us both on the edge while letting the pressure build for the final release which was normally preceded by my begging him to let me cum before I exploded. Hot semen shot onto my stomach and chest to be rubbed onto his body as well, while he filled my bowels with the pulsing jets of his orgasm.

We slept until early afternoon the next day before getting up to shower and have breakfast on his terrace. He was never the same person in the morning as he was the night before, something I could never quite understand but now I know that this still river of his inner self ran deep and concealed a lot in its depths. I worked hard to brighten up the day and with some silly shit to talk about and some upbeat music, he always perked up.

After wandering the streets and browsing the small shops, we met some other people for dinner and drinks, ending the evening with an old film in an arthouse movie theater in the Village. The film was of a class aptly described as so bad it became a cult classic and allowed for a long analysis over beer in a local bar that had everyone laughing until tears flowed. Could the day have been better? I guess so, something failed us.

We arrived at Gabe's apartment that night and I went to the terrace to breathe in the night air and within a few minutes he came out with two glasses of Bailey's over ice and sat down look out over the skyline. I took a few small sips and looked into his eyes as the city lights reflected from the dark pupils. He smiled at me and I melted. Slowly I moved the breakfast table back a little and placed my glass down before getting on my knees in front of him and undoing his zipper, slipping his pants down to expose his growing erection. Gently I took its head into my mouth and sucked lightly before moving down as it grew in my mouth.

When it reached its full length I took it down my throat and moved up and down, filling my mouth with hot saliva to keep it hot and wet. Gabe closed his eyes, and I heard soft moans escape from his mouth while he whispered soft encouragement. He eventually held the sides of my head and moved it up and down to suit the tempo that he wanted, ultimately pulling my head down and holding it still while he filled my mouth with his hot semen that I struggled to swallow without coughing it out.

Gabe looked down at me and smiled, telling me how wonderful he felt to have me with him to enjoy these moments. We slowly finished our drinks and shared a kiss before going to his bedroom where he reciprocated for the oral sex I performed on him earlier. I was totally satisfied and genuinely happy to be with him.

Sunday was a quiet day. We had a homemade brunch with scrambled eggs and fresh croissants, accentuated with chilled mimosas, followed by the New York Times on the terrace. Gabe was quiet again, but it was different this time. He seemed really preoccupied and when I asked him about it he said he was thinking about some new ideas he had for a project and apologized for drifting off. I accepted his explanation since I knew how artists can get when they are in the process of creating. I enjoy watching the creative process at work, but I will be the first to admit that I do not understand the toll creativity takes on the artist.

After a relaxing afternoon we had a shower and decided on a drink at a rooftop bar near the Brooklyn Bridge and a casual dinner at one of the local outdoor bistros before I headed home to my apartment on the upper west side. We were pretty well talked out from the weekend but the quiet conversation we did have was not strained or uncomfortable, more akin to something between people who were at ease with each other. I cared for Gabriel and I felt that he cared for me. He never told me that he loved me and for that matter I never told him. I took it for granted and accepted his physical cues as evidence of his love and assumed that he did the same. Was this stupid or simply naïve, I don't know. Would it have made a difference, I think not. Would I change it if I could? Undeniably, yes.

The call from his sister came at 3:17am Monday morning. His broken body was found on the sidewalk next to his building where he had dropped in the early hours of the morning. There was a two word note to me in his apartment that simply said, "I'm sorry." What the fuck?

Five years ago I sat looking at this view, happy, enjoying life with someone who I loved and who I thought loved me. Would life ever be the same? No. Will I ever fully understand what went on in Gabe's mind that night? No. Do I wish he would have said something to me? Yes. The point of all this is to recognize something that creeps into your soul in the darkness, something that is impossible to understand and to know with any certainty.

When is the last time that you will see someone, or share an experience? So much is taken for granted that should not be. "See you tomorrow."

"Let's meet on Friday for a drink," even "Good night." When I kissed Gabe goodbye that Sunday night five years ago, I told him I would call the next day and see him the following Friday, and he agreed. He told me that he enjoyed the weekend and would miss having me next to him in bed but what happened after that? If I knew that this was the last time that I would see him, the last time that I would kiss him, the last time that I would hear his voice, would I have done anything differently? Maybe, but what?

There are many last times in life and perhaps it is better that we don't know when we are experiencing one. What would you do if you realized that the very moment you were experiencing was the last one of its kind in your life? I believe it would drive a sane person mad so maybe it is better to not know and just live with regret. I wonder.