I go for long periods without writing anything at all. I like to say to myself that I’m too busy living life, which may very well be the truth. I say that, and then something happens, inspires me, makes my surroundings so inadequate that I have to work with the joy, pain, or often a mixture of both by writing something down. A record.
My last true summer vacation is coming to a hasty end. That’s not to say I didn’t enjoy it. The wind blew me a lot of places I had so looked forward to seeing. What is even better is that on every trip I was surrounded by people that I loved and enjoyed. Rio was a dream. So was Rome. Cairo, Siwa, Sinai, and the Egyptian sun that once inspired the first monotheism brought me back to earth and in utter beauty I found myself emotionally regenerating. The last leg of my trips was not necessarily the most overwhelming, but certainly the most intense. Attending Pride weekend in Amsterdam was an experience I don’t think I will ever forget.
I flew in early in the morning on Saturday. Jim’s friends happened to be staying the hotel next door, so I met them briefly for breakfast on the beautiful PC Hoofstraat. DK, SL, and SF had all flew in from Cairo and were sleeping still in the hotel. Soon we were all making our way to the parade which went down the Prinsengracht. The atmosphere was euphoric. Scantily clad men and families (children included) danced and waved in the streets, confetti and celebration floating in the air. DK, SL, SF and I were all in bright clothes, our surroundings clearly elevating us. We watched and played and met yet another two friends from London, who had gone slightly ‘out there’ with the outfits. One of them spent the good part of an hour posing for pictures with tourists. It was a lot of fun.
Soon the party moved further north to the gay neighbourhood. Music was loud and everywhere, people hopping, jumping and laughing. What struck me the most was how friendly everyone was (but I guess living in London always makes that a truly remarkable feature). I had met this German/Canadian guy earlier at the parade, and I contemplated having a little fun with him. My two friends from London offered me some dancing chemical inducement, and, figuring it was legal and probably not so bad an idea once in a long while, I happily obliged.
Somewhere between the rolling bass and dancing bodies, a beautiful man caught my attention. He was about my height, or a little shorter. Trimmed beard, short blonde hair, ocean blue eyes, and athletic/slim stature. He saw me and smiled, and as soon as he did I felt this odd sense of familiarity. Not like a déjà vu, but more like a sense of relation, though I was sure we’d never met. JS he said his name was, Iranian but from the States. We spoke for a bit amidst the madness. His mannerisms were Middle Eastern. I figured that may be what was striking the sense of familiarity in me. He was very sweet, and his kisses were simple, not glaringly sexual. In the circumstances, he was a little drunk and I was still recovering from the amphetamines, so at the end of the evening after he’d gone to the White party and I to the Bear Necessity party with DK, I promised him we’d have lunch together the next day.
Sunday was a dream. I stopped by his hotel and took him to my neck of the woods for food. The city was quiet, beautiful, and a little cold. I put my arm around him to try and insulate us both, and we strolled through the narrow roads and over the canals. As we were both a little tired, we opted for a nap together, and it was one of the most amazing few hours I’d spent with anyone. Though not sexual, it was an intense experience, like prayer. We held each other, gently touching, tasting, feeling all there was to feel. The gravity of his skin kept my arms in motion, engulfing his body. Soon we both fell asleep, practically glued together.
Then SA arrived by surprise from Austria. I promised JS we would meet later in the evening after I’d spent some time with her and share a drink as a group as his cousins were also in town. I hopped in a cab and picked up SA, and by then the streets had filled up again with music. We danced as we walked to Rose’s Cantina for a bite and some alcohol. JS met us there with his group and we had a substantial amount of Petron. I watched him as he laughed and joked around. The sense of familiarity was so strong at this point, but coupled with even stronger infatuation. I was lucky and honoured to find out that he felt just as strongly about me. We had a great night, took all of the bar staff at Rose’s Cantina out partying with us to a couple of clubs. SM was having a blast, making friends left and right. I had missed her so much, and was so happy that I was able to offer her great company and a fun night in Amsterdam albeit my last one.
I kept dreading the morning, when I knew I would have to leave. JS and I fell asleep on the couch in his hotel room, with him resting his head against my chest. At some point in the middle of the night (or morning as it was) we moved to the bed. Again we fell asleep together and woke up far too early to catch our respective flights. As his flight was an hour later than mine, we spent our last few moments together by the gate D14 in Schipol. It was a beautiful day and the sun lit his eyes up like the sky. I kept him very close until it was time for me to go. On the short flight to London and until this moment, hours later, the pain of leaving him behind has been multiplying, though equally has the feeling of joy at meeting someone that managed to shake up my reality. Before boarding I had given him my Bedouin scarf, just to make sure he didn’t wait too long before visiting me in London. But any time at all is too long at this point. As I write this I stare blankly at the trees in Battersea park, feeling like someone’s ripped a piece of my gut out.
