Aug 2, 2012

Green Eyes --- how will it all end?


Upon urgent request, the last part of the last chapter:

...He turns sideways, we're facing each other. "I love you, too," he says. He touches my cheeks, caresses my hair. He squeezes my nose (a first in world literature, happy-ending-wise, I presume). He touches my love handles, which are absent, perhaps he does it just to be on the safe side (we will grow old and fat together later, not now). He slips a finger down my tummy, almost reaching an erogenous zone. He gives me a kiss. He looks at me, from top to bottom, spending equal time on private and public parts. His green eyes drift out to the sea, then they are back. He looks right into my eyes. They mean it. He embraces my cheeks again, squeezes his lips onto my lips for a kiss. He relents, another kiss. "I love you," he says again. He embraces me fully now, his arms around my body, he kisses, kisses, kisses my mouth, my soul, my world...

Ross Watson, Untitled (I guess)
...All this has taken quite some time, because it was done in slow motion, we are standing at the water's edge, between the ocean and the beach crowd, the surf plays with our feet, the rainbow flag plays proudly with the wind. Next to us, a xxx is picking a worm (C. Elegans).

There is some funny noise behind me. I turn around, because this is me, John, always ready to do something out of context. Alex is kissing what he can with my face turned to the beach crowd, so he kisses my right cheek, and the tip of my nose, it's quite funny. This guy stands there, this young, black queen, and he claps, and points at us, and asks his pal to rise. "Give them a hand," he yells at his beach friends, and they get up and start clapping, it's an ovation. Somebody sings "Love, love, love." Others join. The entire gay beach sings "Love, love, love." Alex turns around, we're both facing the crowd now. Shall we bow? The queen yells "Author, author," but nobody comes forward. I'm not sure what to do. A rotund man approaches, a bear, hairy and tummy, he holds something in his hands, in both hands. Flutes, it transpires as he comes closer, champagne glasses, filled with bubbly, and it is, yes, it's the bear from the beach towel, the beach towel that was wrapped around his private parts before I grabbed it and ran away with it to save Charles' ass. The bear hands one glass to Alex, the other one to me.

Cheers, Alex says. We sip. "Cheers," the bear says, as a third glass mysteriously appears in his hands, then adds, "Where is my beach towel, please enlighten me."
-"It's possibly still where I left it," I answer, "I stole it to save somebody's ass, but the ass was gone when I came back. Although it's not an ass. His ass is an arse, but he is not an ass."
-"Where is it, my beach towel?" the bear interrupts.
I take the bear to the dunes, holding on to my glass, Alex follows, holding on to his. This is where we met, him and me, Alex and I, right here, at this spot, which changed our life forever, six days ago, we had no idea. We traipse across the overgrown ivy. The towel, didn't I just hang it over some unassuming branch of a pine tree? Yes, I did, and there it is, in all its Nordstrom glory, blending perfectly well with the nature around it. I take hold of the towel, lift it gently off the branch, and hand it to the bear. "My name is Albert," the bear reacts. "My name is John," I say. "My name is Alex, I guess," Alex says. The bear raises his glass, we raise ours. "Cheers," he says.


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