Context, context, folks: (1) The festival is about to begin. (2) Ben, the black guy whom we met first in the chapter "The hitchhiker's guide to gay sex" in the previous part of the Green Eyes, will run the market stand of Luke's convenience store; Alex will sell Bavarian leather shorts for Godehart. (3) Barbette Bienpensant is an expert of rapture and related events, and also the sister of Juliette, whom we met earlier in the day when she (Juliette) told us she's still a virgin but would do anything for ice cream. (4) Alex, in his previous life, dropped out of computer science because he judged computational complexity theory "bad mathematics." (5) John and Barbette just met during the first meeting of the festival jury.
The market stands (still being put together by volunteers with bad hair when we arrived 20 minutes ago) are ready, and it appears from a distance that two young men are busy at two neighboring stalls, Ben on the left, and Alex on the right, both unpacking merchandise. They seem unaware of each other.
I halt my steps, just stand there, and wonder: How is it possible that a person of recently professed sexual insouciance ignores another person nearby that sports the toned body of a basketball player, smooth, vibrant, silky black skin, lips from Angelina Jolie, profile from Michelangelo, teeth from a dental catalog, and the movements of a Bolshoi dancer? Conversely, how is it possible that a person with a documented history of at least two homosexual encounters with me ignores another male person nearby that sports the toned body of a hunk, smooth, vibrant, silky brown skin, lips from Joe Phillips, profile also from Joe Phillips, and the overall demeanor of an alpha dog?
What happened to sexuality? People are not gay anymore. Alex is just playing nice until another angel needs his love, like Juliette Bienpensant, the morning vamp without piercings, who wears less mascara now as she comes all the way across the Surfside field to ask more questions about ice cream and virginity. Or Barbette Bienpensant, the famous metaphysicist, who is accompanying her much younger sister, pushing forty already (Barbette) but still hot enough to need Alex’s humongous dick between her shapely thighs.
“Hi,” Juliette says to me.
“You know each other?” Barbette ask.
“Yes,” Juliette says, “although I don’t know his name.”
“Yes,” I say since I can't think under duress.
“This is John, stupid,” Barbette says to her sister.
“How do you know?”
“He’s a Lee, stupid.” Barbette says. “he is a born Nosferatu.”
“Show me your fangs,” Juliette says.
“That’s so yesterday,” I say since that seems to be the thing to say in this episode.
“I need fags,” Barbette says.
I skip a few jokes and point to Luke’s market stand where Ben busies himself with the finer points of junk-food marketing. Ben has recognized me in the meantime but doesn’t acknowledge me much, he’s all business. I hesitate briefly whether to introduce Bienpensant to Ben, or vice versa, then drop the idea because I would have to introduce her to Alex as well. Alex recognizes her, of course, we dealt with her picture an hour ago when we worked on the web site, the picture of a sexed-up librarian, dark hair done up Sarah Palin style, extraneous glasses (also Sara Palin style, i.e., a bit out-dated), and average proportions elsewhere, except for the shapely thighs clad in an undemanding skirt suit.
“Ben, there you are.” I say stiffly, “This lady needs cigarettes.”
Ben, who—after our phone conversation this morning—must have decided to play it cool with me, Ben still can’t suppress the bad-boy grin that makes him look so much like Alex. And Alex, who’s only twenty feet away and has followed the conversation with some interest, grins as if he's exhibit A.
Ben makes his first sale, a packet of Marlboro. Barbette needs nicotino pronto, asks all available males for a light, and ends up with Alex, as intended. Alex doesn’t have a light, but he has green eyes, silky skin, rippled abs, dark shiny hair (not completely black, there’s a hint of sensual ochre), and Bavarian crotch shorts in which Professor Bienpensant gets presently interested. She’ll take him away from me now. She clutches his hips, pulls down his shorts, drags him under the table, grabs his humongous dick, and applies a vicious blow job. No, not yet.
“Professor,” Alex says in a way that he must have learned at CMU when he studied too much computational complexity theory.
“You know me?” Bienpensant asks.
“Sure,” Alex says, “Barbette Bienpensant, the accomplished forecaster of doom.”
“How do you know.”
“You’re famous, Professor, you’re all over the festival website.”
She clutches his hips, slides the themed leather suspenders off his toned shoulders, pulls down his shorts, chucks her own skirt suit, unclips her hair to let it fall over her naked shoulders, drags him under the table, grabs his humongous dick, wraps her lips over his throbbing crown, and applies a vicious blow job. No, not yet.
“And your name,” she asks Alex.
“Alexander Iglesias,” Alex replies. His grin is still in place, and he’s playing to Juliette now. So he says to Juliette: “Juliette.”
“You know each other?” (Barbette).
“She’s still a virgin,” Alex says.
“Well, thank you,” Barbette answers. The sun sets, the mood darkens, and the professor is off to find light somewhere else.
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GREEN EYES. The first part is out now, available as Kindle book on Amazon, under this link:
For the previous teaser, go here; for the next teaser, go here.