Seguimi Via Mail!

Sotto alla Corona

My photo
Se avete voglia di parlare o se sentite che qualcosa che scrivo vi tocca da vicino, non siate timidi e mandatemi due righe... Scrivete a thequeenfather@me.com Mi fa sempre piacere!

Search

Loading...

Blog Archive

Archivio Reale




Obviously there must be a continuation to the story, because the best is yet to come.
I quoted Bridget Jones in my previous post because I also met my sacrosanct bunch of bastards. 
Just like she did.
Kiss me again...Please...
Of course, in my little village in Italy things were moving slowly, the only people 'obviously gay' were singled out and ridiculed by all and old enough to be my grandparents.

The more I looked around for a similar, and the more I saw nothing.
What these other gay men look like? I mean, there must be an alternative to an octogenarian man who walks around in his mesh vest swinging his hips!
THERE BETTER BE!

I was 19, I had tasted the lips of another guy and now I could not think of anything else.
You know when a vampire tastes human blood for the first time? There I was, dying of thirst, and to make matters worse, I was dying of loneliness.

Innocence is like a long sleep. It is a cocoon that shelters you from the world and from yourself.
It protects you from your animality and your desires.

I had lost this shell and I was thrown out in the open, like a dog kept on a lead for too long, only to find that the warmth I needed, for now, came only from my prison. 
Out there was a void.

I had to put up with all my friends flirting and frolicking. I had to put up with everybody else’s summer while I was locked in winter.
I did not have their freedom.
That endless kiss gave me two beautiful wings, but I was forced to keep them hidden under my coat, with all the awkwardness that nature had provided for my 19 years and the frustration that came from knowing exactly what you want, but being unable to obtain .

Truth without courage is slavery...
You know, getting naked in front of ourselves does not make us  free at all. Sometimes it only makes us realize how much we are prisoners of others. 
This weighed on me, not a little.

Obviously F. had disappeared with all his promises of salvation, and despite all my phone calls to ask to go out together, to ask for an introduction to the parallel world that I dreamed of, the occasion never materialized.
He might have been a hunk, but what a bastard...

So I gritted my teeth and I went to the adventure alone.

Someone told me about a club in Rome called 'Alibi', in Testaccio and one Friday evening I plucked up courage, I told a lie to my parents, took the last train to Rome and went looking for this place.

During the train ride I was making movies in my head, trying to imagine my entrance to the disco, me buying a drink, me dancing, making friends with someone, maybe even exchanging phone numbers. 
A lovely evening. The beginning of my second life full of possibilities.

Oh the memories...
Armed with a map and a lot  of goodwill, I eventually found it. The Roman evening was warm, still, exciting.
The heat of July obscured the stars and the sky through the pine trees  was tinged of the electric orange belonging to the street lighting.

Roman nights.
Dirty, noisy, intoxicating.

There was a long line outside the small, anonymous door of the club. A large parade of colorful characters.
A lot of people. So many hot guys.
I was almost hidden between two cars in the parking lot, with my jeans, tennis shoes and red shirt, I didn’t have the courage to come forward.
To me they all looked beautiful, confident, relaxed.
They came in and out of cars, they called each other, kissing on the street.

I was paralyzed by my feelings of inadequacy.

'Wanna be my friend?"
Then, as the big bad wolf in the fable of Little Red Riding Hood, from within one of the two cars among which I was hiding, a guy rolled down the window and said:

"Hey! Do you want to be my friend?" Touching himself between the legs with a wink.

I think I blushed to the tips of my feet.

So, all polished like the country boy I was, with the map under my arm and my backpack, I ran away. Like the wind.

That night I walked around Trastevere until dawn, until the first train to take me home.

Roman nights..
Long, empty, claustrophobic.

I couldn’t stop thinking about all those people.
The buff boys in their vests. The anorexic trannies in their glamorous dresses. The gentlemen in suits and ties.
I couldn’t get out of my head the noise, the laughter and what I perceived as a sense of complicity between them that arose from them sharing in something 'alternative'.... Not to mention untoward ....
However, it was definitely a party that I had not been invited to yet.

I just wanted to go back home to mum..
I felt sick.

'The guy thought I was looking for sex? Oh, he must have thought I was a hustler, alone, there in the parking lot, in the shadow ....'
Shivering in disgust. 
What would happen to 'Marco the first of the class', to 'Marco, mom and dad's pride', to 'Marco the golden boy?'

I felt him slipping away and I was afraid. Who will love this new Marco?

On the train home I cried like a baby calf.
Each stop taking me back closer to home, it was a slow crawl back inside my old shell.

Now I knew that I could never overcome the barriers on my own and that I needed an accomplice.
Not a lover, because those get you drunk in euphoria and make you lose your direction, but a co-pilot to tackle the fray, with whom to share the excitement and disappointment that any adventure reserve.

I was back at the station of the village early in the morning. There was already the summer heat to suffocate the sunrise, and I was on foot, dead tired and bitter.
The station is located a few kilometers from the town and calling home would present the problem of having to explain, so I decided to wake up my best friend, C to come and get me. He, who usually slept until two in the afternoon.

After cursing on the phone for a few minutes, he realized that I was trying to stifle the tears and speaking with some difficulty.
Half an hour later he was there, in his straight-male-playboy car, with the marks of his cushion still on the cheek and his breath that smelled of toothpaste.

He opened the car door and said: "What the fuck happened? Where were you last night?".
I climbed into the car in silence, lighting a cigarette, the hundredth.


To fly away, but where?


"Well?" He urges.
I start crying tears mixed with laughter, mixed with the desire to speak and come out and be done with it, despite the lump in my throat that made even swallowing difficult.

"Let's go for some breakfast shall we? ..." he said with a quizzical expression on his face and a hint of panic in his eyes.

Before then, he had never seen me crying and I felt those wings fight against my clothes to spread out in all their beauty.
Uncontrollable as my tears. 

Oh the shame of not having control over one's emotions.... 

I was going to let myself go, I was going to come out and I did not care in the slightest about the consequences.
I thought "Fuck it!", but prayed that those wings were strong enough to keep me from falling.




QF

2 comments:

giuseppe said...

To fly away, but where?

The Queen Father said...

Wherever your courage takes you....