The scent of bourbon hung in the air as the moonlight filtered down upon us. Connor’s abdomen lightly brushed the small of my back as he breathed slowly in and out. I closed my eyes and tried to match his breathing, as I traced my fingers up and Sean’s back. It was strange to sleep between them, and when their breathing became out of sync I felt that it was my fault. I wrapped my arm over Sean pulling him closer to me so I could attempt to get us all breathing as one. Moments passed with only the whisper of our breath in the air, and despite the quiet of the room my mind was so full of thoughts. I tried to concentrate on Connor’s warm breath on my neck, and the rise and fall of Sean’s chest, but that seemed to only frustrate my attempts to calm things down. It was the idea that my hands were actually resting on Sean’s bare skin, and Connor’s full lips were inches from my neck that gave rise the unbearable erection which seemed like it was going to burst forth from the confines of my boxers.

I slowly retracted my hips away from Sean, trying not stab him with my growing hard-on when I felt Connor’s cock brush against my ass. I stopped, uncomfortably frozen, not wanting to relax for fear I might further excite Connor by sliding back or announce my state of arousal to Sean by returning my hips forward. I stopped breathing, and listened for either of them to make a sound.


sometimes you have to kill your babies


Someone once told me that “sometimes you have to kill your babies” meaning that sentences or moments you are attached to sometimes must be sacrificed in order to make a story better. As to my previous post, I have decided to skip all of the crap of getting my characters to the bar. It is a flashback and no important information is gained aside from a description of Art.

I am also considering changing the viewpoint to 3rd person.

Three into Two – Part I

So I have not given up on my last story, but I am giving it some more time to rest. Tonight I met David Leavitt, who is a huge inspiration for me as a writer. He read a chapter from a book he is working on, and in it there was a quote of “Three into Two won’t Go” which is apparently a reference to a movie. I thought it was a quote from Lewis Carrol’s Alice, but I don’t think I am right. Anyway, it got me thinking about a story. I started it tonight, and although it is  a slow beginning I am wanting to just set the scene. I hope to continue writing this story, but who knows. Maybe if someone thinks it deserves more exploration. Comments?


The moment before I knocked on their door was the last time I was alone. I remember it so clearly. It was May of 2004 on a sunny spring afternoon just outside Newport Tennessee. Tommy and Art’s house resembled an English Tudor style home, with large stones all around the first floor of the house, and exposed beams on the upper level. The front door was made oak and had eight small geometric squares placed symmetrically two by two down it. In the center was a faded bronze door knocker, which I looked at for a few minutes pondering whether to announce myself as having arrived or to simply turn away.

Newport was a little over 3 hours drive from my dorm room at Vanderbilt, and, although I had already graduated, the room was still mine till the end of the summer. I stretched my arms above my head, exhausted from the drive, but I was almost convinced to simply turn around and go home. I knew why I had come, but I did not know if I could tell them that. Instead I had decided to veil my true reason, and had invented and rehearsed the perfect reason for me to call on them without notice. I was simply up for the weekend, having come to see an old friend of my parents, and that I had hoped to call on their offer for hospitality if I was ever in the area. I would see where that night took me, and I was certain Tommy and Art’s behavior would give me my answer by morning. Then I would have to decide whether or not to stay or go.

The door knocker seemed so too harsh for me to announce my presence, and although I always seemed to bruise my knuckles when I knocked on doors, I always felt it was a more polite to do so. I rapped on the door four short times, and felt the sharp pain flare in my knuckles for a few brief seconds. I looked down to examine them, and once the door opened I saw the faces of love of my life.


I had first met Tommy and Art in October. I was in a production of “Company” at Vanderbilt, playing the lead. I had worked so hard the previous summer preparing for the auditions. I knew each line and note even before the first day of rehearsal, and yet when opening night came I was still nervous. It was a magical night, and after the show was over I still remember the applause. My friends and family roared louder than the rest of the entire audience when it came time for me to take the final bow. However, I knew no one the next night of the show, and yet when my final bow came I heard a slight raise in volume, and there they were. Art and Tommy where clapping so furiously their arms waved as fast as hummingbirds wings, and it was then that I knew I had truly done well in the show. After the show Tommy and Art had come up to me like many of the other audience members and congratulated me on a job well done. I smiled and thanked them for their vigorous applause, and shortly retired backstage to reset my props and gather my things. I am normally the last actor to leave the theatre, not for any good reason, I just generally take my time hanging up costumes and such. It is because I take such a long time that I almost screamed when I saw that Art and Tommy had waited for me in the lobby.

Art stood up from the bench, with a big smile radiating underneath mop of red hair on top of his head. Art’s smile, I would learn, was his default expression. It was as if Art had never known sadness in his life, and therefore could so no reason not smile at any given moment or any given occasion. It was an infectious grin, which I found myself mirroring as he approached. Once we were face to face I saw that Art was a little short, but, although had a slight frame, his voice was so loud it practically pierced through walls.

“Hey, we were wondering if you’d like to go out with us tonight.” Art said with his sweet hint of a southern accent.

“Oh…well…I have a matinee tomorrow, but I guess so. What did you have in mind?” I replied. I had never had an audience member ask me to dinner before.

“We just thought we might grab a bite somewhere. Do you know anyplace open late?” Art asked.

“Café Coco is pretty decent, and it is open 24 hours. Is that alright?” I asked. Café Coco is where I went most nights, so I figured it would be easy to bail if these two guys were freaks.

“How about the Saucer?” where the first words I ever heard out of Tommy. His suggestion was gruff and it seemed more like an order than an invitation.

“Umm….sure. That’s downtown right?” The only thing I knew about “The Flying Saucer” was that it was famous for beer and girls. At least that was what the guys my Freshman year said about the place. Neither of those two things held any interest for me, and the suggestion had me questioning if Art or Tommy were of interest either.

“Sure is.” Tommy confirmed.

“I need to go back to my room, but I’ll meet you there.” I said, wondering if I would actually do it.

“Oh sure. Do you need any help?” Art said flashing his smile again.

“Thanks, but I think I’ll be alright. I shouldn’t be too far behind you.” I said as I passed by him and headed towards the door.

“Alright. Well here is our number, in case you get lost.” Art said pressing a piece of paper into my hand.

I walked to my dorm room and as I opened the door to my tiny single I still didn’t know whether or not I could stay or go. I sat on my bed and stared at the script at the note:

Tommy and Art


The show had left me drained of emotion and hungry. I closed my eyes, and just as I had resolved to stay in my stomach gurgled with complaint. It seemed that despite what my brain was telling me, my body had another agenda, and with that I found myself arriving just a few minutes later than Tommy and Art had.

“Hey, have you been waiting long?” I asked.

“No not at all. We had a terrible time finding parking. Well let’s go in shall we?” Art said. Tommy held the door for Art and I, and we grabbed a table toward the back. The Flying Saucer had lived up to its reputation. Amidst a sea of frat boys and scantily clad waitresses were tons of empty beer glasses and loud conversations. Thankfully the back of the place had recently been vacated by a party of 15 so I didn’t have to yell my order at the waitress.


Brisingr – Review


So during my incredibly short winter break I got to read “Brisingr” the third installment of the Eragon series. I was pleasantly surprised how much I enjoyed this book. I had read that the author Christopher Paolini had decided not to make Eragon a trilogy, because “Brisingr” involved Eragon and other characters facing an identity crisis. I immediately rolled my eyes and thought “why in the world would you want to add that now?” It seems that Paolini knew exactly what he was doing.

The characters in Eragon are typical of certain characters one finds in fantasy books. The elves thing they are better than everyone. Dwarves are only interested in themselves. Humans are short lived representations of light and dark. I could go on. Anyway, the protagonist, Eragon, a human farm boy who has become the last free dragon rider and is the central weapon of the resistance against the evil empire has been roughly uncomplicated in the series. He lost his family and his home. He is adopted. Most people just describe him as “Luke Skywalker” although I never thought that was incredibly fair. It is not the author’s fault that most heroes come from similar beginnings.

In any event, in Brisingr we learn more about Eragon and see him grow. If you have not read the book, please be aware SPOILERS may be discussed. I’d like to think since it was released in September of 2008. All those who might come across this will not care. Brisingr addresses something rarely discussed in fantasy novels. The obligation of heroes. Eragon and his dragon Saphira hold a unique place in the land of Alagaësia. They are the hopes for all races who wish to overthrow the empire. As a result Eragon is welcomed as a member of the a dwarf clan (no human has ever been granted that courtesy.) He trains with the elves. He is also an official member of the resistance “The Varden” which is headed by a human. Each of these races asks Eragon to do a range of things, and with their help in battle comes certain obligations. So Eragon swears oaths to do all sorts of things. Avenge this person, return for more teaching from this person, etc. Unfortunately, Eragon cannot do all of them at once, and so must try to balance these. This is an incredibly interesting thing to watch. There are times where Eragon has to justify his decisions to those who depend on him, even though the audience can see clear as day why he needs to do these things. Sharing the frustration with the protagonist is fun and certainly kept me reading.

In addition to Eragon’s story, we learn more about the strength of the other characters. Nasuada proves how dedicated she is as a leader by cutting herself in a trial of the knives, when her authority is questioned. Arya talks about how she was once close with another person, and that after he left, she has had difficulty with intimacy. Roran shows the power of love in times of war, and all that it can inspire. There are many more stories.

I was sad to see the story end the way it did, especially since I was so looking forward to the epic battle of Eragon vs. Galbatorix. However, now that I feel these characters have moved from fantasy stock to something more. I feel the battle will mean much more.

“It’s Me.”


After hearing “It’s not you. It’s me.” So many times in my life, I just kind of assume normally it is them and not me. I find I must have been wrong when it comes to the LGBT student population at Rutgers School of Law at Newark. My first semester I was not expecting to be able to be really involved in the LGBT student group, nor was I expecting to make a plethora of friends as a transfer student. However, I did expect to make some friends, and I assumed that it would be highly likely that some of them would be from the LGBT student pool.

Last week I had my very first “Sexual Orientation & the Law” class, which had a very high of LGBT students attending. I was struck that most of the students seem to come in pairs or trios. It was as if the students didn’t want to be alone in the class, and I could understand the sentiment. The only good friend I made last semester was unable to take the class, so I was flying without a support net.

During my time in class I noticed how each of the students groups seemed to keep to themselves. I attempted to reach out, but I was mainly given the impression I was annoying them. So I just assumed that it must be that the students want to not be unified. Each was seeming to strive ‘the only gay’ status here. Having been ‘the only gay’ multiple times I did not relish the competition, and quickly resolved not to care.

Today is my 2nd session of the class, and I was shocked. People got up and spoke to others. Others, but not me. This makes me feel like it is me to some extent. I have something quality (looks, personality, etc.) which is unattractive to the LGBT student body at Rutgers. I still do not care, but I am saddened that of all clubs not to be invited in, this is the one who seems to freeze me out.

Starting The New Year in a Gay Way

So I am a little late on posting for the New Year. I wanted my first post of the New Year (my review of Thais was supposed to be done before 2009) to be one of the gayest things I’ve seen in quite some time. I am not sure why I didn’t know or remember this scene from “Best Little Whorehouse in Texas” but I was unaware of it for some reason. I felt for all of those who might be similarly afflicted we could start this new year off with a big laugh. This scene has everything. Music, Dancing, Homo-eroticism, and best of all NUDITY.  Viewers beware.

My first experience at the Metropolitan Opera – Renee Fleming – Thais


Last night I have the incredible pleasure of attending Thaïs at the Metropolitan Opera. The tickets were given to me as a part of my anniversary gift, and I have been looking forward to it since September.

I have a special history with this particular opera. A year ago I was in a production of Corpus Christi in Houston, TX. In that show, a young gay boy hears “The Meditation” which is a instrumental piece which reflects Thais’ change of heart in the middle of the opera. I loved the piece, and although I had heard it before, it was not until that production that I really looked into what it meant, and what the opera as a whole was about. Having beefed up my knowledge and purchased Renee’ Fleming’s recording of the piece I felt I had found a new opera to love. I also watched the DVD production starring Eva Mei.

I had high expectations as I entered into the Metropolitan Opera House, but from the moment I finally saw the theatre itself I knew I would have those expectations surpassed. I have seen the backstage of the MET but never the front, and what I saw was absolutely incredible. The whole place glitters. The chandeliers and light fixtures resemble stars and the entire front of the theatre is gilded in gold. There could not be a more perfect place to stage Thais.

The curtain rose on the first act, and I was impressed how the actors and director managed to make the most boring part of the entire opera somewhat interesting. Part of it was the fact that it took place in a desert, and not in a more traditional looking monostary. The ruins of ancient egypt buried in the sand provided a wonderful set for the monks who basically do very little but sing about how great God is, and what they wish God would do. The actors I feel deserve special mention as their part is technically difficult as much of it is done accapella, which is incredibly hard in Opera. They pulled it off beautifully.

Speaking of beauty, in Act 1 Scene 1, we get the first glimpse of Thais. I was so happy that Renee Fleming was playing Thais, because she is supposed to be as wild as Carmen, as cunning as Delilah, and as beautiful as Helen of Troy. This is not an easy thing to portray, especially in an opera singer. Mrs. Fleming however fits the part as perfectly as the haute couture gown that she wore for the production. Keeping in mind that Renee Fleming is fifty, she looked about 25, and you could not tear your eyes away from her whenever she was on stage. Thais and Mrs. Fleming certainly know how to work an entrance. Thais enters with an entourage of revelers and people throwing rose petals. Mrs. Fleming becomes this beacon of light and life the second she appears on stage. Fleming’s first notes are agile and lovely, and her face is radiantly expressive. This adds so much to pierce the darkness that surrounds Athaniel.

The second act is my favorite. Here we see Thais in her parlor praying to her mirror and the Goddess Eros that she remain young and beautiful. Mrs. Fleming’s performance of the aria “Dis-moi que je suis belle” took my breathe away. I’d heard her on numerous recordings, but hearing her live was an experience that filled my body with so many emotions. I was excited to hear her voice and hear that she truly is as incredible as her recordings would have you believe. I was nervous that something might go wrong and she might fall from the pedestal I had placed her on. I was awed. In the productions I have seen the part where Thais prays to Eros the performer normally has a luxury of some huge statue or monolithic representation of the goddess. Mrs. Fleming had a small stand which had incense being burned as a sacrifice to Eros. Fleming stood before it wafting her hands bringing the swirling clouds around her as she prayed, and despite having smoke in her face and lungs, managed to maintain a pitch perfect performance. I was almost surprised Eros didn’t just show up and help out given the incredible performance. Thais does not receive acknowledgment from Eros, but Mrs. Fleming received enthusiastic and long lasting applause.

It is perhaps because Act II is my favorite, that it is also Act II that I found my first criticism of the Opera’s director. The famous “Meditation” is played between the two scenes in Act II. It is supposed to be a part of the Opera, and marks the change of heart which drives Thais to go with Athaniel and leave her former life. This piece was brilliantly performed by the solo violinist, but the director decided to let the piece be played while the stage curtain was drawn. With absolutely nothing on stage, audience members were being asked to focus on the music. However, the audience also saw this piece in isolation. On the DVD performance a beautiful ballet happens showing Thais having a vision of a woman being crucified. It truly helped make the piece a part of the opera as a whole. Whereas I do not think it is necessary to do something like that, I found the closed curtain reduced “Meditation” to incredibly difficult scene change music. The program describes the importance of the piece, and what it means, but I felt the disconnection caused by the closed curtain was a poor choice for the director. If nothing an interesting light display on the large cloud canvas which was played during the overture would have been a better alternative.

Thais ends in Act III. Fleming’s performance was incredible, and I count myself lucky to have seen it. I was not incredibly fond of the final set where Thais was placed upon a throne (it resembled the kind that saints are depicted as sitting on) as it made blocking her death incredibly awkward. Half the time I was worried she might fall off the set and hurt herself.

I enjoyed my first experience at the Metropolitan Opera, and I hope I will be able to go more once I am done with law school. To witness a legend like Renee Fleming has made a dream of mine come true, and I was happy to once again find my passion for Opera as an art form.