They met at the gay bar. She was looking for him or someone like him, someone straight, in this gay bar. She did not believe in bisexuality anymore. She wanted to be loved till her last passionate cry gave away to blissful mourns and groans, and to be loved alone, in devotion. He too was looking for her or maybe her gay friend. He was the doorman at the bar. He had to check the orientations.
They took the orientation to her bedroom early morning, after his shift was over. Tossing and turning in the bed, Helena C was like the crouching tiger and he let out his hidden dragon from the depths of his passionate slumber. They made love once, twice, thrice, in harmony and ferociousness, in the bedroom and the 67 inch Contemporary Bathtub with Oak Wood stand and on the kitchen table near the “kitchen sink”.
Within a week he was there twenty four seven minus his working hours, blowing his trumpet and getting blow jobs simultaneously. His rubble was here too. One trunk, few clothes and the pile of english newspapers. She accepted the trumpet and him blowing it. But she could not tolerate the pile of rubbish that they called the newspapers. But it was another time, when she could cry out the agony in his arms, lying restless the whole day, find bliss with him inside her, fulfilling her, completing her.
The times were dark, the papers delivering ingratitude to the times, the chimera was shattered. Regulating the actions of the homosexuals, all the bars were closed. And so Jimmy P lost his job, his identity as the one who knew how to identify orientations, his love for Helena C. and his new found old addiction of lethargy.
