Dread and Elation

Aaron’s hotel room was on the 14th floor, overlooking Lexington and 48th. It did occur to me that climbing out the window and taking photos on the ledge wasn’t the smartest thing to do at 3 a.m., after several cocktails. But we’d seen Bjork at Hiro earlier, I was beginning to feel like I might be falling in love, and both of these facts made me somewhat bolder than usual.

Looking down at the street below, I had this vivid impression, almost like a premonition, of dropping Aaron’s digital camera and then of losing my balance and falling. It seemed like just by thinking it I would fall; I had to fall. I could feel myself tipping a little too far and not being able to take it back. The sensation of unalterable momentum, of powerlessness against the inevitability of gravity and my own careless miscalculation filled me with both dread and elation. I was suddenly conscious of the fate of the John Russell in some alternate reality. It made me queasy and I had to step back inside and lock myself in the bathroom for several minutes.

When I came out, Aaron was busy repositioning lamps and removing their shades. He took out a big old Polaroid camera and started taking pictures of me. In between shots he would toss the camera aside and kiss me, gradually removing my clothes and his. He photographed me on the bed in my underwear, standing next to the mirror, from a distance, close up, from behind.

He slipped his hand inside my underwear and started to pull them off. I let him. I let him take pictures of my cock, of me playing with my cock, and he promised me they wouldn't end up on the internet. He took one of the two of us looking into the mirror. He’s behind me, holding the camera and looking sort of menacing. You can’t see it, but I’m naked, standing with my cock in my hand, looking at him.

The next day I had to get up really early and catch a flight to North Carolina for Thanksgiving. While I was at my parents’ house having a nauseatingly wholesome holiday and loving every Hallmark moment of it, Aaron sent me a text message:

“Last night in this fabulous hotel room, surrounded by all these hot photos. What’s a boy to do?”

Suddenly, I was aware of a different kind of unalterable momentum. It felt like my heart swelled to near bursting and then sank, settling, like the knowledge of something I can’t change, in the very bottom of me. It filled me with both dread and elation, and I couldn't wait to see him again.