July 28, 1969
I leaned against the brick in the alley, smoking my cigarette. Man, I needed a break.
Frankie had called on my day off. “We’re short. Can you help?”
I didn’t hesitate. I had no plans, not since I was in high school. After that, it became weird to my friends that I didn’t date. I no longer played baseball, so being too busy wasn’t an excuse any more.
So, I didn’t mind coming into work. The music playing always perked up my mood. I served the drinks and watched them dance and mingle. That’s who I was—a watcher—and a wisher.
Some nights, being there made me feel like part of them; other nights, like tonight, it made me feel even more alone. Kind of like I was on the other side of the glass, looking in.
Don’t get me wrong, I’d sought out the Stonewall Inn for a bartending gig. It was the only place in town where I could breathe without fear that someone would notice I was doing it differently. But sometimes, after watching boys holding boys, shame twisted my gut. My shame wasn’t about who I was, but about not being brave enough to be it out loud. I wanted to join in, to belong, but only if I could do it without risk. I can say it—I was a coward.
I think Josie knew. She came in drag that night, complete with blonde wig, glitter, sequins, and red, glossy lips. But when she sat at the bar as Joe, he lingered a bit longer after I slid him his drink, as if he were waiting for something. I said nothing, even though I was attracted to him. As I said—coward.
It’s not like I haven’t thought about it. About what it would be like to flirt a little. To brush his hand as I passed his bourbon on the rocks over. To take that fractured heartbeat longer to place the change in his palm. Make eye contact. See where it leads.
In my mind’s eye, he’d issue the faintest flutter of a smile; almost not there, but unmistakable. Then follow it up by brushing the underside of my wrist. Slipping his hand around it. Not possessive, but assertive. To allay my fears. Provide courage.
The flick of his eyes towards the exit as he let go would ignite something inside me. Some dormant acorn, spreading tendrils of heat through my veins as it sprouted.
And then he’d be gone. As if he hadn’t even been there, except for the fact my heart was racing and I was a little light-headed as I’d serve the next customer.
“I’m taking a break, Frankie.”
I’d ask, not tell. Some confidence I didn’t know I had bubbling to the surface. He’d nod his assent, and I’d dump the cloth I was wiping the glassware with. Round the bar just like any other night, keeping the inner turmoil hidden. Not like I wasn’t used to it.
Pushing through the fire exit, the cold would hit first but wouldn’t temper my rising need. He’d be there. Leaning against the brickwork. Casual. Aloof. Like it was any other day and not my initiation. My day of reckoning.
Who would move first? I don’t know. Maybe it’d be mutual. A quick step towards him, our lips brushing then connecting. The faint scratch of his stubble against my chin as he fumbles between us to unbuckle his pants. He knows I don’t have long. Or wants to make sure I don’t bail. I’m unsure which.
Sinking to my knees, the cold of the alley floor seeping up my thighs, seems like the most natural thing in the world. Sliding my hands down over his hips to the bulge and feeling its power through the material, is the second.
I’d cast my gaze skyward as I peel his underwear down. Lock eyes, his musk filling the small gap between us until I lean in and kiss the tip. Part my lips and nibble one edge, tip to root then back up.
I expect he’ll moan. Encourage me. Embolden me to flash my tongue over him. Peel back the foreskin and work my lips across the head as he firms in my grip. He’d sense I’m green and would let me explore at my pace; let me overcome the self-inflicted demons that have kept me in the shadows for years. Banish them.
All fears evaporate as he hardens fully and swells with my lips circling the ridge of his crown. It’s symbolic, more than it is an act; breaking the chrysalis to free me. Spreading my wings. Stretching. Ready to finally soar.
I’ll seek more. Take more. Retreat to look up at him before his hand curls the base of my neck and he tugs me forward, letting out a hiss as I take over half.
Although I try to keep my teeth out of the way, they scrape his shaft when he lets me take a breath. He groans and I graze them down again on his next insistent pull. Take more of him, sucking, swirling my tongue, losing myself in the moment. In him. Even when he nudges my throat and I cough, he whispers tender encouragement.
My hands will drift up his thighs, savoring the sinewy muscles tensing beneath the thin fabric, his groans in sync with my sucks. His grip will tighten, all senses telling me he’s close already. He’s as taken aback as I am at the speed with which everything unfolds. How natural it seems to be sucking him off in the cold alleyway.
He’ll begin rocking his hips. Short thrusts that threaten to choke me, but I’m past caring. All I want—need—is his power. His spunk. His moans ringing out as he holds me and ripples the length of my tongue, exhaling through his nose with a lengthy snort as I’m flooded. Validated. As I take a snort of my own, taste his salt pooling in my mouth, and swallow hungrily.
My fantasy was interrupted as the back door crashed open, and people poured out, running and shouting. I knew immediately it was a raid. I’d heard it happened, but never when I’d been working. For a moment, I panicked, but then thought I had nothing to fear. Right? I stepped back into the shadows anyway.
But that night wasn’t like the others.
I heard the shouts before I saw them—Josie and the police officer stumbling into the alley, mid-battle. She was still in drag and scrambling to get away from the officer’s grip. He tore off her wig. She cursed in his face. The officer wrenched Josie’s arms behind her back, trying to lock the cuffs, but Josie twisted free. The officer cruelly slammed his baton across her back, knocking her to her knees.
Something snapped inside me.
I saw the broken brick, half-buried in litter. Grabbing it, I hurled it at the police officer. The impact on his back created a break in the beating, long enough for Josie to crawl away. She gave me a grateful nod while the officer jerked around to face me.
I didn’t move a muscle. We locked eyes. His were filled with hate; mine were filled with something unfamiliar. I swear he wanted me dead.
Someone shouted, “Gay power!” Then, the dam broke.
With the baton raised, the officer managed one step toward me before an angry mob of queers, lesbians, and drag queens flooded the alley, with officers struggling to contain them. They were fed up. I’m not sure how long I stood there, being jostled around.
Garbage cans toppled, and some were set on fire. More bricks flew. More blood spilled. Sirens wailed, but the protesters were louder. I looked around at people who, on that night, decided they’d taken enough shit. I felt their collective roar, but something held me back from the melee. Not cowardice this time; respect at taking a stand and fighting for belief. For betterment. But it wasn’t my battle. Not yet. I hadn’t earned the right to join in their rage, so I quietly slipped away.
That night, I came out—at the most violent, scary time—and survived it.
As I walked, the noise from the riot still raged in the distance, no longer direct but reflected, and something unknown began to untangle the knot of shame inside me.
Maybe it was pride.
Lord, I hoped so.
