Elizabeth and I picked up my little brother Jared and headed north in search of diversion. Jared knew well the layout of the town, and he was happy to serve as our tour guide. The night was warm enough for shorts, but cool enough for me to enjoy. We parked behind the fire station and headed off for an adventure that for the rest of my earthly life will wish I could relive. Our first stop was for dinner at the restaurant owned by one of Jared's friends. The pizzas, drinks, and atmosphere were tasty, fruity, and happy, but not necessarily in that order, as anyone who has been to Ogunquit will know. After a merry hour of food and conversation we headed out once again into the evening.
Crowded with chatting people, the sidewalks moved along like a babbling brook. Herds of people tend to bother me, but this one was too upbeat and friendly for the usual bad vibes to occur. We drifted with the smiling current of the people stream, the flow carrying us towards the beach. There was to be a fireworks display that night, and we didn't want to miss it.
"Curlers in your hair, shame on you!" A silly voice rang out in a sing-song tune. We turned to see a woman with large curlers rolled into her thick blonde locks and a large smile spread across her over-roughed cheeks.
"Curlers in your hair, shame on you!" She wagged a finger in our direction as she repeated the line several times. We laughed, entertained but cautious of her odd behavior and abrupt approach. Without being invited, the strange woman slid in between Jared and Elizabeth matching our pace. We sang along with her, despite our lack of understanding. Anyone who passed us was handed one of the many flyers she carried with her, and she explained to us that she was a comedienne performing at a local club on the main drag. The promotional department for the club was next to non-existent, so she was doing what she could to drum up interest in the show.
As we neared our fireworks vantage point, the silly woman broke ranks and drifted away from us. As the crowd ahead enveloped her we promised to check out her act later that night. She thanked us by repeating her silly song one more time before disappearing from view.
As we neared our fireworks vantage point, the silly woman broke ranks and drifted away from us. As the crowd ahead enveloped her we promised to check out her act later that night. She thanked us by repeating her silly song one more time before disappearing from view.
The fireworks were explosive. As a child Jared had never been one to enjoy their loud bangs and booms, but that night he marveled with the rest of us. He stood with Elizabeth and me, his mouth hanging open, head tilted back, and eyes reflecting the bright colors of the explosions overhead. We cheered along with the masses at the outlandish finale.
The fireworks were over, but the night was just beginning. We made tracks for downtown Ogunquit. Jared and Elizabeth soon fell behind, my stride much too long for their easy going gait. I glanced back at them walking together, but didn't bother to hurry them. Ever since the days when Jared had lived with us in our tiny apartment out in Seattle, I had known that Elizabeth and Jared would forever be close. To see them side by side, all smiles and laughter, made me happy. I turned back towards town and forged ahead. After several steps, I felt a warm, soft hand slide into mine. I squeezed it just a bit and continued on for a few moments before turning to smile at Elizabeth. Instead I saw Jared walking beside me, his arm swinging in time with mine, his hand held snug in my own.
"What the heck?" I pulled my hand away and felt my face flush warm.
"Did you really think I was Liz?" Jared asked, his hand reaching up to cover his mouth as it often did when he laughed.
"Yes, of course I did, you dork!" I gave him a playful shove. He stepped back to maintain his balance just as Elizabeth caught up to us.
"You should have seen your reaction!" She giggled.
"Gee, I'm glad I could amuse you both!" I feigned a hurtful tone, but my smile gave me away.
We laughed about Jared's little joke all the way to the ice cream parlor. I ordered a sugar cone piled high with my standing order of chocolate and peanut butter. It was rich, it was cold, and it was perfect. We munched our way through the streets, taking in the scenery of the shop windows and jabbering on about nothing important.
Once we had finished our ice cream, Jared led us to the local dance club. It was open, but there was no dancing to be had that early in the evening. Instead, a large crowd had gathered around a performer seated on a tall bar stool in the center of a small parquet floor. "Hedda Lettuce" was wearing a bright green evening gown that shimmered beneath the lights and matched the green highlights in her perfectly coiffed silvery hair. Her legs were crossed like a Bond girl on the hood of an Aston Martin, and every movement she made exposed more of her very long, very feminine legs. We watched as Hedda sang, her lyrics loaded with innuendos that sparked rounds of laughter, much to her feigned surprise. She flirted without shame, and carried herself in a way that I imagined Greta Garbo or Rita Hayworth might have long ago. It was the first time I had seen a drag queen up close. I was fascinated, conflicted, and entertained, all within the space of a few minutes.
Since the dance club had yet to open for dancing, we left Hedda behind and headed back up the street to the local piano bar. I had been to bars many times before, but never one such as this. The large room was filled to beyond capacity with happy, singing people, most of them men. From one corner came the sound of a piano, but I could only catch glimpses of it through the ebb and flow of bodies that surrounded it. Everyone in the room swayed to the music, singing along with arms wrapped around waists and shoulders. Had it not been a show tune they were singing I might have thought we had stumbled into an Irish pub in Dublin on St. Patrick's day. We spent the next few songs marveling at the fun of it all, joining in when we knew the words. Jared soon signaled our exit, and we followed him down the stairs and out the door.
The night air was cooler, a sharp contrast to the heat of the packed piano bar. We made it to the comedy club in time to watch the bizarre woman in curlers open her show. The curlers were gone, and with them everything else that had made her interesting. It was apparent within a few moments that she was better at singing silly songs to strangers in the street than making rooms full of paying customers laugh at her jokes.
"The dance club should be open now, you guys want to check it out again?" Jared asked.
"Yes! Let's go, this lady isn't funny, and I wanna get my groove on!" Liz made for the door.
Back at the dance club, the music was thumping and the lights were flashing. A mass of bodies gyrated to the beat. A man walked past us with a tray of drinks held high in the air. He wore nothing but black boots and a pair of white underpants. I stayed close to Jared, and as a silent signal to her that I was deep in the throes of unease placed my hands around Elizabeth's waist while following her into the fray.
The first few minutes on a dance floor are always uncomfortable for me. I find it hard to find my feet and match them to the beat. My hips grind away like a fan unbalanced by a broken blade. My arms grow ever more cumbersome, ignoring my commands to be suave. Even my head feels lopsided and void of rhythm. Elizabeth and Jared have never suffered the same dance floor afflictions, and that night in Ogunquit was no different. Comfortable as ever, their bodies merged instinctively with the thunderous baseline. Lights flashed, fog filled the room, and bubbles filtered down through the flickering scene. People were writhing and jumping to the music. It seemed that everyone around me was finding their own groove. I stood like a pillar of anti-rhythm in the center of the pulsating crush. I was a white-heterosexual-married-male in his mid-thirties standing on the dance floor of a gay night club.
And then it happened.
"What the heck?" I pulled my hand away and felt my face flush warm.
"Did you really think I was Liz?" Jared asked, his hand reaching up to cover his mouth as it often did when he laughed.
"Yes, of course I did, you dork!" I gave him a playful shove. He stepped back to maintain his balance just as Elizabeth caught up to us.
"You should have seen your reaction!" She giggled.
"Gee, I'm glad I could amuse you both!" I feigned a hurtful tone, but my smile gave me away.
We laughed about Jared's little joke all the way to the ice cream parlor. I ordered a sugar cone piled high with my standing order of chocolate and peanut butter. It was rich, it was cold, and it was perfect. We munched our way through the streets, taking in the scenery of the shop windows and jabbering on about nothing important.
Once we had finished our ice cream, Jared led us to the local dance club. It was open, but there was no dancing to be had that early in the evening. Instead, a large crowd had gathered around a performer seated on a tall bar stool in the center of a small parquet floor. "Hedda Lettuce" was wearing a bright green evening gown that shimmered beneath the lights and matched the green highlights in her perfectly coiffed silvery hair. Her legs were crossed like a Bond girl on the hood of an Aston Martin, and every movement she made exposed more of her very long, very feminine legs. We watched as Hedda sang, her lyrics loaded with innuendos that sparked rounds of laughter, much to her feigned surprise. She flirted without shame, and carried herself in a way that I imagined Greta Garbo or Rita Hayworth might have long ago. It was the first time I had seen a drag queen up close. I was fascinated, conflicted, and entertained, all within the space of a few minutes.
Since the dance club had yet to open for dancing, we left Hedda behind and headed back up the street to the local piano bar. I had been to bars many times before, but never one such as this. The large room was filled to beyond capacity with happy, singing people, most of them men. From one corner came the sound of a piano, but I could only catch glimpses of it through the ebb and flow of bodies that surrounded it. Everyone in the room swayed to the music, singing along with arms wrapped around waists and shoulders. Had it not been a show tune they were singing I might have thought we had stumbled into an Irish pub in Dublin on St. Patrick's day. We spent the next few songs marveling at the fun of it all, joining in when we knew the words. Jared soon signaled our exit, and we followed him down the stairs and out the door.
The night air was cooler, a sharp contrast to the heat of the packed piano bar. We made it to the comedy club in time to watch the bizarre woman in curlers open her show. The curlers were gone, and with them everything else that had made her interesting. It was apparent within a few moments that she was better at singing silly songs to strangers in the street than making rooms full of paying customers laugh at her jokes.
"The dance club should be open now, you guys want to check it out again?" Jared asked.
"Yes! Let's go, this lady isn't funny, and I wanna get my groove on!" Liz made for the door.
Back at the dance club, the music was thumping and the lights were flashing. A mass of bodies gyrated to the beat. A man walked past us with a tray of drinks held high in the air. He wore nothing but black boots and a pair of white underpants. I stayed close to Jared, and as a silent signal to her that I was deep in the throes of unease placed my hands around Elizabeth's waist while following her into the fray.
The first few minutes on a dance floor are always uncomfortable for me. I find it hard to find my feet and match them to the beat. My hips grind away like a fan unbalanced by a broken blade. My arms grow ever more cumbersome, ignoring my commands to be suave. Even my head feels lopsided and void of rhythm. Elizabeth and Jared have never suffered the same dance floor afflictions, and that night in Ogunquit was no different. Comfortable as ever, their bodies merged instinctively with the thunderous baseline. Lights flashed, fog filled the room, and bubbles filtered down through the flickering scene. People were writhing and jumping to the music. It seemed that everyone around me was finding their own groove. I stood like a pillar of anti-rhythm in the center of the pulsating crush. I was a white-heterosexual-married-male in his mid-thirties standing on the dance floor of a gay night club.
And then it happened.
As a married man and father of three, it isn't often that I am confident in my ability to attract hormonal attention outside of the adoration of my wife. It is with great humility that I admit to knowing that Elizabeth finds me to be her everything, a handsome man with just the right measure of animal allure and sexual prowess. After many years of struggling with the absence of my ego, Elizabeth has shored up enough love for me to build sufficient fortifications against a significant drop in my self esteem. Her mending ways have repaired much of the damage done by a childhood lacking in adequate encouragement and positive reenforcement. For that I am grateful.
But...
It is good to get a boost of morale from an outside, unfamiliar source. An unexpected spike on the confidence meter that sends it into the red and kicks your ego into high gear. This type of jump can permanently reset the benchmark for your self-esteem, leaving your lowest level of worth at a much higher point than ever expected. I have experienced but a few of these self-image altering moments, but there is only one that stands out as unlikely, unforgettable, and worthy of telling.
The hands on my ass could not have been my wife's. Elizabeth was in front of me, dancing like a diva. They weren't Jared's, he too was in front of me, and he too was dancing like a diva. This realization took but a fractured moment. I spun around to see whose hands had not only grabbed, but squeezed my cheeks. A black man of a very muscular (and shirtless) build stood behind me, his hands only just removed from my tush and a bright smile on his face. He winked at me before turning away, presumably to dance, but the thought occurred to me that perhaps he expected me to return the handy favor.
I didn't. Circling back to face Elizabeth and Jared seemed to take several minutes. My dear wife was shaking what the good lord had given her, but she stopped when she saw the look on my face.
"What?" She shouted, her hands gesturing confusion.
I leaned over to shout in her ear, and the words felt funny crossing my tongue. "I just got goosed by a very large, half-naked black man!"
"No way! Where is he?" Her squeal of delight lightened the situation, and I started to notice just how funny it actually was. I pointed across the floor at my suitor.
"Wow! He's good looking! You should be happy!" Elizabeth laughed and grabbed Jared, pulling him out of his dance trance to include him in the fun.
"Nice one, Matthew! He's not my type, but he is hot!" Jared laughed, and the awkward moment was gone for good.
"What can I say? When you've got it, you've got it!" It struck me as a strange thing to say given my current location, but I was feeling sure of myself. I was an attractive heterosexual male, standing beside his beautiful wife on the dance floor of a gay night club. I was one of a kind!
My ego boost complete, I watched as Jared once again moved his body to the beat. Elizabeth pulled me in and gave me a kiss. Her lips were salty with sweat, but the sweetness of the act was all I could taste. I put my hands on her hips and we began to move. I found my feet. My arms obeyed, following the rhythm as I commanded. I threw my head back and closed my eyes, and the blinking lights above painted my eyelids in colorful fireworks. It was a good night to be alive.
I had found my groove.
The hands on my ass could not have been my wife's. Elizabeth was in front of me, dancing like a diva. They weren't Jared's, he too was in front of me, and he too was dancing like a diva. This realization took but a fractured moment. I spun around to see whose hands had not only grabbed, but squeezed my cheeks. A black man of a very muscular (and shirtless) build stood behind me, his hands only just removed from my tush and a bright smile on his face. He winked at me before turning away, presumably to dance, but the thought occurred to me that perhaps he expected me to return the handy favor.
I didn't. Circling back to face Elizabeth and Jared seemed to take several minutes. My dear wife was shaking what the good lord had given her, but she stopped when she saw the look on my face.
"What?" She shouted, her hands gesturing confusion.
I leaned over to shout in her ear, and the words felt funny crossing my tongue. "I just got goosed by a very large, half-naked black man!"
"No way! Where is he?" Her squeal of delight lightened the situation, and I started to notice just how funny it actually was. I pointed across the floor at my suitor.
"Wow! He's good looking! You should be happy!" Elizabeth laughed and grabbed Jared, pulling him out of his dance trance to include him in the fun.
"Nice one, Matthew! He's not my type, but he is hot!" Jared laughed, and the awkward moment was gone for good.
"What can I say? When you've got it, you've got it!" It struck me as a strange thing to say given my current location, but I was feeling sure of myself. I was an attractive heterosexual male, standing beside his beautiful wife on the dance floor of a gay night club. I was one of a kind!
My ego boost complete, I watched as Jared once again moved his body to the beat. Elizabeth pulled me in and gave me a kiss. Her lips were salty with sweat, but the sweetness of the act was all I could taste. I put my hands on her hips and we began to move. I found my feet. My arms obeyed, following the rhythm as I commanded. I threw my head back and closed my eyes, and the blinking lights above painted my eyelids in colorful fireworks. It was a good night to be alive.
I had found my groove.
