A note from Bright Crow: This continues the revision of a serialized adventure Walhydra first published on The Crone Thread in 1996.Part 2: Matchmaking
During one of their times of deeper sharing—it was either an empty moment between inmate crises or maybe while bouncing to lunch in Dr. Bob's rust dappled Buick—Walhydra discovered just how poetic her friend could be, despite his convinced rationalist's faith and practice.
Dr. Bob told her how he came to recognize at age five that he had a special longing for boys.
The puzzle to him, he said, had not been why. Nor had it been anything to do with moral or ethical or psychological concerns.
The puzzle had been how to be a father and raise a family, since that was his other dear desire.
One of the great blessings of his life was a wife who had been willing to build a marriage and family out of the love and caring he could give her, yet still let him be who he is.
Granted, this is the reading which Walhydra, ever the romantic, put on Dr. Bob's story. He himself told it all very dispassionately. She humored him, chuckling privately at the "principled" ways of self-styled rational menfolk.
What moved Walhydra the most, however, was how Dr. Bob described the nature of his passion for men.
That passion had of course had its erotic dimension in his younger days. Now, though, the notion of physical sex seemed rather silly to him.
The key to Dr. Bob's fascination with men of any age was this: recognizing someone with a particularly clear flame of masculinity.
Masculinity, according to Dr. Bob's definition, had two essential traits: a deep sense of high purpose and an insatiable thirst for ecstasy.
"A cute butt helps," Walhydra chipped in.
In fact, though, Walhydra marveled at how well Dr. Bob's words expressed the heart of her own passion for men.
What drew her most was a man or a boy who had an intensity of purpose—she was tempted to say divine purpose—so clear and powerful that his quest roused in him all of the most wonderful human—and spiritual—passions.
Of course, there were also men whose attraction was that they manifested these two traits in the opposite order. They were so open to and desirous of ecstasy that they radiated their intention to seek, worship and exalt in it without restraint.
[Note: Walhydra must take time out here to catch her breath...and dry off.]It was during this conversation that Dr. Bob began to tell Walhydra about two young men for whom he was playing self appointed matchmaker.
Dr. Bob usually spent weekday evenings with his wife at their home in Columbia, SC. On the weekends, though, he went to his boat in Charleston.
There, for years, he had befriended and mentored a long string of street kids, delinquents, high school and college students, and assorted other clear flames. He also shepherded a fair number through the online bulletin board he ran from the computer aboard his sailboat.
In all cases, Dr. Bob practiced the same non judgmental, compassionate tolerance for stubbornness, misguided self centeredness and opinionated faulty thinking which he used in his work with psychiatric patients—and with colleagues.
He seemed to have an unbounded willingness to put up with obnoxiousness.
There was a catch, of course: he would always, with his kind yet unavoidable precision, point out their errors of thought or their inappropriateness with others.
A number of the "kids" Dr. Bob befriended—especially in the current crop—were of the rebellious, freethinking yet confused variety. They tended to have creatively damaged hair, piercings in unappetizing places and clothing which seemed in constant peril of falling off. Dr. Bob called these boys "the orcs."
The two for whom he was matchmaking, though, were not orcs.
R. was a 26 year old computer programming expert in Atlanta, one who had been Dr. Bob's protégé since adolescence.
He was a brilliant and creative young man who could write in assembler language (the computer equivalent of being able to write fluent Proto-Indo-European). R. also wrote volumes of very inventive gay porno and was something of a musician.
The other young fellow was D., a 16 year old son of divorced parents who shared a mutual dislike with his step father. He lived in a garage apartment owned by his adult elder sister.
Dr. Bob said that D. was perhaps even more brilliant than R. Dr. Bob had given him keys to the boat cabin, as well as SysOp status on the computer, so that D. could have access to stuff no one else was allowed to get at—and, of course, privacy away from his family.
Dr. Bob told Walhydra, "I think I'm getting ready to do something slightly naughty.
"I'm going to have both R. and D. over to my home for my New Year's Eve Eve party this Saturday night. And they're both spending the night there."
Walhydra glanced at him. "I'll get the drink of hemlock ready, oh, Socrates," she straight faced.
Dr. Bob explained that R. was smitten with D. yet had given up hope, until he, Bob, insisted that D.—curious but not yet out teenager that he was—kept asking after R.
"And the worst part," Dr Bob continued, "is that I am so jealous it hurts.
"R. asked me 'Jealous of whom?' when I told him.
" 'Of both of you!' I said.
"It's actually been an intriguing experience, feeling such emotions. I almost cried when I told R that."
Walhydra, who was jealous without having even seen these boys, commiserated.
That was when Dr. Bob gave her the invitation. It read something like this:
This is a cordial invitation to a New Year's Eve Eve (sic) party to be held at my house on New Year's Eve Eve (not surprisingly). I suggest 7:30 as a starting time, and I plan to start playing the piano at 8:00. If you want to miss the piano music, come around 8:45. Or maybe even 9:00. Bring your own poison. We will have various ancillary substances on hand.This was an event obviously not to be missed.
We may sing some carols.
Plans to sacrifice a virgin may have to be altered due to unaccountable reluctance.
Oh yeah: the program may or may not be as follows:
Claire de Lune, DeBussy
Revolutionary Etude, Chopin
Winter Wind Etude, Chopin
Prelude in E minor, Chopin
Pollonnaise in A flat, Chopin
D. was going to play the violin, but he chickened out.
[To be continued]