My Deal With the Devil

 

It was October 16th, 2005. I picked up my boyfriend Danny from his job as a busboy at a restaurant somewhere on 5th Avenue in the 50s.  At his request, we walked up 5th and into Central Park.  It was a lovely autumn evening, with just a hint of a nip in the air.  Hand in hand we walked and chatted about life and love and us, all while trying to avoid the subject of what had happened a few weeks ago.  It was easier than I thought it would be and things on that Sunday evening felt relaxed; clearly we were getting comfortable with each other again. Something I swore would never happen after the night of the fight.

***

Danny and I met Gay Pride Sunday outside of a bar across from Madison Square Park; I spotted his tan skin and black beard through a sea of screaming queens and fluttering pride flags as the parade marched down 5th Avenue.  With a cocky arrogance, he half smiled at me and motioned with his head for me to come and say hello, and with what little self-confidence I had I walked over, trembling, and introduced myself.              

“I’m Timothy, Happy Pride.” My voice quivered.             

“I am Danny, Happy Pride to you,” he said, with the thickest Latino accent. 

Like a flustered teenage girl meeting her movie star crush, I gushed through goofy laughter. “Oh my God, you’re so hot and your accent is amazing.” 

“Yes,” he said.  “I’m Peruvian.”  

He then took his hand and clasped the back of my neck, pulling me in and kissing me passionately. When he gave me my lips back I was dizzy and faltered a bit, but he grabbed me and locked eyes with me. I had never been so close to perfection. 

He was my height exactly, with a thick, muscular frame. He had copper colored eyes and black hair that matched his black beard. He was wearing a button down shirt with the sleeves cut off – unbuttoned, and his pecs popped perfectly from under his white cotton shirt. And I’m sure I heard a choir of angels singing.

We chatted for about an hour, but I felt unworthy of his attention the entire time. We decided to go to enjoy the rest of the Pride festivities in The Village.  

As we walked hand in hand, my heart pounding and my legs shaking, we talked about everything – everything having to do with Danny.  He told me of his pilgrimage five years prior, from Peru to Clifton, New Jersey, but that thick accent of his made it sound like the town he lived in was called, Cliff Tongue. He had just turned 36, he was here illegally, lived with an ex-boyfriend named José and had a job sweeping floors in a cardboard box factory which paid him off the books, but he was going to leave that job now that he had a social security number.  

“How did you get a social security number if you’re not legal?” I asked.            

 “It’s America baby. Anything is possible.” 

In downtown Clifton, there’s an abandoned lot.  Danny put $60.00 through a hole in the plywood fence surrounding the lot and the “clerk” on the other side slid a Social Security card through. “Now I’m legal,” he said.

The day was filled with more stories of his life, his family, his thoughts, his feelings, his this, his that, and I listened intently, mentally taking notes as if there would be a quiz later. He’d interrupt himself from time to time and turn me toward him, grab the back of my head and kiss me deep and hard.  It was literally a dream come true. He, so handsome and confident. Me, so insecure and desperate for love. Us, kissing along the parade route during Gay Pride. A match made in heaven. I thought to myself, and by sunset we were in love.

As we stood on the roof of The Dugout bar at the end of Christopher Street, watching the fireworks explode over the Hudson River, I had butterflies in my belly and that familiar feeling of, Maybe this is THE one, a feeling that I hoped would last past the next sunrise.  

I can’t tell you how many mornings I’d leave a guy’s apartment with my head spinning wondering what had happened between him stroking my face after sex and saying the most beautiful things before we slept in each others’ arms, and the alarm going off four hours later, acting like I was some unwanted houseguest who had overstayed his welcome or wet the bed.

More fireworks exploded.  Looking at the half moon through the smoky bursts of light, Danny said, “I make a wish now, I wish that…” 

“No.” I screamed, “If you say it, it won’t come true.” 

Quickly he grabbed me by the shoulders and said, “No, Timothy you are wrong, I always get what I want, and my wish is for us to be together.  And I will get that.” 

As I stood there swept up in his arm, nearly in tears, I grabbed his face and kissed him so hard, pressing my body against him as if I couldn’t get close enough, grinding my hard cock into his. He took my hand put it on his crotch and said, “You like that?”  

“Oh yeah.” I said.

 “Good, wait till you feel the whole thing.” With a wink and a kiss I grabbed his hand and said, “Let’s go.”

On the walk back to my apartment the conversation finally turned to me.  There weren’t many questions; he just wanted to know what I did for a living and how much money I made. “Not that I care,” he said, “I have my own money and I hate when other people pay for things for me.”

 I thought that was an odd statement since I had paid for lunch for us, and countless alcoholic beverages for him, which on Pride are quite expensive. That was the first red flag I chose to ignore.  It was followed by the second: “You’re handsome, but if you had a bigger chest, you’d be much hotter.  Work on that.” 

That stung, but when you’re longing to be loved, you let little things slide.            And speaking of little things, his penis was not the beef burrito I was made to believe it would be.  Not that I’m a size queen, but I wasn’t sure why he had to oversell his dick.  I was so desperate to be in a relationship I wouldn’t have cared if he looked like a Ken doll down there.

***

Central Park was brimming with people enjoying the last few hours of this beautiful autumn Sunday evening. We walked down The Mall, down the Bethesda stairs and past the fountain. As we stood at the edge of the boat pond, Danny suggested we rent a boat and row out onto the lake.  I stopped, stared deep into his eyes and stood silent, taking in each second of this romantic moment; yes, Danny had clearly changed. He heard what I said a few months ago, about my favorite place in the park being The Mall and about being spontaneous and romantic. And he actually did something about it.  I loved that moment – joy and happiness coursing through my veins.

As Danny talked to the attendant about a boat, I stared at him wondering if it was possible for someone to really change, do a full 180 in just a few weeks time.  I mean, where had this romantic guy been hiding for the three months we dated? This was a different person, someone I never met before and he was lovely. But after the night of the fight, I had made my peace with the fact that our relationship was over. Then a week ago he showed up at my apartment with a dozen deli roses and begged me to take him back.  In his thick, beautiful Peruvian accent he said, “Timothy, please I love you,” and I’m such a sucker!  

As our boat was pushed into the lake, Danny began to row and then suddenly stopped to pull his shirt off. An Inca god, with a thick perfect chest with a patch of black hair coating each pec, he gave me a wink and flexed his huge bicep at me. I giggled and whispered out loud, “Jesus.” 

Danny rowed slowly onto the lake and told me to enjoy the view. Then he swept his hand from his neck to his waist as if he was a prize on The Price is Right. His vanity was unbelievable; he was like some character on a telenovela. I was forever waiting for him to pull a mirror out of his pocket so he could admire himself.

There were a lot of boats on the lake that night with dozens of people along the shore, and as our boat slowly lined up with the angel on top of the Bethesda Fountain, Danny stopped rowing.  “Let me just look at you,” he said. 

We sat for a moment just looking into each other’s eyes. He continued, “You know what they say about that angel and that fountain?  That it is the center of the world.  If you sit there long enough in one day you will see a person from every country in the world pass by.” 

I was speechless.  I didn’t know if he was making it up or actually did his research, and I didn’t care.  I was being wooed, and at that moment I was delighted that I gave Danny a second chance. I exhaled, my body relaxing, thinking that perhaps what happened the night of the fight could be forgiven, and then, 

“What is that?” he said, pointing behind me.  I turned around but didn’t see anything except other boats rowing our way. When I turned back to ask him to clarify, I saw it.  Sitting on my knee.  A box. A small black velvet box.  There was a thud in my ear as my heart sped up; my mouth was suddenly dry and my stomach dropped.  I looked at Danny and he was beaming with the biggest grin. 

“What is this?”  I asked, knowing full well what it was. 

“Timothy, I love you, and I change for you.  Why?  Why I change for you?  Because we are meant to be together and I want to be with you forever.” Taking the box from my knee and opening it up, he said, “Timothy, will you marry me?”

In an instant a hundred thoughts flooded my head, most of them not in his favor. But as soon as highlights of the fight flashed through my mind I stopped thinking.  I was NOT going to ruin this moment, I mean it was finally happening, the question I thought I would never hear; “Will you marry me?”

There he sat, his arm stretched out, pushing that black Macy’s ring box in my face. Say something! I thought, but I needed to wait just a few seconds more, I wanted to stay there for as long as I could, in the giddiness of the silence between that question and my answer. He was still. My eyes burned a hole right through him. After a deep breath, I finally said, “Yes!” 

And as he slid the ring on my finger and my eyes filled up with tears, I said to myself quickly three times, Deal with the devil, deal with the devil, deal with the devil.   I knew it was wrong, I knew it wouldn’t last, but that question only had one answer.  Fuck the romantic walk through Central Park, and a sunset boat ride, this guy rowed me out to the center of the world and proposed to me; it was better than I could ever have dreamed, and with my current batting record, I wasn’t sure this was going to happen ever again.  

“Have you ever been married?”  

“No, but I was engaged once.”  

At least, I thought, I’ll have that. 

He held my hand and leaned in and kissed me.  The moment was pure magic and he was the magician.  Three women rowing past us said, “Awwwww, so cute!”  They must have seen the ring box in his hand and one of them screamed, “Oh my God! Did he just propose?”

And with tears in my eyes, I held up my ringed finger and screamed, “I’m getting married!” 

Deal with the devil.

Once we were back on dry land I asked if we could sit on a bench along The Mall. I needed to collect my thoughts.  He put his arm around me and drew me closer; I rested my head on his, held my hand up and looked at my finger.  As I admired the gold band, Danny assured me that things were going to be different now, “You will see.” 

I was not as confident as he was. Our relationship had had many problems, the biggest one being that I was willing to put up with Danny’s abuse so I could say those magic words that every queen I knew said to me; “This is my boyfriend,” “I’m seeing my boyfriend tonight,” or “Oh my God, my boyfriend fucked the shit out of me last night.” 

Everything is a trade off, and sadly, the insults that began on Pride had only gotten worse.  “You need to dye your beard, it’s starting to go gray and I don’t like it.” Danny would tell me. “Are you sure you’re doing chest workouts at the gym? Your chest is still not growing.  Take steroids.” “Why you trim your chest hair, I hate that. Make sure you don’t do that anymore.”  

Like the dutiful doormat that I was, I started dying my beard and I grew in my closely trimmed chest hair.

“I’m afraid to take steroids.” I told him.

“Stop being the pussy. Do it because you love me.”

The next day I went to my gym and pulled a trainer to the side and asked him if he knew where I could get steroids. By the end of the week I was injecting one cc of testosterone and one cc of deca into my ass cheeks, my hands shaking every time. 

I think any normal person would have said at this point, “OK queen, I’m done with you.” But not me, my need for a boyfriend far outweighed my need for self-respect.

It’s not that I took his insults lying down; I fought back, yelling and screaming at him on the street, “WHY ARE YOU EVEN WITH ME, YOU HATE EVERYTHING ABOUT ME!”  Or making scenes in bars, “STOP STARING AT THAT GUY, YOU THINK HE’S SO FUCKING HOT, GO GET HIM!” Or hanging up on him only to call him back to scream, “I’M DONE!” and hang up again. It was the ideal relationship for two very dysfunctional people.  

My particular dysfunction was the need to be loved.  By anyone.  I was 41 and single when I met Danny. With no other prospects anywhere in sight, I had no intention of ever leaving him, or not talking to him again, and clearly neither did he. I’d always get a call the day after a fight, that accent only made better with a bit of playfulness in it, a little sing-songy lilt. “Timothy, you know I love you so much, I can’t live without you.” I’d melt. He’d lie and tell me he’d change. I’d lie and tell him I believed him and just like that the ride started all over again. 

He surprised me one day by showing up at my office without calling. “I want to take you to lunch,” he said. Wow, I thought, finally he’s doing something for me!

It wasn’t much, just a slice at the pizza place at the corner of 19th and 9th, but it was the one and only time he had offered to pay for anything.  

As we walked back to my office, he pulled me down on the steps of a brownstone and said,  “I’m so glad we found each other.  I feel like you are my soul mate and I’m apologize for being a dick sometimes.” 

“I’m apologize,” he’d say, not “I’m apologizing,” or “I apologize,” but “I’m apologize.” I fucking loved how he said that.  

“Thank you for saying that,” I said. “I feel like there is something real between us too.  Why else would we keep coming back to all the craziness otherwise?” 

He kissed me.  “You know that’s truth. And I need you.”  

“I need you too.”  I cooed, snuggling under his chin. 

“Oh Timothy, this is so hard for me.  I’m a proud man you know.” Oh God,            “What is hard?” I asked. 

He took my hand, put my knuckle up to his lips, locked eyes with me for dramatic effect, then took a breath and said, “You can give me $400.00 so I can pay rent?” 

There it is! 

There. It. Is. 

“I’ll pay you back.  I don’t like to ask. You know that.” 

Do I though? I thought.  In the three months of us dating, I’d been passively and aggressively, verbally insulted and attacked and all I had to show for it was a dollar slice of pizza and half of a soda.

I knew it was too good to be true, a “spontaneous” lunch date.

A four hundred dollar slice of pizza date was more like it. 

I started to sweat in the shade, and like some stupid felt dog Velcro-ed on somebody’s dashboard, I found myself nodding my head involuntarily, yes. A wave of nausea rolled over me. He kissed me out of my daze and pulled me to my feet. He kissed my hand over and over as we made our way to the bank so I could give him the money. As the twenties were being dispensed from the machine, he kissed my cheek and asked if we could go to Gym Bar tonight. “Sure,” I said in my hazy state, “I’ll meet you there after work.” 

When I got back to the office, all I could think of was how wrong all of this felt. Those initial butterflies in my belly had died and as they rotted in my gut, I started to realize that I was being taken advantage of. 

It wasn’t just the money; it was also the head games he played. When we were out at a bar he would start out being attentive to me; kissing me, putting his arm around me, then he’d stand behind me and sling his arm around my neck. “You know what you get if you look at another man,” he’d say, then he’d jerk his arm around my neck and choke me with it.  Not for long. He’d release his arm and whisper, “You are mine.” Finally, Something that felt good.  But soon the real game would begin; “Oh no,” Danny would say.  Which I would follow up with, “What?” 

“No, forget it.” He would say.  

Sometimes I would forget it and sometimes I wouldn’t, but that didn’t matter. The story, in its many versions goes like this: “That hot guy over there approached me last time we were out and flirted with me.”  Then Danny would spend some time admiring this guy, making sure to let me know everything that he liked about him. “But I love you,” he’d say.  All of that, plus a lifetime of my insecurity and I’d lose it. I’d make a scene, leave the bar, he’d follow, and the gay drama would spill onto the street.

My head was spinning when I left work to meet him at Gym Bar, and I was hoping tonight would be different. I did just pay his rent. Maybe he’ll keep that in mind and not be such a dick. 

I walked in the bar and saw Danny in the back talking to some guy.  I saw him look up at me then move in on this guy and put his arm around him.  

I flew over there. “Um, what’s going on over here?” 

“Hi baby!” I got a big kiss and a “grrrrrrr” as he hugged me and lifted me off my feet.

 “This is Thomas. Thomas, this is Timothy.”  

In no mood for a meet and greet, I gave a quick, “Hey,” without even looking at the guy.  I just stood there staring at Danny. 

Thomas excused himself. “I’m going to get a drink,” he said, pointing to Danny’s empty glass, “Refill?”  

Danny, still staring at me said, “No thanks, I’m good.” 

“C’mon it’s my turn to buy, you got the last two rounds.” 

“YOU WHAT?” 

The bar went silent. I’d screamed it so loudly that I scared myself a little.

“Timothy, don’t start.” 

“Shouldn’t you tell your new friend who actually bought him two rounds of drinks?” Turning towards Thomas I said, “You can thank me for the drinks.  I gave my boyfriend $400 today to pay his fucking rent.” I turned back to Danny and said, “And you’re out buying this douche bag drinks.”  

Thomas interrupted, “Hey fuck you.” 

I screamed at Danny, “You have not bought me anything in three fucking months and now you’re out spending money I gave you for rent on drinks for this queen?” 

Danny grabbed my wrist and squeezed it tightly, before he pushed it behind my back and pulled me into him. Gritting his teeth he said, “Why do you do this?”  

Struggling to get away I shouted, “Get your fucking hands off me.” 

The entire bar was looking our way and the security guard came over to tell us to knock it off or leave. Toe to toe, eyes locked on each other as the security guard stood on top of us, Danny released my wrist. 

“I’m out of here.” I slammed out of the bar with Danny behind me, of course.

The three-block walk to my place was epic, me screaming the most vile things at him: Loser, worthless, sponge, whore, fucking whore, fucking loser. He responded by calling me crazy, stupid, and a number of other things in Spanish, which I’m sure were not compliments.

We got back to my place and Danny was trying to plead his case, 

“Let me stop you.” I said, putting my hand up and taking a deep breath.

 “Danny, you do nothing but use me and insult me and what happened tonight was it for me.”  I had a moment of clarity, this was not right. It never was. And it was not what I wanted for the rest of my life.

I grabbed him by the shoulders;  “People in love don’t speak to each other like this.” I stared into Danny’ unflinching copper eyes feeling a wave of relief that I was finally able to say it out loud. We hugged and then I continued, “I don’t want to say those horrible things to you, I know you don’t want to say them to me, so let’s just end this now.” He stood motionless. “Look,” I said, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I said those things, I’m sorry I called you those names.  Danny, I’m sorry.”  

He furrowed his brow, tilted his head and said, “So that’s it, you’re sorry?  You said those things and saying ‘sorry’ is supposed to make it better? 

“Yes.” I said. I could see the wheels turning in his head as we stood there locked in our gaze. 

BOOM!

I grabbed the left side of my face. There was a loud ringing in my ear. Suddenly, white-hot pain shot from my temple across my face to the bridge of my nose like a bullet. Then I saw it.  His hand balled up into a fist. Did he just hit me? I thought. He just fucking hit me!

At first I didn’t know what happened.  It had happened so fast I didn’t see it coming, and I was dazed from not only the impact, but also trying to figure out what the impact actually was.

I stood there shaking in disbelief, I looked into his eyes as mine were blurring with tears.  He shrugged his shoulders, smirked and said, “Sorry.” 

****

It was starting to get dark and we decided to leave the park, we walked hand in hand to the subway to go back to my place to have celebratory, “we just got engaged” sex.  As we crossed 57th Street heading south to the subway at 53rd, I had a quick flash of something my friend Molly from work said the other day, “You can barely see the black eye anymore.”  “If you ever go back with him I’ll punch you in the other eye!” 

I’d had no problem telling everybody that he gave me a black eye, but I couldn’t tell anybody that I decided to start dating him again. What kind of an idiot would go back with someone who had punched them hard enough in the face to give them a black eye? Pushing that thought to the back of my brain, I squeezed Danny’s hand and felt the ring on my finger.  It seemed some of those butterflies had revived themselves and were back at it in my belly.  I held our hands up and looked at the ring, then to his beaming smile.

Later, as we lay tangled up in each other still sticky with cum and lube, I started to cry, 

“Why you crying?” Danny whispered, 

“Everything is different now.” I said. He pulled me in closer and said, “I know baby, isn’t it great?” He fell asleep having no idea what I was talking about. 

As my head rested on his chest I could hear his heart beat slow down and at the same time feel mine begin to race.  It had been a long day filled with surprises and my brain was no longer able to suppress any thoughts that were flooding my head.  From my bed I could see the doorway between the living room and the kitchen where I was standing when he punched me.  I closed my eyes as tight as I could, trying to erase that moment, but the tighter I squeezed my eyes the more vivid it became – that right hook to my left eye. I could hear his fist hitting my face; the sound, a deep, solid thud, then muffled silence and a sharp abnormal ringing in my ear.

There I’d stood in the doorway with my hand on my face and tears streaming down my cheeks, and him with that insane look in his eyes. “How you like it, eh?” he snapped at me. “How you like it? You say those shitty things to me and Sorry is supposed to make it better? Now I punch you in the face and I say it. Sorry.”

 It wasn’t an apology; he was taunting me, the word dripping with venom and sarcasm. He was breathing like a crazed bull, rapidly through his nose, inching closer to my face, daring me to speak, and like a volcano I erupted, pushing him away from me. 

“WHY? Why did you have to hit me? Anything else we could have fixed, but you punched me in the fucking face! We can’t fix this now! WE CAN’T FIX THIS NOW!”  I slid down the wall sobbing, holding my face. Nothing was said. I heard his breathing, my sobbing and the floorboards creaking under his feet as he moved from side to side. Those thirty seconds felt like an eternity, and then slowly he came to me and pulled me to my feet. 

“Why?” I screamed.  “You ruined everything.”

He pulled me into him as I sobbed into his chest. He started rocking and shushing me. I was crying not only because he hit me but because it was truly over and I was going to be alone again. 

He continued to rock me and began to rub against me. His dick was rock hard.  “What the fuck is wrong with you?” I said as I broke away from him, but he kept coming at me, 

“Timothy, we can fix this.” He grabbed my wrist with the same force he had used in the bar, trying to drag me closer. I backed into the wall and with nowhere to go he came at me again telling me he loved me with one more rub against my leg.

Everything stopped. What was happening? This was a puzzle I needed to figure out and put together quickly.  He punched me in the face and now he has a hard-on.  I was shocked, I was repulsed, I couldn’t believe…I couldn’t process how any of it was happening.

“Get out!” I screamed but he moved in to kiss me. I pushed him out of my way and ran into the kitchen, my hands shaking as I opened up the silverware drawer. 

I grabbed a butcher knife. He was right behind me, pleading with me to calm down but I spun around raising the knife above my head. “Get out!” I screamed. He didn’t move. Adrenaline forcing my blood to race through my veins made the throbbing pain in my eye worse. “Get out, get out, get out!” He reached for my arm, “Get OUT!” I screamed and swung the knife at his hand. I missed. Fuck, I wanted blood. Again, I screamed, “Get out! Get the fuck out of my house,” coming at him waving the blade above my head, “Get out of here you fucking freak.” 

He fumbled trying to unlock the door. Finally he opened it and headed for the stairs. He stopped and turned to me, “What about my bag?” 

“Get out of here!” I screamed and slammed the door.  

I was shaking and pacing aimlessly through my apartment and suddenly realized I still had the knife in my hand. I ran to the kitchen and threw it in the sink and started to cry. Then, I opened the window, unzipped Danny’s bag and emptied the contents into the alley below my kitchen window.

 ****

Laying on the bed, my head on his chest and my screams echoing in my ears, Danny snored and rolled over and I tried to figure out how to get out of this. I reached for the light on the bedside table and saw the ring on my finger. I switched off the light, kissed the ring and spoke into the darkness, “Deal with the devil.” 

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