Page 233 - Some Dance to Remember

Some Dance to Remember 203

“You make me sound like Hitler lusting after a blond Aryan hunk.”
“Without the edge of homosexuality, there would never have been a
Third Reich, mein smallische Fuehrer.”
“Fuck you!”
“Gays and fascists. Both consider themselves the ultimate elite. Don’t
ever forget that.”
Ryan left Solly’s penthouse knowing the inevitable.
The ultimate elite.
He understood what Solly was saying.
He must finally, totally, fall down on his knees before Kick.
To do what Kick wanted.
To truly take muscle as far as it goes.
Some people choose longevity.
Some people choose quality of life.
What was it Sandahl Bergman said to Arnold Schwarzenegger in
Conan the Barbarian?
“Do you want to live forever?”
What an ambiguous question.
One thing was meaning two things again.
Ryan said yes when Kick told him it was time.
“Give me,” Kick said, “your arms and pecs and shoulders.”
As Ryan had done at his First Communion, when he was seven years
old, he opened his mouth.
Kick’s fingers smelled sweet. He placed the blue pill on Ryan’s tongue.
Ryan looked into Kick’s blue eyes and hoped for more than he had
hoped for all his life.
He hoped for his own muscle.
He closed his lips and kissed the tips of Kick’s fingers.
If Death must be embraced, then let me be in Kick’s strong blond arms.
He swallowed the Dianabol.
Another bite from the apple of paradise.
Kick led him to the bedroom. “I feel sorry,” Kick said, “for anyone
who isn’t us tonight.”

5

Up in Sonoma County the Bar Nada ranch house smelled of Velveeta
panfried in margarine on enriched white Wonder Bread. It was a Febru-
ary weekend in the country. Kick, who had driven the Corvette only the
week before to El Lay for his checkup with Doctor Steroid, had received a

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