Page 58 - Some Dance to Remember

28 Jack Fritscher

turned and smiled down at me. He said nothing but he commu-
nicated everything. His eyes looked deep into me. Reassuring me.
As if I already heard his heart say: “Here I am. Look at me. Look
at what I was born with. Look at what I have worked at improv-
ing. I like it. You like it. It’s all here. A gift to us. Let’s share it. Let’s
enjoy it. Let’s let go with no reserve. Let’s get off on it together.”
I wanted to hump his leg.
He had dressed himself in fantasy gear he thought would
please me. He had tucked his blond body into an impeccably
tailored California Highway Patrol motorcycle uniform: high-
polished, calf-hugging black boots; the tan wool-serge breeches
bulging tight around his muscular thighs; the black-leather police
jacket, accessory belt with handcuffs, nightstick, and gun in the
holster. His gold-framed cop glasses accented his tanned blond
face. His hair was cut, groomed, and the kind of translucent
blond that runs from black-blond to platinum. His bristle of
moustache was authoritatively clipped military style. He was a
bulk of a man. No fag in cop drag. He understood perfect police
dressage. He presented himself to me uniformed like a sculpture
for an unveiling. I could tell he had an immense capacity for
man-to-man fantasy play. He was, in fact, teasing me and I was
loving the foreplay. Dan had promised me a bodybuilder. Kick
himself intensified the promise one step higher. He offered me
my first reading of his physique as an ideal man in authority. He
was perfect. He walked, flesh and blood and muscle, right into
my abstract ideal of what a man should look like. He filled in all
the blanks. He was my every fantasy. He was the kind of man
I looked up at when I was a boy and thought, “That man. That
man. That’s the kind of man I want to look like when I grow up.”
Kick terrified me. Never in this life did I expect the fulfill-
ment of ultimate fantasy. But, my God, if this sexual wish to
dive straight to the heart of pure masculinity can be filled, what
other wishes in life can I hope to come true? Most bodybuilders
give no indication that their muscle can be used for anything
but flexing. Kick, in his CHP uniform, went beyond decorative
muscle-for-muscle’s sake. He was an enforcer. He was a more real
cop than most credentialed cops ever dream of being. He was a
CHP recruiting poster.
Kick was the way a man should be.
He finally sat down opposite me. Dan fired up a joint. We

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