I was on the PATH train reading a book ... sorta. I’d just started and I wasn’t into it yet. My mind wandered. My eyes followed. A young Latino kat got on, catching my eye, confused if he should take the one remaining seat which happened to be next to me. His eyes were warm and feminine and relinquished things he tried to keep hidden beneath a façade of thuggish masculinity. I nodded almost imperceptibly and moved my bag off the seat. I wanted him to sit. I wanted him to stay where he was. I wanted him. But he averted his gaze, leaned against the door and remained standing. I was happy and pissed and returned to my reading ... sorta. The experience was hardly unusual and not at all profound. I got no spingles.
The Affectation is a salve for the soul of every boy who ever cringed when he heard the word faggot. It’s a book, a memoir, a fantasy, a theatrical ride conspired by Gods long forgotten. Yeah—Gods who knew me even before I did, one’s who still snuggle up to me at night, whisper in my ear and expect great things from me. It’s a seduction which aroused ideas, stroked emotions and exploded possibilities about my past and future that, let’s just say, left me panting and glowing like no hot boy on a train ever has. Well, a few, but that’s another tale.
Do yourself a favor though, pour a glass of something special, set the mood and curl up with The Affectation. Let Chuma lubricate your mind with forgotten Gods and lost loves ... but prepare to gasp for air.