Jonny Orsini's character stepped out of the bathtub. Nathan Lane's character had placed the towel across the room from the tub so he could get more a glimpse of Orsini's character naked as he walked to get the towel. And though earlier, I had been a little annoyed by the obstructed view from the front row since the stage is quite high, during this scene I was really pleased with my seat's location, happy that there was no one between me and that beautiful back dripping with water, no one between me and that hairy ass, no one between me and that gorgeous cock. He has a really beautiful body and before this brief nude scene, I had already become slightly smitten with this character, his eyes reminding me of Taylor's, narrow eyes that narrow even further with a smile.
I have started taking this mass gainer from GNC and I am not sure what all is in there, but something in there I believe is making me insanely horny. Ever since taking it, I have been compulsively masturbating in the middle of the night, waking up at three, at four, jerking off, and falling back asleep, before some erotic reverie wakes me up again.
There has been a lot of longing and no real physical contact these past couple weeks. That has something to do with it also. I was, in some weird sense, seeing again this person naked, Taylor, in seeing this actor on stage, their eyes similar enough for me to see one in the other, to conflate the two.
I rode the train home. The L train at 11:30pm on a weekend heading into Brooklyn is a very unique version of Hell, one that I am glad I rarely get to experience. There were a lot of annoying people. There were some insanely sexy people. There were some insane people trying their best to look sexy. There were break dancers. There was the guy who reminds me of Bleeding Gums Murphy, maybe if solely because he also is black, slightly homeless looking, and committed to playing his saxophone. Bleeding Gums Murphy started joining the break dancers in dancing in the middle of the train, was showing them up, tossed a dollar at their feet. Worlds were colliding, always a strange sight to see buskers crossing paths on car, and sharing a car with their attempts to entertain a crowd, their attempts to pull dollars from wallets.
I thought about how I did not stand during the curtain call. I didn't think the play was great. I thought it was good, but not standing ovation worthy. Everyone is so quick to jump to their feet at any play, especially if it has a big star, in this case Nathan Lane. Everyone else around me was standing. Nathan Lane during his bow with the cast, I am convinced, looked at me as if to chide me for sitting while everyone else was standing, for sitting in the front row even. He very well could have just been focusing his eyes at the orchestra underneath the stage. I thought about this on and off as I read on my phone news stories about North Korea threatening to obliterate the US and tried to ignore all of the human commotion around me, all of the people all dolled up so they could get fucked up and, if they were lucky, fucked.
I got off at DeKalb and walked up the stairs behind a guy carrying a takeout bag from this small East Village restaurant that Taylor works at. I followed this bag all the way home, so weird to see this takeout bag in this moment, the guy with the bag living only a couple doors down from me. It is a sign - what type of sign though, I am not sure. I am not fluent enough in whatever language these things are written in to know what it means. The Japanese person with the thick accent talks and talks at me and I just nod my head, pretend I understand.
There is the memory of a back, muscular back, dotted with drips of water, of a towel slowly being wrapped around a body, of human skin, and of what desire feels like. I know what three am, what four am, look like.