Our Tuesday Playlist
By: Chuy G. Gonzalez
Tags: LGBTQ, Gay, Sexuality, Love, Creative Non Fiction

The following Tuesday, he stopped by after practice. We drank wine and continued to talk, as we leaned onto opposite sides of the window built-it seat. I wondered whether he could hear my thoughts or the anxiety in my voice. I couldn’t help but think about the last time we saw each other. The way he took hold of me and made me feel his. Perhaps, it was the wine, but I started to feel uncomfortably hot. I could not stop undressing him. Wishing for him to kiss me again.

Robyn’s “Dancing On My Own” was playing in the background. He gulped his wine, placed the glass on the floor, and made his way toward me. He extended his arm, reaching for mine, and smiled. He pulled me up and into the center of the living room. “Dance with me”, he said. Giggling like idiots we swayed. Our bodies began to dance in unison. At that moment, with Robyn in the background, I felt whole. I thought, if this is what love feels like, I want in. I will pray at his church, kneel at his feet, and follow blindly as one of his disciples.

He pulled me in. Our bodies collided. He wrapped his arms around me and I swear I melted onto his skin. We kissed and made our way into my bedroom. Our clothes peeled off our bodies somewhere along the way. We climbed into the bed. His body over mine, in between my thighs, and we merged into a whole.

This time, with him, felt different. Unlike the other men, I had been with, I felt seen and complete. I couldn't help but think how much I didn’t want this to end. Our eyes met, he smiled, kissed me, and whispered: “me encantas” (I adore you). As if he had been able to read my mind. He eased my thoughts and reassured my feelings. This time, was different.

I could feel his body getting ready to reach a climax. His breathing shortened, and his body began trembling with mine. As he reached a climax, his body let out three progressively loud screams. I was shocked, amused, mortified, and trying very hard to stop myself from laughing. He rested his body on top of mine, as we both regained consciousness. I felt pleased with myself, for what I was able to evoke in him, but I was certain the entire building had witnessed our grand finale. A feeling that was reassured by the judgemental stares and half-smirking faces from my trendy neighbors and the disapproving head shake from the grand matriarch the next day on my way to work.

We saw each other every Tuesday after practice. Each time, he felt more like home. I began blasting music from my Bluetooth speaker whenever we found ourselves in bed. I knew our time together would eventually need to be muffled — so I carefully curated a playlist with songs that gave us the freedom to fully embrace the sounds of our bodies surrendering to each other.

Every Tuesday evening my favorite artists would make a recurring appearance in my bedroom, unapologetically let my neighbors know what was about to begin. We never talked about it, but I am sure he knew why I started playing loud music after our first time in bed. I affectionately called him Tarzan, not just for his climatic skills but for his ability to make my entire body, crave for him.

Looking back at it now, I wish we both had been more willing to take the next step. Less afraid of getting hurt, less focused on obtaining other men's validation, and more willing to get lost in the magnitude of us. I cannot help but wonder, what our relationship would be like had I stayed in Guatemala? Whether we would still be together in something much more concrete than casual Tuesdays. Now and then I think of him and replay the music we once made love to. Wherever he may be, I hope he does the same. For he will always be, my one and only Tarzan.