Introduction

Frankie cried watching the video of John Denver’s plane crash when his hero lost his life. John Denver was Rocky Mountain High, and Frankie loved how his songs could captivate an audience, pay allegiance to the Rocky Mountains, and warm the hearts of folks from the big cities, to the county farms of Colorado in rural America.

Frankie Siligato, was born in the Bronx, grew up in the Flatbush section of New York, and educated with bullshit and street smarts for personality. He now lived in Denver Colorado finding himself staring out the large glass windows of a city bus traversing 17th street.

As the bus roared down the street, Frankie reflected back to a year ago while still living in the Bronx. Here is what he was thinking…

******

“Frankie, what’s in Colorado, that’s so special,” yelled Grace Belmonte from the open downstairs window, as Frankie skipped down the brown stone steps on to the street.

“I gotta date, with a gorgeous putana (slut).” Frankie yelled back, with his Brooklyn accent.

“You men are all alike. I know what you do with your crazy sex. What’s, there’s no whores in the Bronx good enough for you?” she yelled so half the neighborhood could hear.

The Italian stallion threw his hands in the air and shouted, “stronza “(bitch), and kept on walking.”

Frankie stood out, in a crowd, and a ball-buster when alone. He had impressive black hair, dark eyes, and satin smooth skin. Some black hair peeked from the top button on his shirt. He had a typical Mediterranean body with sun soaked skin and hairy legs. His crotch was downright delicious, and folks took notice.

His persona bubbled with a flicker of hotness, like an actor from the streets, making it to the New York stage. It didn’t take much imagination for his naked body to be sweating on top of you because Frankie was gay. Oh yeah, good looking, Italian and gay.

Yes, sure, Frankie was gay; just the same, one couldn’t miss how he strutted around giving the impression that he fucked women. As long as he chewed on a toothpick, saying, bida-boom, and pussy, he was an okay guy. People never saw through his disguise. He would tell them something he simply made up, believing they would never know the difference, however, most of them did know the difference, but went along with his irresponsible game. “Vaffanculo - (fuck it)” the man liked sex.

His current boyfriend, Rocco Bonaduchi,  was moving to Denver and talked Frankie into joining him. What a dumb ass joke that turned out to be, (Frankie’s words, not mine). However, everything changed when the joke became the best thing ever to happen to Frankie. He met his match in Colorado, and then some.

After being together for two months in Denver, Rocco, took off for California, where all the spiteful faggots play, “truth or dare.” Rocco was a slut, pretending to be lovable, still Frankie believed that real love was out there somewhere, and wouldn’t be fooled again.

After Rocco, took the ‘faggot freight’ to the Pacific, Frankie became sensible when it came to people. For the first time, since getting blowjobs behind dumpsters and fucking dudes, in the Bronx, Frankie was a gentleman, never going near another toothpick. 

******

The bus kept stopping then starting, causing Frankie to pause, thinking about the past. He was a changed man, since coming to Colorado, appearing gentle, but still swearing in Italian. He had a “husky / hungry” appearance, on the surface; but here he was, a nobody going from zero to hero.

Frankie liked an Italian café called “Angie’s on 17th street and went there often for lunch. They served Italian food and excellent pizza. The café, with outside garden dining, catered to professionals and the lunchtime crowd including some hot looking gay men, making the menu something to drool over besides pasta.

Standing and looking for a vacant table were two seniors, Irving Brenner, and Stanley Gross. Frankie knew them from a temp job, he tried eight months ago. They were talking about how elegant, the garden looked at Angie’s outdoor café.

“Look Stanley, here is gorgeous Frankie, from eight months ago. Give a look, you remember him?”  said Irving.

“Oy vey, the day just became brighter. Of course, I remember.” Stanley replied.

“Are you here by your lonesome? Asked Irving Brenner.

“It looks that way but I’m not staying. The tables on the patio are filling up with couples and I do not want to take one. Just for myself. I can come back later. What the fuck, it’s always something.” Frankie grumbled adjusting his belt that seemed to be loose.

“Come back! – don’t be crazy, sit with us. The gay crowd will think we have a stud for a threesome. That should put envy on their faces,” commented Stanley, laughing.

“Okay,” Frankie replied. “I’ll take the place in the middle, so you can each have a leg,” he commented, just fooling of course.

Their conversation was short-lived however, when Barry, a remarkable gay waiter, came to take their order. Gosh, he was good looking.

“Hello gentlemen, good to see you,” said Barry. “What can I get everybody?” he asked.

“How about getting naked,” babbled Frankie, realizing he sounded like an idiot, after wanting to leave behind the Bronx, and behave. Still, old ways die slowly, and Frankie was Frankie.

“Naked is not on the menu,” replied Barry making a joke to calm the situation. It was strange, because Frankie actually intrigued Barry, dripping with his cocky masculine power. Their eyes locked on one another just for a second, but that second was powerful.

After Barry walked away, Frankie said, “I’m going to marry that man.”

“Yeah, sure, of course you are,” said Stanley, laughing at him. 

*******

Several days later Frankie was again talking to Irving and Stanley. They were coming out of the National Bank building on 17th and Stout Street.

Frankie liked being around older people, they had a degree of common sense he enjoyed hearing.

Irving and Stanley were yesterday kids in yesterday’s baggy pants pulled high up around their waist. Frankie respected how wise and genuine they were.  He imagined, they ‘rocked’ forty years ago. Now, they seemed to be content just looking.

“We meet again. This means we should go back to Angie’s and talk to Barry,” said Stanley Gross. – “Oh, I forgot, he is not your type. What do you say about that?” he asked.

“I was joking with you. Of course, Barry is my type, and that concerns me a great deal. He is everybody’s type, which means I have to work my ass off to get him to like me,” admitted Frankie.

“No, no, my boy, you couldn’t be more wrong about that. I saw the way Barry looked at you. Believe me, these things, I know about.  Since I am a betting Jew, you should be at a florist shop right now, looking for a deal on flowers.”

If Barry is the right person, you both will know it. But if you make a mistake, I’m available,” continued Irving coughing at his own foolishness.

“I know what I am looking for.” Frankie sternly stressed with confidence. That does kind of settle things, but if not, I’ll find myself a farm boy and we’ll bed down with the horses,” he concluded, grinning to keep the conversation on the pointless side.

“Don’t listen to Irving over here, what does he know,” said Stanley? “He is only teasing you. Getting a hot man, who is not a slut, is not so easy anymore. I know – I know, people say that all the time, so preaching, I’m not about to do.”

“Sex is like tears, it’ all in the game.” Frankie admitted. Sure I want sex, and I am good at it, don’t get me wrong, love should go along with it.”

“What kind of crap is that? Don’t get me wrong! You didn’t talk like that, in the Bronx, from the stories you’ve told. All you crazy Italian’s want is getting your cock squeezed in a warm wet hole, love is bullshit,” said Stanley.

Stanley was right on target. However, the tables had turned for Frankie from the days in the Bronx, when he would say - “Madonn, (good god) what a bod, let’s go someplace and fuck. This is no, “Cazzata” (bullshit.

“C’mon, beautiful smile for Frankie,” he would always tell somebody. It worked too, and gay boys were dropping their pants left and right just to be with Frankie for an hour or so.

This approach was behind him now. He had the moves to get most anything he wanted. It took no effort to attract older men who wanted to strip him naked. His body was like solid pastry, smooth yet sweet and tasty. Never the less, it was always the same; fuck or be fucked, with a few lousy kisses thrown in to spice it up a bit. However, when the sun came up in the morning, he was still alone.

“Good grief,” Stanley replied. “A nice cup of tea would be better. Would you like to have tea and bagels with us? Irving is paying. “We know this wonderful tea shop not far from here.”

“I’ll pass.”

“He is going to pass. What do you say about that?” quizzed Stanley to his old friend.

“So let him pass, I would do the same thing. Would you want tea with two has been Jews old enough to be your grandfather?” Irving asked.

“I see your point, but speak for yourself. I am not old, I am a senior.”

“I’m telling you what you need to know,” replied Irving, who always had an answer for everything. I believe in good manners, but for you, I’ll make an exception.

They continued babbling back and forth never noticing Frankie walking quietly away. There was no changing these two, and best left alone.

******

Frankie had a damaged car, waiting for parts from the dealer for repair. Temporarily, he was taking taxies or using the bus. It was - what it was.

The following Thursday, once again, he took the bus along 17th street for Pizza at Angie’s café. The ride was annoying with stopping and starting. Frankie however, loved watching people from the clean spotless windows of the bus. Some were short, some were tall, dressed in jeans, shorts, and funny hats. Some were young and others bumbling along elderly, and of course, everything in between. Humanity scurried along 17^th street, with folks going different places with different reasons. Frankie had become quite a thinker aka a people watcher.

******

Thursday, the menu special was Pizza, and magnificent. He compared it with New York Pizza from John’s Pizzeria on Bleecker Street, in Manhattan. Although Angie’s pizza, was very good, it is almost impossible to top New York Pizza.

Frankie walked a block, from the bus stop, to Angie’s restaurant and stopped. He asked himself, “Do I really want pizza?”

Then, through the window, he saw Barry walking around. Holy crap, a body moving like flowing wind, and a crotch that needed to lighten its load. It wasn’t a whole new world for Frankie, but it sure made this one more interesting.

With a deep sexy Elvis voice, Barry was perfect, and although he didn’t look like Elvis, he surly sounded like him, especially when he said, –“Thank you very much.”

Frankie kept to himself, a crush he on Barry. His intention was knee deep in simplicity. His aim was to impress him, although they barely knew one another. Frankie could be “Bronx pushy” at times. Sure, he could make him an offer he would accept; but Frankie didn’t want to buy him, he wanted Barry to love him. It was a ridiculous idea; however tell that to an Italian, good luck winning that one.

The street entrance was not open, so he went into the café looking for the way into the garden. There was a sign, “Garden Patio,” over an open door. Voila, nothing could be easier.

He walked outside and sat at a small table. It was 4:00 pm, so the lunch crowd was long gone. In its place were singles and couples (mostly gay) having slices of pizza.

“Ah, this is nice, no crowd and plenty of space.” He silently mumbled.

Frankie felt a hand on his shoulder, when he turned around Barry was touching him and smiling. “Hello handsome, you look seriously comfortable in thought. Do you need a menu, or do you know what you would like to have?”

“Ide like the pizza special,” he added. Whew, Barry was affecting him big time. “Get a grip Frankie – Get a grip!” he kept telling himself.

Barry was wearing black pants with a red shirt trimmed in white. The clothes clung firmly to his body. The two top shirt buttons were open showing he was tanned from the sun, plus a sprout of chest hair. It made Frankie wonder where the hair led. His body was solid and although not ripped with muscles, he was a trim package that would be fun to cuddle with given the chance. There was no mistaking he had a sweet looking butt, and the front was even sweeter. There was curiosity enough for checking behind the barn door. The more he looked at Barry, the warmer he became around his neck, plus other places. It was good that he was sitting down because the Phoenix was rising, not from the ashes, but from some very moist underwear.

Barry returned with the two slices of cheese pizza including a fountain drink of Pepsi.

“There you go, good looking,” Barry remarked setting the hot pizza slices and the Pepsi on the table. “It looks like you are going to have the dining room to yourself pretty soon,” said Barry. The rest of the tables were void of people except for two elderly women still chewing and talking. They paid no attention to Frankie.

“Take your time, and if I can bring you anything else, let me know.”

“Okay, thanks – WAIT!” said Frankie, stopping Barry from walking away.

“Ah, you thought of something,” replied Barry.

“Can you sit down and talk for a few minutes. There is nobody here and the place is practically empty. I saw Angie leave when I came in, so she won’t be giving you the third degree.”

“Sure, just let me check the front first,” Barry, answered.

A few minutes later, he returned caring a Pepsi for himself and sucking on a straw. He sat across from Frankie, looked him in the eye, and, said “HELLO.”

“How’s the pizza?” He asked.

“Excellent.”

“That’s good.”

“Do you live near here,” Frankie asked trying to make conversation. If he said what he really wanted to say, he could wreck everything.

“I live downtown not far from the campus near Washington Park. I knew Angie before this place opened on 17th Street, so here I am.” Barry replied.

“Beautiful spot, Washington Park. I’m out in Congress Park,” replied Frankie.

“You must like pizza to drive out 17th street to this place,” said Barry.

“Yeah, I do, but what I really like is looking at you. Now, don’t be getting all pissed or anything crazy like that. I am a guy who says, what he’s thinking. That’s not so bad, is it?”

“Nope, not at all. I like you too,” replied Barry, sipping on his drink.

“I’m what you call ‘crazy with confidence,’ my car is having work done on it so I took the bus, admitted Frankie. I hate the damn bus, but it’s better than walking.”

“You have been here twice this week,” Barry remarked staring into Frankie’s face.

“Yes, I happen to be nearby.” Frankie was lying; he took an annoying bus ride to get here. However, he sounded completely believable.

“It’s like I said,” continued Frankie, I’m crazy with confidence. Okay, I’ll level with you. I saw you at the Colonial Tavern, and asked the bartender Joey, about you. He told me where you worked and your name was Barry. I had to meet you, or at least try.

“I think that’s cool, kind of sweet compliment, coming from a hunky good looking guy.” Barry responded acting surprised, but probably not surprised at all.

“I have a question,” said Frankie.

“Go ahead, ask!”

“How many times a day do you get hit on with all the faggots that come here for snacks and lunch?”

“Ha ha-ha, are you for real. What kind of question is that? I don’t know, I never pay attention to them, they are always joking.”

“Whew, you’re right, dumb question – pretty dumb.”

“Naw, it only conversation. I get off work in twenty minutes; do you want a ride home? I understand you’re not liking the bus,” said Barry.

“Yeah sure, - yeah, but you’re not going that way - exactly that is,” said Frankie.

“Sure I am, it all in the steering,” he said winking with a sexy smile. “Outside is a bench in front of the restaurant,” he continued. I’m parked in the parking lot, and will drive around to the front. It’s a white Camry Toyota.”

Frankie was not prepared for anything like a ride home, but it signified that Barry was available and liked him. Actually, it’s not so crazy. Frankie was an alpha male, “good stuff-good stuff,” that’s for sure.

Frankie paid his bill, left Barry a generous tip, and went outside. He plunked himself down on the bench, stretched out his long legs looking at the traffic, and the people, as if to say, “grazie, (thank you) Denver,” and that’s the truth.

******

It’s not easy getting everything right. However, Frankie was trying his best to do just that. He really wanted Barry, and they looked amazingly good side by side, they were meant to be together, and that thought hounded Frankie.

However, this could be ‘fairy tale’ bullshit, according to the way Frankie understood people, coming from where you fuck ‘em and leave them. Here, in Colorado, things were different and Barry was different.

Barry was driving and saying very little. Travelling over 17th street, Barry asked, “Where are we going?”

“I live in a ‘laughable trim’ neighborhood’ and I want to show you the street. Folks have some good-looking lawns and gardens. I like the city but my dream is to live on a farm, with cows, chickens, and maybe a horse or two,” admitted Frankie.

“Why don’t you do it? Do you know anything about farming? It’s a business you know, and you have to understand what you’re doing,” replied Barry.

“I thought we could figure it out together, after we’re married,” said Frankie.

“Yeaaah right – good one, said Barry looking straight ahead. It was a joke to him, but something very real to Frankie.

Frankie felt like a klutz, but it doesn’t matter about what doesn’t matter. He was alone with Barry and they were friendly, it was as good as it gets. He watched Barry drive, with legs opened wide when stopping in traffic.

Barry smiled often and began talking about Denver. “I like downtown, and seeing the LoDo historic homes. I don’t live there, but they are reminiscent of what folks call the olden days. There were plenty of farms around then. You’re a hundred years too late. Denver is a big city now. “He concluded.

“You understand a lot of things,” said Frankie. “You have something special about you that make me wonder how long I have been asleep.”

“If that’s a “pick up line,” it is the best I’ve heard yet,” said Barry, “and that marriage thing, isn’t bad either. It’s dumb, but it does get one’s attention.”

“I’ll remember that in case I ever want to use it for real,” Frankie mumbled, sucking in his lower lip to a make or break moment. Somehow, he wasn’t doing so well, saying one dumb thing after another. “When I moved here from the Bronx, my then boyfriend was a bartender, and we rented a house. He is long gone, and I’m still there, however that is yesterday’s history, and not worth talking about.

“Then let’s not talk about it,” said Barry.

“Exactly my thoughts,” Frankie replied, casting a deliberate stare with his eye and curling his lip ever so slightly. He wasn’t very good at curling his lip, but it did look sexy.

“You’re a cool guy, do you know who you look like?” I can’t imagine you not having a boyfriend.” Barry remarked. “You must be difficult to get along with.”

“I don’t think so; I have never heard that before. I might be a man slut, if you stay curious, you can find out,” said Frankie. “Okay – who do I look like?”

“Dack Rambo,”

“Grazie, but the man is dead,” mumbled Frankie, however he felt privileged resembling a Rambo brother. Maybe it was an Italian thing. Dack was a stunning man having an equally beautiful twin brother.

Barry rambled on talking and talking. “I’m younger than you, but not by much. I’m twenty seven, what are you about thirty?”

“Thirty one.”

 “Solid number,” Barry remarked, stopping at North Main for a red light.

“Do you like Colorado,” Barry asked.

“Sure do, Denver is where I belong,” smiled Frankie. “I still would like to try my hand at farming, that’s no bull. Take me home country road,” he added.

There were cars behind Barry and tooting their horns. It seemed that Barry didn’t pull out fast enough when the light turned green and some drivers were anxious to get moving.

“Oh for Christ sakes,” said Barry. “They can’t even give a guy two seconds. Is this what it’s like in the Bronx?”

“Yep quite often, everybody is in a rush going no place. That seems to be the rule of thumb. Just forget about it. Concentrate on me,” replied Frankie appearing to be serious.

“Okay, what do you want me to concentrate on?”

“How about this, for a starter,” he quoted opening his legs displaying a hefty bump in his pants. It seemed a little crude, but it worked for him in the Bronx. He still had much to learn about Colorado men. Barry glanced, but didn’t seem to be impressed.

“Lovely package, however, I’m not a hook up – pick up – or common anything you care to label it,” said Barry.

“I like talking, and you like hearing it. Let’s skip the fuckin games, and that’s no pick up line. I have a good dick, and you might want it,” continued Frankie rolling his eyes, and staring out the window. It was time to change the subject. “Damn, can you believe this guy?” Frankie thought, but keeping his thoughts to himself.

“Barry slowed for the next stop light. “ Do you want me to drop you off at your house?” he asked, turning onto Montgomery Street.

Let me give you some gas money for going so far out of your way,” said Frankie digging into his pocket for his wallet.

“Don’t be ridiculous. I had to come this way, so it worked out. My grandmother lives four streets from here. She is going to play Bingo tonight with my mom. The two old ladies travel together, on Thursday for Bingo at the senior center,” then he giggled. Ha-ha, I am the old gal’s taxi for tonight.”

“You’re good, to help them out,” spouted Frankie.

“Thank God, I’m a country boy., replied Barry, believing he was being completely honest.

“Hey, that’s John Denver’s, ‘Rocky Mountain High.’ He’s the best,” said Frankie. “The songs are written with feeling, is what I think.”

“He shortened his name from John Deutschendorf, to “John Denver” loving Colorado like he did,” added Barry. “The boundless thing about Colorado, is one can lose themselves in the world they choose. Denver is unique, and the mountains offer the glorious vision that John Denver wrote and sang about. John wasn’t gay – just spot-on.” 

“That clinches it; we have a lot in common. How many kids do you want to adopt when we get married?” asked Frankie.

“Married! Are you nuts? Never mind, I know your joking. But smooth, very smooth.”

“Go out with me,” said Frankie becoming a serious person. Barry had stopped the car where Frankie lived and they sat talking. “Go out with me,” Frankie asked for the second time.

“You mean, like a date – a real date?” Barry replied. Then he open his legs copying what Frankie did earlier displaying a package more mysterious than what Frankie tried to pull. The package wasn’t bigger, just mysterious, and hidden. It seemed like a battle of the bulge, standoff.

“Lovely, giggled Frankie. You are such a copycat,” laughed Frankie touching Barry’s leg. “Come inside for a minute before going to your grandmothers.”

“Sorry, no can do, she is a tough old lady, and I will hear about it for an hour.” She always said, “You should be, ‘TIMELY’ and she’s a stickler for being on time.”

“Okay, then I will go every day to Angie’s in order to see you. There is something wrong with my phone. It doesn’t seem to have your number in it,” Frankie babbled, with a childish grin.

Barry pulled Frankie’s phone from his shirt pocket. “Here, give it to me,” and tapped in his number. “There, text or call me.” He said. I don’t want to miss out on that date.”

“I never asked, if you had a boyfriend. Here I am, sparkin up a storm, and maybe you love somebody,” declared Frankie.

“You’re baffling as hell. I am plain as one can get’, Barry admitted. “No, I am not in love with anybody.”

I know what I want when I see it, and I want more of you, if you let me,” Frankie declared.

“Please, don’t be lying just for sex, but hold that thought,” mumbled Barry, not believing what he was hearing. He was accustomed to all sorts of pickup lines. He thought Frankie was another dude just looking for sex. “Got to go,” he said.

Frankie watched Barry drive out of site. It was a silly touching silver screen moment, feeling weird watching him as the car disappeared from view. He expected any moment for a movie director to holler –CUT, as the fantasy played out in his head.

******

It was Saturday afternoon; two days had gone by. Barry held his phone in his hand staring at the blank screen thinking and thinking when he received an incoming text.