The daily gawk

I rushed up the stairs to the roof of our condo, eager to get a glimpse of the man walking by, oblivious to the pointy slats of the fence on the path up to the rooftop deck. Finally up there, huffing and puffing after two flights in two seconds, I peered over the edge onto Commercial Street. And there he was -- just like Peter had said. How wonderfully gorgeous he was, this August afternoon in Provincetown! Walking down the street, taking in the world, letting them enjoy his beauty ... cocky but fun and easygoing at the same time. I admired his hairy, chiseled torso, the strong, round shoulders, his square jaw and dimpled chin, the cut-off jeans that were his only wardrobe on the sunny afternoons of the past week. I watched for his passing daily.

I peered over the edge, watching him approach. The feeling of anticipation grew, the expectation of an interaction, the hope for an encounter. I wanted him to notice me the way that I noticed him, like a rough-cut diamond that needs no refinement to highlight its beauty. But I knew that I hoped in vain, for I considered myself no beauty -- not in the gay circuit way of things. Not the chiseled, muscular, perenially 32-year old body, not the fat-free physique that screams narciccist, not the perfect hair and wardrobe that define the gods of our subculture. Not me, overweight and etched with lines that defined my decade. Not this man -- this studly thing approaching our condo building.

I watched him as he approached. He didn't see me at all. And then he crossed the street to our side. Drats, I knew the daily gawk would soon beover. I peered over the edge, hoping to get the last glimpse of him outside before he disappeared. And sure enough, he vanished and, morose, I walked slowly down the stairs, back into the living room. And there he was -- right there in the living room, putting his beach stuff down on the dining room table, heading to the kitchen for a glass of water.

"Oh, hi honey," Mike said with an offhand glance at me. "What you been doing? Beach was great today. Lots of great sun, hot guys. And I read 100 pages of my book. Wish you'd been there, just like we when we used to go together back in '03 and '04. I missed you, pumpkin …"