I went to see him five times in Cabaret. He knows of two. He is luminous when he’s on the stage. Then there are the million times I have imagined him sliding down my throat. The countless dreams of tasting his come and how I want to beg him to fuck me. You would think that after almost 20 years I could get over him. I guess I can’t.


I’ve been with plenty of women and secretly more than a few men. With the women, I didn’t really have to think about them much. I could phone it in. Stick it in, get off, that was easy. Women are soft. I like that, so I would make it work for them, too. With the men, I always thought of him. Always. I thought of him on his knees, me with my tongue in his ass while he moaned my name over and over until he screamed out his orgasm while I worked his cock. Oh, yes. I still wanted him, yearned for him. Wished I could stop. I know that I can’t. He must remain my friend. Keeping this to myself is the only way.


I wanted him from the afternoon we met when we said hello and had to act out our sex scenes only wearing cock socks. Randy was so innocently young, I was mesmerized by his easy laugh, his small stature, and his acting knowledge. That day and so many after, I wanted nothing more than to rip off that cock sock and suck him dry. As the weeks and years flew by, I wanted him to want me forever. He didn’t. Turns out, I was too big of a risk.


Sure, we rehearsed together, ate together, watched movies together, and got stoned repeatedly, together. We became friends. Just not the friends with benefits I still hope for.


He noticed my lust the very first week we worked together. One day he looked up at me from under those sexy lashes and said, “You really want to fuck me, don’t you.” I just shrugged, blushed, and mumbled something nonsensical.


“The big boner is a giveaway,” he said while laughing at me. I won’t lie. It hurt. It still does.


Randy never let me get carried away. He kept me in check. He always had very good explanations for my reactions to him. He teased me about it and let me tease myself, too. He never gave in completely. The first few years we flirted like teenagers. People talked. I didn’t care. Randy did. He couldn’t get past my ‘straight’ persona. This is funny, since it was me who wanted something more than he could or would give me.

Sadly, I hung on to my straight persona. I hate labels. Why couldn’t we just be us? I had to settle for thousands of goodbye kisses.


So, here I sit with a huge hard on and a heart full of want, waiting for the opening curtain for Angels in America. I shouldn’t have thought about unrequited ‘us’ all day. That ‘us’ is only in my head. As I look up though, I see him peeking out of the wings and looking out at the house. He spots me and I swear his face lights up and his eyes darken a little. Maybe, just maybe the time is right. I can hope. I squirm in my seat and smile back.