By Ethan Mordden
"We have traded stories, my friends and that i; of affairs, encounters, secrets and techniques, fears, self-promotion-of fantasies that we make actual within the telling."
In this, the 1st quantity in Ethan Mordden's acclaimed trilogy on big apple homosexual existence, he introduces a small crew of friends-Dennis Savage, Little Kiwi, Carlos, and the narrator, Bud-and chronicles their exploration of the recent international of homosexual existence and the hot humans they're within the means of becoming.
In a voice immediately ironic, wistful, witty, and profound, Mordden investigates his suspicion that every one of homosexual lifestyles is tales and that, someway or different, these kind of tales are approximately love.
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Extra resources for I’ve a feeling we’re not in Kansas anymore
Alex viewed us as if we were the Barry Sisters making a comeback singing “Que Sera, Sera” in his bathroom, and returned to Joe. “You’re like something just off the bus from Akron. You’re not ready for the social life. ” “I never said I wasn’t. And why do we have to go dancing? ” He turned to us. ” We felt like the Barry Sisters, barred from presenting an Academy Award backstage at the last minute on account of deficient ooh-la-la. ” “I don’t want to go to these places. Why can’t we just be together?
Some men have a tattoo in a fancy place. You know? And they show it. Or some have subtle speeches worked out. And one friend of his, he said, used to show his ladies photographs of himself kissing another man. And he … asked me what I thought of that. I was thinking that if all the women he liked thought he was a goon, maybe he should … maybe take some photographs himself. Because he isn’t handsome, I know, but he’s … strong. ” Alex cleared his throat. “He only wants to be liked, you know? He’ll do anything to be liked.
Preface I have sat with friends—and I mean very close friends—on those long nights at the Pines, listening to the ocean dancing about our mysterious island, and on those long days at the brunch table, trying to remember to be urbane, and on those odd, ironic afternoons of confessing feelings of such intimate enthusiasm or disappointment that one regrets having made them for the rest of one’s life. We have traded tales, my buddies and I: of affairs, encounters, discoveries, weekends, parties, secrets, fears, self-promotions—of fantasies that we make real in the telling.