It was magic. An ordinary Thursday. One of the last days we’d have before the chill of late fall set in, a final chance to stroll home from work. I left early, and the sun was still up. After winding my way up Fifth, I entered the Park, lost in my own little world.
As I reached the Sheep Meadow, I felt a gust and saw fast-moving clouds. Soon the torrent was upon me, thunder echoing off the buildings on Central Park West. I was too far from my apartment to make a dash for it so I was resigned to being doused.
Suddenly I felt an arm. “Come on. My place is right here.” He directed me to one of the apartment buildings. In the lobby, he said he’d noticed me before and was looking for an excuse to speak to me.
“The rain. A biblical omen.” He smiled in the elevator.
I had a visceral desire to be with him. He suggested a shower and gave me a towel. “I have some stuff that should fit.” When I emerged in a robe, he cradled two glasses of wine. Eyes and a smile made for drowning.
I don’t know why, but I was interested, very interested in this man.
He handed me the wine.
“I suppose what you need to know,” I said, “is that I’ve never been with another man before.” He smiled. I knew I’d never be with another man again.