IN THE HEAT OF THE NIGHT

Putting down his beer, the man on the street crosses a few feet to the car, stopping when he is in front of the door. He kneels between his friend’s legs, one large booted foot on either side of him. Trying not to look his friend in the face, he puts a hand on each knee, his hands gripping them lightly.

“Yeah, that’s it,” the man in the car growls. “Help me out a little bit like a good buddy.”

A hand moves up to touch one bare thigh, hesitating momentarily as the fingers move from the rough blue jeans to the smooth feeling of flesh on flesh.

With this new turn of events, I want to get a closer look. Climbing onto the windowsill, I crawl out onto my fire escape, making as little noise as possible. The night air surrounds my naked, sweating body as I sit on the stairs going up to the next floor and position myself so that I can see what is going on below me. The two men have not heard or seen me and I have a perfect view of the car and what is happening in it.

The man in the car is gripping the other one’s neck firmly with both hands, pushing him down and then releasing him. He stands up and steps away from the car. For the first time, I see his face. He is very handsome. Not pretty like the men I see in the bars, but rugged and somehow more real.

Bending down, he unties his boots and pulls them off, following with his pants. He stands barefoot and naked on the sidewalk beside the car.

“Now you,” he says to the other man, who is leaning against the car, watching him. “Strip.”

It is a command, not a request . . .

—from Wednesday, 2:00 A.M.