I was sitting at the kitchen table and was watching a horse, that I gathered was mine, playing in the backyard. It made its way into the neighbor’s yard to play with their ox. Of course, they do not have an ox. I was worried about the mess they would make.

Suddenly, the horse was charging down towards the house and stuck its head through the kitchen window next to me. He was brown and quite energetic and almost wild, but not in a ferocious way. I cautiously moved towards him and reached to pet him. He responded and was very amiable and playful. I told him, “I think your name will be Yes.” I had the sensation from him that he loved it and could almost hear him say, “I am glad you named me Yes.” Then he quickly withdrew and went off into the yard.

After he left, another horse came along and stuck her head through the window. She was black and her demeanor was much different. She was very docile and didn’t seem to be as energetic as the black horse. I would even say that I felt from her that she was depressed. I petted her and she seemed frail. “Your name is Mare,” I said. I “heard” no answer from her like I did with Yes, only deep distress. I had an overwhelming feeling of deep sorrow and sadness. At that point I woke and found myself tearing and saying, “How sad, how very, very sad…” as I became aware of my surroundings.

I was in the bar chatting with a friend while I watched him busy at work with his shirt off and sweating as he worked at bringing the tree down. I went out to talk to him and we chatted a bit as he wiped the sweat from his brow. His muscled hairy torso looked like he just got out of the shower.

He asked me, “Am I hot?” I was dumbfounded and didn’t know how to reply for surely he couldn’t mean it the way I imagined since he’s straight. I said, “Huh? Hot? Well… uh… you look like it. Do you want a drink or something?”

“No, I mean hot like them,” he said motioning his head to three really hot guys sitting at the bar.

Bashfully and stumbling over my words I replied, “Uh… well… uh… kinda.” I looked down saying, “Well yeah.” I looked up and caught his gaze, “Sort of bordering on smoldering actually.” He grinned and moved closer. I could feel the heat coming off of his body as I pressed my hand to his sweaty hairy chest. We moved in to kiss, but were interrupted by the bar owner who protested and threw my hot, shirtless and sweaty neighbor off of his property. He turned to me and said, “You too. And I still want the tree gone so now you’ll have to pay to have it done.”

But the playground was deserted except for the oaks that towered over it. I made my way to the wall and looked up over it into the alley to see what was happening, and it too was deserted except for a lonely black car. Yet the essence of all the children playing and people passing who long since made their ways home were felt as clearly as if they were still their. As the blue light melted into blackness I moved to the center of the playground and spun around feeling the freeness and openess of it all. I grasped my open shirt collar and whispered to myself Should I? Do you think I should? Will they see? I ripped off my shirt and now I was no longer a boy, but a man free and carefree. I raised my arms in victory and spun round and round.

How interesting to dream of a place that was hell for me 20 years ago. I still see it but the playground surrounding the school is now a parking lot. The massive trees whose leaves I would watch blowing in the breeze and daydream about from the upper story classrooms are long gone, as are the brick wall and steps. The segregated playground of a Catholic school in 1980 was not a fun place for an overweight gay boy just beginning to realize he no longer fits in. He can’t go into the girls playground because well, he isn’t a girl, and yet the boys don’t embrace him in theirs — where it’s all rough-housing and team sports — because he is the “odd boy.” Cast aside — more accurately, ignored — I took up residence by the brick wall overlooking the alley.

I would look on as the boys pulled off their ties and shirts to organize themselves into softball games. One of the boys once approached me, raising my hopes that maybe he’s coming over to ask me to be on his team? Instead, and to my horror, he showed me a picture of a naked woman as he then ran back to his teammates laughing. Let down and not sure what just happened, I decided to climb up and hang over the wall. Perhaps something more interesting could be happening outside the proverbial convent walls — something that could rescue me from this. I looked up and down, but it was deserted.

Still continuing to look at nothing in particular, I would imagine what could be happening or what may have happened in the past. People walking their dogs…. cars driving by… friends walking and talking together. Anything would be better than turning around and watching them all yelling, laughing and having fun. Soon someone came along. It was a college kid who was smoking. As he passed I realized he was smoking pot and he offered me a drag. Terrified, I shook my head NO and quickly turned back around to face the softball game only to find I had been joined by two other boys, also odd outcasts. The three of us would spend future recesses playing make believe games for all we had was fantasy to get us through the reality that we were not accepted because we were different.

I noticed someone standing next to me, who turned and with a wink and glimmer in his eye, made his way past me. It was Ben Cohen! He approached the back room… err… I mean the bell tower room where the music was stored… and he looked back at me over his shoulder. I followed him and when I caught up he took off his shirt revealing his hunky torso. He took my hands and placed them on his amply hairy chest and we moved closer and closer. I could feel his warm moist breath against me as the bell rung and woke me up. With all the attention Ben Cohen has been getting, it was inevitable that he would push his way into my dreams.

I’ve been listening to his new album, This Delicate Thing We’ve Made. The 2-CD set, as is, is a great album, but pulling out the better dozen or so tracks to a separate playlist makes a fabulous listen.

The soup was finally dished up and when it was it was this slop of raspberry Jell-O and these huge gummy clams. I tried to cut them up as best I could and began eating and trying to be nice and complimentary about the horrid taste. As we were eating, my uncle got a call on his phone and told whoever it was that he’d meet them at the apartment. He hung up and left the house. I knew he was going to hook-up with his girlfriend and obviously my aunt did too as she gave him a look that could not only kill, but curse for a thousand eternities.

Then a little girl came over to me and pulled on my finger asking if wanted to come and listen to her iPod. She took me to a sort of playroom that overlooked everything that was going on. I sat sideways in a chair with my legs up over the arms and felt more comfortable and she handed me her iPod and some of her favorite books and when I looked up she had gone. Everyone was going for food and Mom and I caught eyes with a gaze that inquired if I was ready to go – like you have to ask? So we made our way to the door to leave. I set the books aside but the iPod remained in one hand while I fiddled with a gay pride key ring in the other, being careful to keep the rainbow from view. I could see the little girl again off behind all the people picking up the books smiling at me as I left.

I leave and walk through an uphill, slippery hallway and see big Martha (Martha Stewart’s mom), I call out “Mrs. Kosyra!” to her and she ignores me and keeps walking. I called again asking, “Aren’t you Martha Kostyra?” and she keeps walking and says we don’t have time to talk. I spot Martha and her entourage further on and I stand and think how rude that was and then suddenly Martha Stewart backtracks towards me and apologizes for big Martha and takes an interest in me and what I have to say and asks me about my projects and I tell all.

Round the midnight hour, by flicker of light, your true love in the looking-glass you’ll sight.

That’s just a little too creepy, but oh so Victorian. I decided to take Brian Kinney’s advice and “see him in my dreams” instead. I tucked two bay leaves under my pillow to see if my man would turn up in my dreams. Bay leaves are imbued with powers of love magic, protection, and prophetic dreaming. As I placed them under my pillow I whispered to them to show me the man that will be my lover and life partner and to allow me to experience his touch, the feel of his stubble against my face as he kisses me passionately, and my hands running over his masculine chest as he penetrates me with his intense passion… uh oh… getting a little carried away here with this exercise!

Anyway, there were two men who appeared in my dreams on Halloween night. I woke up to go to the bathroom about two hours after having gone to bed and was sort of disappointed that I didn’t even remember dreaming at all. But after I went back to bed it started. I had the impression of dreaming of a man with blondish but dark hair. At first I thought to myself it was David Chockachi, but it was not him only someone who seemed to have his coloring and build perhaps. Then there was a second man who I thought was Tyler Christopher, but again it was an impression of someone with his build and coloring too. I don’t recall in either circumstance what they were doing or how we were interacting. Most of my dreaming this night was about setting the dinning room table and the prep for a party. All of the other people in my dreams were the women in my family. These two guys were the only men around, but they were not involved in the activity, it was almost as if they weren’t even really there… sort of there only in essence. As I thought about it more and more, I couldn’t help but think that it wasn’t two men I saw, but the same man only in different lighting or something. They say that you really can’t dream of things you haven’t seen, read, or experienced. And since I’ve never seen this guy before, my subconscious had to conjure images of men I knew to make this one up, so I guess you can say the man of my dreams that will fall into my life someday will be a cross between David Chockochi and Tyler Christopher! LOL