My Marlboro Man 

By Rob Trethaway

I've always dreamed of the Marlboro man riding into my life and sweeping me off my feet, without the cigarette of course. A dream is only a dream, until it happens. Why is it so hard to believe it when a dream comes true?

The wild west country dance was anything but wild that night. I stood near the door with some friends, hoping someone would ask me to dance, and fearing someone actually would. It's funny how hopes and fears can overlap. A Chinese cowboy with sweaty hands pulled me out on the floor. I couldn't tell who was leading. I stepped on his toes. His chatter was humorous, but endless, making me want to stomp on them.

I looked around at the parade of guys and gals in their cowboy costumes. Why had I come here tonight? The song wasn't ending fast enough; my toe got stepped on. Friends, that's right, friends, I reminded myself…that's why I had come into town. A good friend was driving from out of state to visit and would meet me here. That's why I was by the door. However, now I was on the dance floor with my hand in the grip of a sweaty microbiologist. By the grace of God the song finally ended. My Chinese cowboy decided to spin me. I tripped.

Back at the door nothing had changed. My friend was late. Who could blame him; he was driving eight hours across two states. The DJ kept the tunes coming. If I was a better dancer, I'd be asking some hunk to dance, like that handsome short guy across the room. Unfortunately I was too slow, and he hooked up with another good-looking guy and has been whisked off to an evening of bliss. I get what I ask for. I ask for nothing, I get nothing.

My dance partner had come back with his drink, and as the master of small talk and innuendo, he was keeping everyone entertained while rubbing the hair on my chest. My roommate tapped my shoulder and pointed out the door to a cowboy hat coming up the stairs. He asked if that was my friend Sean. The Chinese cowboy got excited that my friend had arrived.

The first guy who came in was wearing a ball cap and was not Sean. Way too cute, with short black hair and huge beautiful brown eyes that could melt the North Pole. I saw them go straight to my roommate; they lit up like a Christmas tree. The Chinese cowboy was saying hi to the second guy in the cowboy hat calling him “Sean” and telling him that I'd been waiting for him all night.

Well, I'll tell you, I had been waiting for this guy more than all night but he sure as heck wasn't my friend Sean. Everyone in the room was in costume, this guy was the real deal; you could see it, you could feel it. He walked like he was born on a horse. I wouldn't have been surprised to find one tied up outside. He was hot, and everyone in the room could see it. He gave me a little smirk and a howdy, and a nod. The Chinese cowboy said, “He likes you!”

Come on, what would a guy like that see in a short stocky guy like me when he could have his pick of all the guys in the room and probably half the lesbians too! The lesbians would just like to be as butch as him, or at least grow a big horseshoe mustache like his. I watched him as he followed his friend in the baseball cap through the crowd to the bar. Then he turned and looked back at me. He said hi to someone else, so where did that leave me? I took the opportunity to check him out. The first thing that blew me away was his hot Wrangler encased bubble butt. It was too good to be gym worked. His clothes were worn but clean and fit him comfortably as if he wore the flannel shirt and Wranglers every day. His horseshoe mustache was trimmed but didn't have that manicured look a gay guy would have. Maybe he wasn't gay. Not likely, the way he seemed to scan the butts in the room. I was let down that I was just the first thing he liked when he walked in and not what he wanted. Oh well, I was having a guest tonight anyway. I noticed that his friend with the ball cap had maneuvered back to talk with my roommate. The poor guy was smitten but didn't stand a chance. My roommate had a boyfriend in another city.

Two big strong arms wrapped themselves around my chest and squeezed. Only one person I know gives a bear hug like that; Sean! This is one big strong Irish firefighter with gorgeous eyes behind his glasses. Now, don't get the wrong idea. There are no fireworks here, just old friends glad to see each other. Sean was here to pick up his other half at the airport. Now I had a distraction from the Marlboro Man and my fantasies. Sean and I did our catching up. He complained about his partner as usual, and how his partner was doing all this traveling with no money and no job. Yet, if I said one bad word about his other half I'd get my ass kicked, so I just listened and nodded.

About this time the Chinese cowboy came up and asked who the stud in the fireman's T-shirt was. He was confused. “Sean? But I thought that was Sean?” pointing toward the Marlboro Man who was looking at us at that moment. The Chinese cowboy occupied Sean's time and others that knew Sean came by. I was left standing alone in a crowded room. I stood looking a bit bewildered, having lost track of the Marlboro Man.

Sometimes when things seem to be working out in the worst possible manner, fate steps in and straightens everything out.

My position was still by the front door and also near the rest rooms. You never know when those moments that engrave themselves in your memory will come. Surprise is the cayenne pepper of life! The restroom door swung open and there was the Marlboro Man silhouetted in a glaring glow of fluorescent light. His cowboy hat perched naturally on his head and the relief of the bathroom on his face. He adjusted his shirt in his pants as he walked across the hallway. I got another smile and a howdy. Then he stopped. I don't remember what he said, but he said something and I said something. He was a rancher from Alberta, Canada. I told him I was a farmer from Oregon . I liked that; he liked that, the conversation came easier. He told me ranching was as bad in Canada as it was in the US , so he was looking into another profession before he hit forty. I'd already hit forty, so there is no getting out of farming now. He was going to school in Seattle to become a jet mechanic. That's a sexy sounding job too!

Without warning, he asked me to dance. Now what? I'm all left feet with right foot toes! I told him I wasn't good but if he didn't mind me stepping on his toes and tripping I'd be happy to dance with him. He smiled and said that it was all right. I think he just wanted to get his arms around me. That's the reason I said yes. I'm not stupid! Take it when you can get it. If this stud wanted to put his arms around me, I'd let him. We walked onto the floor and we danced. He smiled down at me and told me I did well. He was such a strong lead, how could anyone do badly? It felt good to be held so strong and confidently. I relaxed and moved with the music and his lead. The dancing was fun; I didn't want it to end. Around and around the dance floor we went, the big hall narrowing, getting smaller, as my world shrank to the two of us wrapped in the music. I caught the sight of my friends watching and then they were gone. The look on their faces was priceless, “Who's that stud he's dancing with?” I think he may be my Marlboro Man!

The music came to an end. The lesbians went to their corner. The guys went to the bar. We stayed where we were. He looked down at me, his big horseshoe mustache and blue eyes were framed by his cowboy hat. That's all I could see. The world stopped. Ask for nothing, get nothing; if you don't try, you don't get. Fate had stepped in and now it was up to me to make it happen. An imperceptible forward nod was all I needed from him to know he was willing. Everyone watched the kiss in the center of the dance floor between the farmer and the cowboy. The Marlboro Man had kissed me.

I stepped back and looked at him not believing it. This kind of thing doesn't happen here in front of the lesbians! I looked around; it was one of those moments when you don't know what to feel. Do I feel the thrill of the kiss, or do I feel the embarrassment of everyone looking at me? Even the lesbians were looking. Maybe they were just grossed out seeing two guys kissing, or they were in awe of the show of tender masculinity on the dance floor. I bet they'd give their left nut, if they had one, to have half the masculinity that was there.

The DJ must have been distracted by us too, because the next song didn't start. I could hear the Chinese cowboy whispering, “He kissed him!” The Marlboro man put his arm around me; he claimed me. This didn't need to be one sided, and I rested my arm on his bubble butt and put my claim on him. I think I saw some jealous looks. My roommate had a huge smile and raised his eyebrows at me. After we did the long walk to the edge of the dance floor, the music finally started again. The Gods were playing with me. Contentment followed by euphoria, followed by embarrassment, followed by sheer panic, and then...and then what? Where does it go from here? That annoying little flirting game was on the agenda. We sat on two barstools, exchanging grins and blushes and words of little substance.

Then like a bolt of lightening from a nightmare we discovered we had a mutual friend. Oh the cruelty of fate, the Gods must hate me! I don't want anyone to know my Marlboro Man but me. We compared notes on this friend. He was something to talk about between glances and grins, but not the subject of an intimate conversation. Our mutual friend Tim seems to know everyone in the lower forty-eight, Alaska and most of the Canadian Provinces. Any move I make in life gets back to him. Tim introduced me to my last boyfriend; a relationship that he thought was made in heaven, but we now know that Satan had his fingers in it too. But a kiss on the dance floor can be a cooling salve for a broken heart.

My roommate and the Marlboro Man's big brown eyed friend were getting along well. The glances our way let me know we were being talked about.

I knew the Marlboro Man really was the strong quiet type. I could tell he would make a kind, protective and faithful boyfriend but is that what I wanted? Was a boyfriend on his mind? Calm down, you're getting ahead of yourself. First things first. Do I want to take him home with me tonight? Would he be receptive to that kind of offer? Am I ready to strike out into this territory again after the crushing demolition my heart experienced a year before?

The brown eyed friend interrupted us. Perfect timing. I could reflect on my thoughts and confusion. The butterflies inside were annoying. They always confuse judgment and often lead to bad decisions. Of course, butterflies lead to bad decisions. How could they not? You know they start life as a caterpillar, a frightful legged maggot with a voracious appetite, stripping plants of their life force. My roommate came up and said that he would ride home with Mr. Brown Eyes who was fine with sleeping on the couch since the extra beds were full with Sean and friends. What? It seems everyone had been talking about us going home together except us. One kiss on the dance floor is not an invitation to bed...well this is a gay dance, so maybe it is. I just hadn't made it to that conclusion yet.

The plans were made. Who was riding with whom was decided. Who was sleeping where was mapped out. I had barely noticed the hair sticking out from the collar of his shirt, and I already had plans made for me to take him to bed. Ask for nothing, get something? This isn't the way it's supposed to work! I guess my friends knew it was about time I got back into the action. I suppose they were right. I think my embarrassment showed when I turned back to my Marlboro Man. He smiled and said he liked the idea. I was beginning to like the idea too. I wonder if he'd wear the cowboy hat in bed? I looked at him and asked, “Do you smoke?” He chuckled and responded in the negative. Well how do you like that? The Marlboro Man just walked up the steps, cowboy hat and all, right into my life and he was going home with me. Fate or just dumb luck? Who really cares? I got my Marlboro Man!