In the last week of August, there was another heatwave in Maine, with temperatures in the 90s F. Sören couldn't put off going to the doctor, since his testosterone prescription was dependent on that visit, and he needed to get COVID boostered before his dental work began in the fall. Even with air conditioning at the doctor's office and the pharmacy, and door-to-door Uber service, the heat still made Sören miserable, and he was an exhausted, sweaty mess by the time the Uber pulled up in front of his duplex. He wanted nothing more than to go in, get a cold drink, and take a cool shower.
As luck would have it - the bad kind - Mark was sitting on his porch, playing guitar. Sören could hear Mark playing a few houses away and he was good. Sören's heart beat faster as he got out of the Uber and began to walk towards the steps. Of course, Mark noticed him climbing out of the car, and paused to raise a hand in greeting. Sören waved back, and swallowed hard. He liked Mark, what little he'd gotten to see of him - which was the problem. When he was feeling disgustingly sweaty and smelling like a pile of gym socks, the last thing he wanted to see was a hot guy...
...one who didn't just look like a supermodel, with his long, silky black hair and piercing grey eyes, but was musically talented.
Mark was playing "The Girl From Ipanema", which Sören recognized right away, and temporarily transported his mind to a tropical beach instead of dripping sweat on a sidewalk in front of a duplex.
Tall and tan and young and lovely
The girl from Ipanema goes walking
And when she passes
Each one she passes goes, "Ah"
Mark's voice reminded Sören of the late Jeff Buckley, but smoother. Hypnotic, sending a frisson through him. Sören found himself staying for the entire song... and giving a little applause. He felt self-conscious about it, knowing he looked like a dork, but Mark grinned and took a bow.
Sören loved creative people - artists, writers, musicians. His aunt had been hyper-religious - despite the drinking - and was convinced secular music was a sin and art was a form of idolatry, and his uncle had been hyper-masculine and thought of art as "gay". But to Sören, beauty was a necessity, not a luxury. Art, stories and music helped people to express themselves, and made the world more interesting and colorful. Sören reviewed music for a living, to try to encourage musicians and entice new listeners... but also because music was so important to his own life, the fuel for the fire of his art, he always had music on when he made paintings or pottery. He found musical talent incredibly attractive, and it made Mark even more beautiful to him.
And he definitely didn't want to notice Mark like that. First, he wasn't sure if Mark was queer or not. Second, even if Mark was queer, that didn't mean he would be into trans guys - Sören's experience over the last almost-ten years since he'd come out and transitioned had been that most cis guys weren't attracted to trans men, and not even other trans men tended to want to date trans men, which had made Sören write off men as prospective partners and settle for women even though that wasn't really what he wanted. And then of course there was Sören being obviously disabled. He felt that disabled people were worthy of respect and love, but he knew other people often saw the disabled as inferior or too much to "take care of" - it had contributed to a couple of his relationships ending, as his Ehlers-Danlos progressed and he experienced more frequent injuries.
So it was better to just not get any kind of hopes up, and not notice how gorgeous Mark was to look at, or the way he could coax beautiful music out of his guitar...
...or that voice.
Sören went inside, feeling flustered and giddy, like he'd just met a rock star. He put his T away in the bathroom, and then he went back out to the kitchen to pour himself a cold lemonade. He decided to pour one for Mark also, since the little concert had cheered him up after the long, tiring day - medical appointments drained him even when they went well.
When Sören came out, Mark was playing something else. Sören held out the glass and Mark nodded, and Sören came up Mark's steps and set it down on the ledge. Then Mark gestured to the chair and Sören sat, lingering, listening.
So you think that it's over
That your love has finally reached the end
Any time you call, night or day
I'll be right there for you
If you need a friend, yeah
It's gonna take a little time
Time is sure to mend your broken heart
Don't you even worry, pretty darlin'
I know you'll find love again
Sören got choked up, eyes blurring, and tried to pull himself together. But then towards the end, the tears spilled over.
Love will find a way
Darlin', love is gonna find a way
Find its way back to you
Love will find a way
So look around, open your eyes
Love is gonna find a way
Sören wanted to believe that someday he would, in fact, find someone and not be alone for the rest of his life, but he would be forty-three in November and that hope was getting smaller all the time.
"You all right?" Mark asked.
Sören nodded. He wiped his eyes. "Yeah, don't mind me, allergies or something."
Mark smiled. "Awww. If it makes you feel better, you're not the first dude who's cried when I perform."
Sören smiled back. "At least it's not crying in pain, telling you to stop, right?"
Mark chuckled.
Sören always felt self-conscious about crying - trans guys often had to work twice as hard to prove themselves as men, any show of "weakness" was often weaponized as evidence that they weren't "real men" - so Mark's reassurance felt especially kind, though he wasn't about to tell Mark he was trans. "That's a nice song," Sören said. "Did you write it?"
"No, that was Tesla. The band, not Elon Musk. It's called 'Love Song', came out in August 1989, if I recall correctly."
Sören let out a low whistle. "I was nine. Wow, you're only twenty-seven and you like that?"
"I like a lot of old people music." Mark grinned.
Sören snorted. Then he nodded approvingly. "Back in my day, before we had Auto-Tune, when we made musical instruments out of dinosaur bones..."
"I wouldn't want to live in the 80s, it was more socially backwards - and the fashion was questionable - but y'all had some great music then." Mark sipped his lemonade. "Oh man, that hit the spot. Did you make this?"
"Nah, it's store-bought, but I'm glad you like it. I poured one for myself and I thought I'd bring you one."
"Thank you very much."
They sat for a few minutes in silence, and Sören realized he'd left his own lemonade on the kitchen counter. But something compelled him to stay just a little longer, and then when Mark finished his lemonade, he played "Wish You Were Here" by Pink Floyd. After the song, Sören said, "You need a record deal."
Mark chuckled. "No, I don't. Besides, I don't even know how I would go about it."
Sören decided to disclose what he did for a living. "I review music for Rolling Stone. I could put you in touch with people -"
Mark shook his head vehemently. "I appreciate it, but I don't want fame. I like having a quiet, private life. And control over my own music, without having to do what a record company wants."
"Fair enough." Sören nodded. "But if you ever change your mind, well, I'm right next door."
Mark smiled. "I was wondering what you did for work - or if you worked, if you were on disability - but I didn't want to pry."
"Jæja, I work for Rolling Stone. I can do most of my job from home, except when they send me to concerts." Now Sören was curious - it was a Monday afternoon. "You work from home?" A lot of people did now, thanks to the pandemic.
"No, I just opened a record store in Portland, called Wax On Wax Off. It's closed on Sundays and Mondays, because I need two days off a week and Mondays are usually slower than Saturdays and some things I can only get done on a weekday like non-emergency vet appointments, and stuff."
"Oh... you have pets?"
"Three cats and a dog." Mark nodded.
Sören smiled harder - he loved animal people. "I have a cat - you saw him but he hid, I never have people over so he doesn't know what to make of strangers in the house." As soon as those words were out of his mouth, Sören regretted it, knowing it made him sound like a loser. It wasn't that he had no friends at all, but they lived far away - his best friend Yeyette lived in Montréal.
But then Mark said, "I usually don't have company either. Just me and my brother."
Sören wondered about that - he fought the urge to ask Mark if he was seeing anyone - and he decided he better go drink his lemonade before it wasn't cold anymore, or before the cat made mischief on the counter and gave him a mess to clean... and before he could swoon any harder and dig himself deeper in the hole of this awkward little crush he didn't need to have. "Well, um. Speaking of pets, I was gone all day and my cat doesn't like that, so I should go. Um."
"Yeah." Mark nodded. "I was gonna head inside in a bit anyway, it's too hot to be out here for long, but sometimes I like to play outside for the acoustics."
Sören nodded, and Mark nodded, and they kept nodding and nodding - at least Mark seemed to be on a similar level of social awkwardness - and then Sören got up. He took the empty glass from Mark. "Thanks for the show."
"Thanks for the lemonade."
Sören got as far to the end of the porch and against his better judgment he turned around. "Do you and your brother want to come over for dinner?"
"Oh!" Mark's eyes widened and his jaw dropped, and Sören would have bolted if he were capable of running - he couldn't believe he'd just asked that. But then Mark said, "My brother and I were going to Chipotle tonight, and he doesn't like surprise changes in plans, but maybe one of these nights?"
Sören tried not to be too disappointed. He himself had habits and routines and didn't like disruptions, but he still felt that tiny prickle of rejection. "OK," Sören said. "Maybe some other time, then. Uh. Have a nice rest of the day."
Sören shuffled off without looking back, face burning all the way. When he got in his lemonade was still cold enough, and he leaned against the fridge gulping it down, feeling like a socially inept idiot, like there was some arcane set of unwritten rules that he'd violated somehow. He reminded himself that wasn't a hard no, and he should take Mark's "one of these nights" at face value...
...and then he scolded himself, Why do you even care. He'd gotten used to evenings alone.
And yet, that little spark of connection was an aching reminder that there could be more, out there. Mark's song played in the back of his mind. Love is knockin'... outside your door.
Since his last breakup two and a half years ago, Sören didn't know if he believed in love anymore. He didn't want to risk believing again, and getting hurt. But he didn't want to spend the rest of his life like this.
Sören sighed and headed down to the bathroom to take a cool shower. He definitely needed one now, not just from the heat, but Mark being so goddamn sexy made him feel frustrated and pent up. As he got undressed, he grumbled at his body for responding this way. Grumbled at the white rabbit in his head, telling him not to be late as he bounded towards the rabbit hole that Sören was very much trying to avoid.
"This is fine," Sören said as he stepped into the shower.
Sören made homemade black bean enchiladas for dinner, using his toaster oven to keep the house from heating up too much, and as the enchiladas cooked, Sören found himself logging onto FetLife for the first time in six months. He'd forgotten he even had an account until he was in the shower, horny and mad at himself for being horny. He didn't even know why he bothered - the only people who tended to contact him on FetLife were chasers wanting to see pictures of his genitalia, and he'd been rejected outright by a few cis and trans guys for being FTM.
He decided to update his profile, flipping the gender from FTM to Male. He felt a little guilty about doing it - it was common advice for trans people to disclose being trans to prospective romantic and sexual partners - but Sören wondered if maybe someone got to know him first, they might care less about what he had downstairs... and in any case it would stop the chasers from the obnoxious "show me ur big clit" messages.
Sören leaned back and thought about what else. For most of his life, he'd been attracted to older men, and that was still the case - he loved silver daddies - but since he'd hit forty, he had the craving of being the daddy to a younger man, even though he wasn't dominant - just the opposite. Being submissive and a daddy was a long shot, but Sören didn't think anyone would respond to his profile anyway, and on the one-in-a-million, lightning-strikes chance, better to be honest about what he wanted.
Then he looked for local profiles. He put his location as Portland, Maine, even though he was in Bentham, because it wasn't far to Portland, he would have a wider pool to search from in a major city, and it was safer not to give his exact location. He checked a few profiles of local gay, bi and queer men, both cis and trans, and nothing really grabbed him...
...and then he saw someone with a harp as a profile picture. Not a selfie, not a dick pic, not a meme, but an actual harp. The username was fortunate_son. Amused by both the harp and the oldies reference, Sören clicked and landed on the profile of a 27-year-old dominant gay male.
A dominant gay 27-year-old looking for a submissive daddy.
"Bingo," Sören said, heart beating faster, and started to type a message.
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