Not many people can say that perhaps the most romantic night of their courtship started out at a dance recital. I hope you’ll bear with me, because this tale will take far longer in the telling than in the performance. It’s something that I feel I must tell, if only to show to you just how large a lion’s heart can be.
After that moment in October when I discovered that Aleksandr shared with me a dream of making our relationship more than merely friendly, our meetings were ever sweeter. We had not yet shared our first kiss; despite the fact that our affection was as out of the closet as we were, we somehow kept waiting, just a little longer. It was almost as though, having found that we were falling in love with each other, we were happy now to let it take whatever time it wanted to manifest itself. We watched more movies, cuddled together on the couch beneath a king-sized comforter, giggling with each other as we blamed it on doing our part to conserve energy. We talked more, sang more, hugged more… I even rubbed his huge hind paws for him when he had come to see me after taking part in a vigorous basketball game at his gym, and yes, he did in fact doze off. As the pinball wizard I once was, I knew that it’s all in the wrist… and a little reflexology.
I hadn’t known that he was taking dance classes, nor would I have believed it at first. You have to get a picture of this fellow: A full 206cm tall, broad shouldered, about as chiseled as any body-builder could hope to be, with powerful arms and legs. The nimble fingers of his large forepaws could coax beautiful music from a guitar or bass, and his singing voice is smooth and full. His fur is cerulean, marked with indigo, the same color as his lavishly full mane and thickly furred tail-tip. He looks like he should play American football’s “front four” – all four of them – or even be a powerful wrestler. Most furs I’ve met who are dancers have a waist size a little smaller than the circumference of Aleksandr’s meaty thigh, and it would take three of them on the other side of a see-saw even to begin lifting the great lion off the ground. To imagine him taking ballet or ballroom dancing caused my bear’s brain to skip a few tracks.
“It’s interpretive,” he said, smiling. “In a lot of ways, it’s almost like gymnastics or floor exercises, although we have better music. Or so I think.”
I chuckled softly. “I don’t know why it should surprise me to learn that you have yet more light hidden under that bushel of yours. Of course I’ll come to see you. When is it?”
* * * * * * * * * *
The following Saturday afternoon found us at a small but very well-appointed dance studio. We took my van for both of us, to save a bit of parking space around the place. Furs of many ages and descriptions gathered, along with clearly proud parents hoping that their kits and pups were getting their money’s worth and other adults who seemed likely to be performing in Aleksandr’s age group. Before I locked up the van, I teased him by asking if he had his toe shoes with him.
“Big enough for these paws?” he grinned and held up the gym bag that he had brought with him. “I’ve got some costuming in here, but I think everyone will be bare-pawed tonight, unless a group of cloggers has booked some time that I didn’t know about.”
“Where are you in the order of things?”
“Last, actually.” I could see a bit of red tinge his cheeks below the cerulean. “It shouldn’t be long. The idea of having the show at 4:30 is so that the dancers can have their dinner afterward. I was hoping that I might treat you to Carroll’s place after.”
My eyebrows attempted to ascend into my hairline. Carroll Sherwood is the owner of one of the best restaurants in town – not tux-and-tie, nor fast-food junk, just some of the finest food in the entire universe served in a relaxed, friendly atmosphere. He and I had become known to each other on a first-name basis even before I garnered my minor notoriety as an author. I had taken my young kohai there for dinner on more than one occasion. Carroll had liked him at once, unlike a few others I had taken there over the last few years; Aleksandr’s bearing, manners, and intellect had given the lemur restaurateur a pleasant surprise. Add to this the lion’s command of Russian (and French, in case I never mentioned it), and it was all Carroll could do to keep from whispering to me, “This one’s a keeper” (or so he told me a week or so after). Sometimes, our friends see us more clearly than we see ourselves.
My great lion was kind enough to walk me into the studio and introduce me to various folk, dancers and patrons alike. I was never good at keeping track of names, but the assembled company was very kind and made me feel quite welcome. I had my suspicions that I was expected when a couple of them said, “Oh, so you’re Tristan, how nice to meet you!” It was my turn to blush a little as Aleksandr grinned, then excused himself to get ready with the rest of the dancers. One lynx couple – Reggie and Diamond (their names seemed to stick with me) – all but took me by the arm as they talked about how much encouragement and help Aleksandr had been to their son Dylan.
“Aleksandr is a marvel,” Diamond said warmly. “Dylan had gotten it into his head that he was going to become a dancer, after having watched Billy Elliot. Not that we minded him dancing! But he… well, let’s say that he was getting discouraged with it since he didn’t seem to be able to pick it up right away, as he does with so many things.”
“Forgive our bragging,” Reggie grinned, his beardlike cheekfur blending into his huge smile. “Dylan is one of those kids who tends to be pretty talented in more than one area. He took to computers almost instantly, and he picked up guitar very quickly. With dancing, though, he found more challenge than he thought he’d find.”
“Was it trouble with his legs, or balance, or…?”
“More like the formal discipline of ballet dancing.” Diamond chuckled a little self-consciously. “We all made that mistake together. Dylan was following Billy Elliot’s direction, when what he really needed and wanted was something more free-form, like jazz dancing. And it was Aleksandr who showed that to him. Have you seen him dance before?”
I shook my head. “I didn’t even hear about this until about a week or so ago.”
“Then you really don’t know?” Diamond’s eyes got a little wide, then like her husband, her entire face became one enormous secret-knowing grin. “You’re in for a treat.”
The lynx guided me toward the seats, much like the bleachers at a high school basketball stadium, with about four rows. We sat on the lowest row, I toward the right-hand end. They spoke a bit about the nature of the performances in general, but before they could go into too much detail, a tall and slender black panther strode onto the floor and invited everyone to get settled for the show.
“Good evening, all,” the lady cat addressed us. “I’m Winifred Cobb, or just Winnie, as most of you know; for those who don’t, I have the privilege of guiding some truly talented dancers who have come through my doors to learn some of the things I picked up during my experiences on and off Broadway.” She raised a paw. “Don’t be too impressed; it wasn’t like I had a big role in Cats or anything.”
I suspected that some of the assembled company had heard this joke before, but it still got a welcome round of laughter.
“Very briefly,” she continued, “my students are in many ways my teachers as well. They come to me with music that they love, some ideas of what they could do with it, and together we make it happen in the best way that we know how. We don’t have big budgets and fancy special effects. We have my experience, and we have the able assistance of our sound and lighting wizard, Wallace.” She turned to wave an encompassing paw toward a badger, who stood up behind his rather impressive-looking lighting board and took a small bow to a ripple of applause. “What we also have,” she continued, “and what we want share with you… is imagination. We’ll tell you stories, through music and movement, and we invite you to join us in our many travels.”
This story is about Aleksandr, but I’d be doing a disservice if I didn’t at least mention some of what happened in that brief recital. Kits and pups as young as eight had created amazing routines, part dance, part gymnastics, and all rich with emotion and a passion of expression that was well above what I would have expected. Before each performance, Winnie introduced the dancers and set the scene; to one side, Wallace carefully tended a music system and his lighting board that, at one point, managed to recreate the slowly building light of a sunrise with surprising acumen.
Reggie and Diamond had good reason to be proud of Dylan’s performance. Inspired in part by Stravinski’s Firebird suite (as performed by Isao Tomita), his story was of a young prince who searched a strange land and found a monster to fight and defeat. You can guess who volunteered to be the monster, complete with a long-sleeved jersey and leggings that glittered and shifted like snake scales – my lion had become a dragon-like chimera, complete with an oversized mask that looked Japanese in design, as if part of kabuki or noh theater. Dylan was in his early teens, and stood a little over 150cm tall when digitigrade; Aleksandr towered over him, and their stylized fighting choreography included a great many means by which the young prince slid between legs, somersaulted over the crouching beast, and otherwise slipped through many a trap. In the end, the fearsome chimera was slain, and the prince won a brief pas-de-deux with his princess, a teen Akita whose “my hero” look toward Dylan seemed to require no acting talent whatsoever.
Other dances included a well-choreographed comedy regarding a long-standing dance team, out for a night on the town, who were asked to perform unexpectedly when one partner was presumably drunk (pratfalls and rubber-legged antics to rival Dick Van Dyke), and a clever Hoffman-like tale of a magical mirror that transformed the young dancer into an adult version of himself (performed not by an older brother, apparently, but someone who looked very much like the younger lad). All in all, something over an hour, and no one once looked at his watch.
After nine such performances, the panther moved again to the down-center of the stage to address us, as several of the dancers made ready around the periphery, holding to their sides various props or set pieces, and waiting as if poised for a cue that had not yet occurred. “And now, our final piece for the evening, created and performed by Aleksandr Mashchenko.” She paused, as the lights in the studio dimmed slowly until only she could be seen, standing in a spotlight. “On a distant planet, a lost and lonely lion waits, wishing for some sign that he really isn’t to remain alone for all his life. From somewhere across the galaxy, he hears a call, a signal – a voice hoping for love, just as he is.” As her voice grew quieter, the spotlight on her closed slowly until all that was seen was her face. “He knows that he must follow that call… that he must somehow find that love… that love of a lifetime…”
The spotlight faded to nothing. We sensed rather than heard Winnie moving off the stage. For a long moment, only darkness and silence. Then slowly, a spotlight came up, aimed from the ceiling directly above a central point on the dance floor. Aleksandr sat, pinned by the single shaft of light, his chin resting upon one upraised knee, his arms wrapped around his leg, his tail curled around himself, his face looking intensely sad. He had changed into a tight-fitting muscle shirt, his mid-thigh length shorts equally well-fitting, both of a silvery-blue metallic-looking fabric that contrasted with his cerulean fur and indigo markings. He sat there, in tableau, for several silent seconds. I could almost hear him sighing, and my heart hurt for him, even though I knew it was a performance.
I learned later that the music is called “15 Minutes,” by a Canadian artist calling himself Deadmau5. The piece is actually only 2:14 long; as I say, it takes longer to describe than to listen to for yourself. The first eight measures introduce two very delicate chime-like tones that describe something deeply melancholy, fragile. The lights around the perimeter of the dance floor began to rise, as Aleksandr slowly raised his head to look up and outward, as if to the distant stars. He rose slowly, fluidly, as the next eight measures added one more bell-like tone as a secondary theme. He moved languidly, his eyes seeming to scan the skies for something, anything, to call to him…
The third set of eight measures started with a sharp stinging tone, a new melody, an accompaniment to an occasionally flashing pinpoint of light almost hidden in the rafters of the studio, as if a signal from so far away. Aleksandr seemed galvanized, his ears pivoting forward, tail lashing, his eyes opened wide, mouth slightly agape. He moved, a careful run, his large paws making not a whisper across the floor, scanning the skies again, putting his forepaws behind his ears, trying to focus upon the sound and its source.
As the fourth set of eight measures began, a delicate carpet of electronic sound came up slowly as a background for the song, and a spotlight came up on a single long-stemmed red rose, invisibly suspended from the ceiling and pivoting slowly in mid-air. Aleksandr approached, his huge beautiful antique gold eyes locked onto the descending flower, his face split by a smile of adoration, his arm reaching up for the rose, taking it gently in his paw. He sniffed it briefly, looked around his empty world, and with a solid smile of firm confidence, he held the flower close to his chest and began.
At this point, the entire studio seemed briefly blinded by an incredible flash of light from all areas, as the music drew in its driving drumbeats in support of the rest of the song. In that moment, everything seemed to happen at once. Aleksandr bounded into the air, as if leaping free of his lonely planet, hovering longer than Nijinsky, Nureyev, and Baryshnikov combined. From the sides of the dance floor, dancers of many sizes, from the smaller kits and pups to adults, performed a complex choreography all around my lion, each holding or wearing some prop or bit of costuming that represented suns, moons, comets, meteors, asteroids, detritus from the far-flung stars. Dylan maneuvered a fine reproduction of the starship Enterprise curving carefully away from the star-trekking lion. Aleksandr dodged, tumbled, spun, circled, even bounded over each one, at one point performing a forward somersault with his forepaws tucked close to his chest, the rose clutched tenderly in his firm grasp. He landed fully on his hindpaws, somehow keeping them from making a sound when he touched down.
The main portion of the song took up the fifth and sixth sets of eight measures, during which time the great lion danced with grace and precision born of commanding his mighty muscles to conform to the will that joined music with movement. His face was set in a grin of joy and satisfaction that surely made each member of the audience feel the sense of the quest that he had undertaken. I felt myself flying with him, sensing the purpose, the determination, the exhilaration of the pursuit he had dedicated himself to.
The music began to fade toward the end of the sixth set, continuing to fade during the seventh. Aleksandr’s travels had brought him toward the far end of the studio, to a place where are a trio of smooth solid poles stood floor to ceiling. His momentum carried him to the middle one, which he threw an arm around; as the studio lights there flashed and cascaded from white to yellow to orange to red, a ship entering the atmosphere, he swung about twice before facing the audience again. He paused, for just a moment, panting, looking around the now empty dance floor…
…and he locked his eyes on me.
As the last measures began to fade away, he ran directly toward me. About two-thirds of the way there, he went down on his knees, sliding smoothly to a stop not a meter away, raising one knee to plant his huge bare paw on the floor before me. His golden eyes glistening, breath coming quickly through an open-mouthed smile, he raised up the rose and offered it to me. Without a second thought, I slid off the bleacher seat and fell on my knees, taking the rose from his paw. I almost couldn’t see anymore, because my eyes were filling with tears. The music faded away completely, replaced by huge cheering and applause as my lion closed the short distance between us and took me into his powerful embrace.
If I’m telling the truth, I might as well tell all of it. I was crying, out of sheer ecstasy of the moment. Aleksandr held me tightly as I cried against his chest; I could feel the heat from him, feel him bend down and kiss me atop my head. It took me quite a while to realize that the entire crowd had surrounded us, applauding and cheering for all they were worth. When I finally managed to pull slightly away from him and look around, I saw the youngsters jumping gleefully up and down as they clapped their paws. Diamond and Reggie grinned at us, and Dylan set a forepaw gently to Aleksandr’s shoulder, his other paw giving a thumbs-up and a nod of approval as well.
I was weak-kneed as Aleksandr helped me stand, and I held on to him, tears still rolling down my furry cheeks. With tender affection, Winnie stepped up and offered me some sheets of paper towel. Blushing slightly, she said, “Sorry, it’s what we have.”
Laughing, I brushed off my face. “It’s perfect.” I let go of Aleksandr long enough to put my arms around the lady cat and hug her closely. “Thank you,” I whispered to her. “Thank you for helping him make all this possible.”
“It was a joy to work with him. I hope he’ll keep coming back.”
“I’ll help see to it.” I kissed her cheek chastely and let her go back to her charges.
Many of the patrons and dancers came up to congratulate both of us, then to make their farewells. Since Aleksandr wanted us to get some dinner, he thought it best that he take a quick shower. As he left, I resisted the urge to offer to scrub his back.
“That was fantastic!” A young Husky – the dancer who was the transformation of the pup who danced before the magic mirror earlier – was grinning from ear to ear. “When he told us all what he had in mind, all of us wanted to be in it with him. When I finally find my mate, I’m going to make a dance like that for her, to ask her to marry me.”
“Did Aleksandr ask you to marry him?” This came from one of the young female kits who had danced early on in the evening. Her mother smiled, slightly embarrassed at her kit’s abruptness, but otherwise clearly a little curious herself.
“Maybe,” I said softly. “If he hasn’t, he’s certainly told me how much he loves me. And I love him just as much, and more. So maybe.” I nodded and smiled, holding out the rose as proof. “At the very least, I know he’s asked me to dinner tonight. And that’s a good start.”
* * * * * * * * * *
Aleksandr laughed heartily when I told him about the Husky’s comment. “That sounds like something Manny would say,” he said. He took another sample of the appetizer set before us, grinning. “I imagine he’ll find himself a nice mate one day. He’s a good kid.”
“He’s certainly a good dancer,” I said, helping myself to another splendidly-prepared nacho. “The whole group is wonderful. I had a great time, Aleksandr, thank you. And…” I blushed deeply, smiling. “Thank you for your dance as well.”
He reached across for my free paw, bent down and kissed it softly. For a long moment, he said nothing, regarding me through soft, half-closed eyes, the grin still on his muzzle. “So. What do you think about marriage?”
The cliché would have me doing a choke or a spit-take, but I was in between bites and sips – luckily enough. “That’s not an uninteresting question. Now that it’s an option, I guess I’ll have to think about it.”
“That’s it?” he asked, still grinning. “Not even a vague idea?”
“Marriage itself is a fairly new idea for us old fags,” I said. I nodded, also smiling, knowing what he meant. “I’ve had relationships that seemed like they might stand the test of time. Ultimately, the test proved more difficult than we had hoped, although only one of those few relationships ended really badly. The other two just… ended sadly.”
“I’ve had a few attempts myself.” The lion leaned back in his chair, a rueful smile on his face. “I’m not at all sure that they really could have lasted a lifetime. Perhaps I was lucky that any of them lasted at all. They didn’t seem to be based on much more than the fact that we happened to like each other’s company. And bodies.” He shook his head a little. “That was about all.”
“You deserve better.”
He looked into my eyes, and I wondered if I was going to hear him purr right here in the restaurant. I felt myself blushing. I wasn’t used to feeling this way – complimented, appreciated, perhaps even preferred. I wondered if I’d ever get used to it. I wondered if I could ever stop craving it.
“Heads up, fellers, food’s here!” Carroll himself brought the main course to us, setting down hot plates and warning us against jumping in too fast. “Everything look all right?”
“Magnificent, as always,” I said. I wasn’t lying. The only thing I hate about eating at Carroll’s place was having to select only one dish, which meant that, for this meal at least, I was having to say “no” to every other delicious offering on the menu.
“So tell me, how did the recital go?”
Aleksandr see-sawed his paw in the air. “Not bad.”
“Fibber,” I grinned. “Carroll, it was amazing, every routine. And especially the last one.”
“I’d like to have seen it,” the bright-eyed lemur said. “And failing that, you’ll have to describe it all to me – after you’ve eaten.” He clapped me and Aleksandr on the shoulders. “I’ll be back a bit later.”
I held him back for a moment. “You’ve got an internet connection here, yes? Aleksandr, what’s the title of the music that you played for your dance?”
We gave Carroll the information, along with Aleksandr’s assurance that YouTube would have the music in question. We explained that it would help us describe the routine better. He promised to have a listen before he came back to see us.
Aleksandr and I were silent for a short time, and it was all Carroll’s fault; food that good stops conversation cold for a while, since all you can concentrate on is how good it tastes. I made some of my traditional happy sounds and food-celebration wiggles, looking almost certainly like Pooh Bear at his table, enjoying his honey. It always seemed to make Aleksandr smile, although I really don’t do it for him; I’ve been making “yummy noises” over my food for years. I have to say that I enjoy his enjoyment, though. It endears him to me just that much more.
“So,” I said, after I found it possible to slow down my face-stuffing a bit. “We were talking about marriage.”
The lion grinned at me. “I thought I was going to have to bring that up again.”
“I’m trying to be better about not avoiding topics,” I said, perhaps with just a wee bit too much sincerity. I smiled quickly. “Some years ago, when asked what I thought about gay marriage, my answer was that it didn’t seem to be working very well for straight people.”
“You have a point! What’s the statistic now… over 50% of marriages ending in divorce?”
I nodded. “Not a good score. I seem to remember reading something about the first gay couple to be married lawfully, a lesbian couple in Massachusetts I think, also getting divorced two years later. So I can’t blame divorce on straight people, strictly speaking.”
Aleksandr paused, looking at me thoughtfully. “It’s not a joke to you, though, is it?”
Sighing, I shook my head. “I don’t know if I have a phobia about commitment or something. I hope not, but quite honestly, I don’t know. It seems like such a huge step. Not one I’ve ever thought too seriously about taking. Part of the idea of marriage is the ceremony, but the majority of the idea is really about legal matters, and that part is more or less already in place. I mean, there are legal documents and frameworks that can accomplish much of the same things that marriage can do, from rights of survivorship to power of attorney for health care. Commingling of funds could be created by making an LLC, more or less, or even just a lawful partnership – various tricks of the legal trade to get the majority of legal protections for a gay couple.”
“That doesn’t sound very romantic.” He grinned at me. “But it’s practical, and I know that you have that side as well.”
I made a wry smile. “Sorry about that. It’s probably the cynic in me. So much pressure and attention is put onto a wedding day that people seem to forget about the rest of it. I sometimes wonder if it’s the ceremony itself that causes so many divorces. It’s gauzy and beautiful and fairy-tale-like, and maybe that’s truly wonderful… but it’s not make-believe. It’s important to remember.” I snorted a sad sort of laugh. “Guess I’d make a lousy wedding planner, huh?”
The great lion had no reply for that. I wondered if I’d said something wrong. For a long moment, we simply continued eating. At length, he said, “I’ve never thought about marriage – or perhaps I should say, I never thought about marrying anyone I’ve ever been involved with before.”
I paused, fork partway to my lips, looking at Aleksandr, who had his eyes cast down at that point. His voice had been steady and clear, although I felt a resonance of pain in it. The implications of his statement had been made in other ways, in other conversations. I ran through perhaps a dozen different things to say, rejected them all as feeling a little too contrived. I went with the truth instead. “I feel as though I should have something to say about that, love. I just don’t know what it is.”
After a moment, he looked up and managed a smile again. “I didn’t mean for it to sound quite so maudlin. Sorry about that. Maybe…” He took a breath, let it out slowly. “I’m trying to find a safe and fair way to tell you that you’re the first male I’ve ever been so attracted to that ideas of marriage started to appear.” He held up his forepaws toward me, gently hushing any comment I might make. “There’s a lot of baggage in that statement, I know; that’s why I said that I really don’t know how to say it fairly. I’m not asking you to marry me, Tristan. I just want you to know that you’re important enough to me that it’s got me thinking.”
I set my fork down slowly and reached across the table for his free paw. “Aleksandr…” I smiled softly. “Part of me wants to say ‘I do’ right away, just in case you change your mind!” He looked at me shyly and gave a soft chuckle. “Am I right if I say that neither of us is really ready for a step that large? I mean, right in this moment?”
Slowly, he nodded.
“Is it okay for me to say that you’ve got me thinking now?”
In almost a whisper, he said, “Do you mean it?”
“With all my heart, dorogoy.” He blinked at the word. “You’ve read my books, and my Russian-speaking characters; I know what that word means. Yes. I mean it.”
I felt his paw grip mine a little tighter, then release it slowly. I wasn’t sure if he would be able to eat through the smile on his muzzle, but he seemed to manage it well enough. We were quiet for another few minutes, eating, feeling something in the air between us that neither of us quite knew what to do with, but that we wouldn’t have given up for the world. I felt as if we were enacting several dozen lovers’ clichés, the kind of thing that no one believes really happens… unless they’ve felt it themselves.
I decided to press my luck one step further. Under the table, I carefully moved my hindpaw to touch his. He looked up abruptly, then fought to contain a huge grin. His paw nudged mine gently, and we enjoyed the small touch between us, hidden from view by the long table cloth. I felt like a doe-eyed teenager, flirting secretly in public, feeling a bit as if we were getting away with something terribly naughty.
“How’s the meal, boys?” Carroll stepped over to the table and sat down – on the side opposite where Aleksandr and my paws were touching, I was happy to notice. I drew my paw back a bit, out of some twinge of guilt that I couldn’t begin to understand.
“Loving every bite, as usual, Carroll.” I jumped very slightly as I felt Aleksandr’s hind paw touch mine again. (He has a nearly meter-long inseam – you do the math.) “Your kitchen elves have done brilliantly.”
“Hear, hear!” Aleksandr echoed, his eyes alight with the slyest twinkle directed at me.
“So, I listened to that music, a couple of times actually.” He smile a little sheepishly. “Not quite my style, but interesting. How did you dance to that?”
“You’re the storyteller,” the lion grinned at me.
It was the first time that I’d tried to describe the dance, and it was nowhere as complete as I’ve rendered it here, but Carroll was still swept up in the passion of it. I owned up to my crying at the end of it, and Carroll laughed gently. “I think I would have too, and I’m not even gay.” He winked at Aleksandr. “That’s some lovely work. Wish I could have seen it.”
My lion nodded his thanks and added, “I’ll let you know if I decide to keep up with the dancing.”
“So, my friend,” I said to the lemur, “what’s your opinion of gay marriage?”
Raising his eyebrows, Carroll looked at us both in turn. His long ringed tail flicked question marks in the air behind him.
“Not us,” said Aleksandr. He turned to me. “Not yet?”
I smiled. “Not yet.”
“Just the evening’s topic of conversation,” the lion grinned.
Slowly, Carroll nodded, still smiling. “Well, as for straight marriage” he said, “Aleyanna and I have been together for twelve years now, and more than that if you count the courtship. She and I have had problems, fears, difficult times, and several of what the insurance companies call ‘life events.’ Once in a while, we’re both absolutely certain that the dumbest thing we ever did was get married. And we’re still together. Because no matter what else has happened to us, we realize – eventually, at least – that we’re so much more because of the ‘Us’ that we created. We’ve decided that love really is stronger than anything else, even when we try to convince ourselves otherwise.”
“So you think marriage is a good thing?”
“It certainly can be.”
“And gay marriage?”
“Only if I get to cater it.” He grinned as we laughed. “And even if I don’t get to cater it, I expect to be invited! So no elopements. I don’t care if you say ‘I do’, or jump the broom, or step on the glass – I want to be there, and I know Aleyanna will want to be there. She’ll kiss the grooms.”
“And you?”
“I stop at hugs.” Suiting actions to words, he stood and embraced me from the side, then did the same for Aleksandr. “Whatever else may happen, fellahs, you have my vote. Just keep me posted.”
After Carroll left, Aleksandr attracted my attention again by nudging my hind paw with his. “Do you want dessert?” he asked.
“My God, what an opening.”
He grinned. “Have I mentioned how much I love the way you think?”
* * * * * * * * * *
Aleksandr had left his car at my house, so we went back there after dinner. It was still early – barely past eight o’clock – and he was quite amenable to coming in to watch a movie. I ran through my mental database of films that I own, trying to avoid being too romantic, or too sensual, or (not to break the mood) too action/adventure based. When I discovered that Aleksandr had never seen Peter’s Friends, I made a bet with myself and put it on. We snuggled up together on the couch, with me leaning against the great lion, his arm around me and mine about his firm, muscular middle. We loved the laughs, the tears, the music, the dialog, and the bittersweet ending. The clock was not quite at ten when we switched off the television, and settled into a long, quiet, tender moment.
“How’re you doin’, luv?” I asked him.
“Fine.” I felt his large forepaw stroking my head softly. I’m not at all sure, but I think I whimpered a little. I could almost feel him smiling. “How’re you?”
“A lot better than fine.” I hugged him tightly, and though I was reluctant to stop the tender touch that he was giving to me, I managed to make myself sit up and look him in the eyes. Those beautiful eyes, that deep antique gold that held so much warmth, so much compassion. I reached up to touch his cheek softly, and he turned his muzzle to plant a soft kiss on my palm. I felt myself shiver, every strand of fur on my body shifting and twitching in response. I caught my breath, amused to see Aleksandr flash a look of concern. I chuckled. “It’s okay, luv, I’m still here.”
He smiled. “I was worried for a moment there.”
“No need for worry.” We still stared at each other, and after a moment, we both laughed.
“We’ve put a lot of weight on this moment, haven’t we?” he said softly.
“Just a bit, yeah.” I stroked his mane gently; he pushed his head against my hand, that “cat thing” that I loved so much from him. “You think we’re ready?”
“I think we’ll explode if we don’t.”
“How would you rate your kissing?” I teased.
“Not too bad, at least I hope so. How about yours?”
“Expert. Superlative. Toe-curling is my specialty.”
“I hope I’m not going to disappoint you.”
I looked deeply into his eyes. “That’s not possible.”
We moved slowly toward each other, not sure if we were teasing on purpose, or if we really were afraid of the moment. My heart was pounding, my breath shallow, and those were only two of the myriad clichés present; I couldn’t count the rest even if I’d wanted to. At long last, one or the other of us closed the gap and our lips touched. We stopped there, as if by unspoken accord, just to feel that long-awaited sensation. I moved my lips so slightly, letting them memorize the feeling, holding back from knowing more, just for a bit…
Seconds passed, and we opened our mouths a little, lips closing over lips, heads turning slightly in further anticipation. I could feel my breath hitching in my chest, something bursting there, like sparks and starfire. One of us whimpered a little, probably me, but I couldn’t be sure. I knew that tears were trying to form in my eyes (what a waterworks I was that night!), but they were closed by now, so focused was I on the sweet intensity of the kiss. I felt his forepaw on my shoulder, high up, near my neck, and our mouths opened gently to each other. I felt his tongue touch my lips quickly, pull back, as if afraid of being too forward. My tongue took its time, tasting his breath, his lips, and then…
I felt his forepaws on the back of my head, strongly but not forcefully, heard a noise that came from deep within his chest, a profound rumbling purr, a sound like need and desire and discovery and salvation. The kiss continued, impassioned yet slow, my forepaws touching the thick, luxuriously soft ruff of his mane down along his chest, my pulse racing, disbelief vying for every second that I gave over to memorizing this long-awaited moment. We held each other this way, prolonging the touch, the fire, the moment, the kiss, until we began to feel that it was safe for us to pull away, that we weren’t really going to stop, but merely pause, that nothing would ever be the same again, that we had taken a step that was as sure as his dance, as unfaltering, as expressive, as true.
I opened my eyes slowly, my breath quick, my whole body trembling. His eyes locked with mine, his muzzle still slightly open, his huge forepaws still holding me tenderly.
“Yo my yo,” he whispered softly. “You weren’t kidding!”
As unromantic as it might sound at first, let me reassure you: A fit of giggling can be exactly the right thing at a moment like this. We fell against each other, laughing our fool heads off, and couldn’t stop for several minutes; each time we got close, one or the other of us would start up again, and then both of us were back on the hyperventilation bandwagon. We were on the edge of passing out from sheer oxygen deprivation when we finally managed to get our respective breaths back, and by then, we were both too weak to move. I was particularly grateful that Aleksandr made such a very good pillow, and that my sofa was comfortable enough for him to prop me up.
When I felt as if I could risk speaking again, I said softly, “So.”
“So,” he echoed, the smile in his voice.
“What do we do now?”
“You mean you don’t know either?”
“I haven’t read that far ahead in the dating manual.”
My lion grinned, paused for a long moment. “We could try another kiss.”
“Do you think we’re strong enough for that?”
“If not, then we certainly don’t have the strength for anything else!”
“Good point.”
Our lips met again, accomplishing a perfectly good kiss in its own right, not lasting as long or being quite as intense, and yet doing a very creditable job of expressing just how much love we were feeling. After this one, we managed to smile rather than collapse into laughter.
“How are your toes?” I asked.
“Curly.”
“Mine too.”
“Fair’s fair.”
I looked into his eyes. “I feel a little frightened right now. Or maybe just excited. I’m not sure what to say or do.” He stroked my head gently. “Remember when you turned down my first request to kiss me? You said it was because you thought I’d diminish it somehow, after you’d left, that I’d make myself believe that it wasn’t real.”
“Are you afraid of that now?”
“Not even a little bit.” I grinned. “Nothing I’ve ever experienced could be more real than that. I guess… maybe I’m still not sure just how fast we should go.”
“We’ve waited a long time, just for this.” The lion smiled tenderly. “Part of me feels that we’ve waited long enough.”
“Which part?”
“Naughty bear.”
“Of course.” I touched his muzzle gently with my forepaw. “How does the rest of you feel?”
“Somewhere between impossibly excited and so very tired.”
“It’s been a long day.”
“Beautiful day. And long.”
“Think you’d like to sleep here tonight?”
“Do you think we’d sleep?”
“Eventually. Maybe.”
He smiled at me. “C’mere.”
Gently, he pulled me into his embrace as I wrapped my arms around him again. I was very much aware of having a great deal of wonderfully warm lion pressed against me. I brushed my cheek against the ruff of his soft, thick mane as I lowered my head to snuggle against him. My ear to his chest, I could hear his heart pumping loud and strong… or maybe it was my own, echoing in my ears. I felt more than heard the rumble that could only be Aleksandr’s purr. I don’t think bears can purr, but I came damn close, just from the sheer contentment of the moment. And from no source that I could identify, I knew what we would do next.
We lay cuddled together for ten or fifteen minutes, occasionally shifting slightly, making room for each other, touching each other softly, tenderly. We felt no need to speak, communicating only by the sweetness that we felt together. And then, though neither of us really wanted to, we separated. I walked my beautiful lion to the front door, where we embraced again, and kissed again, and looked into each other’s eyes.
“Brunch tomorrow?” he asked.
“You could always try that bagel thing again. Worked out pretty well last time.”
“We still have a lot to think about. And talk about.”
“And there’s next weekend.”
“Should we think about next Saturday?”
I considered for a moment. “You know, Judaism says that the Sabbath begins at sunset of the day before.”
“We should become Jewish?”
“Just looking for loopholes.”
Aleksandr laughed and kissed me again. “At the risk of sounding like Ah-nuld, I’ll be back.”
“And I’ll be here.”
He opened the door, then turned back once again to kiss me. I looked into his eyes, my breath catching in my throat. I started to speak, and my lion put a finger to my lips.
“I’ve found you, my sweet bear. Through all of space and time, I’ve finally found you. I’m not going to lose you now. I promise you that, dorogoy.”
Smiling softly, I nodded.
He planted another kiss to the side of my muzzle and put his lips close to my ear. “Besides,” he whispered softly, “if I don’t leave soon, some parts of me will become more blue than usual.”
“And that comment,” I said grinning, “is going to cost you an extra bagel!”
As my story of my courtship of the magnificent cerulean-furred lion Aleksandr continues, we find that our handsome young male has yet another light hidden under his bushel. In a self-created dance (to music by Deadmau5: https://youtu.be/rP6WfAogc94), he shows me yet more of his amazing, romantic, Russian heart. Prepare yourself for the sweet taste of our first kiss...
