The Colours of August MxM (Staten Krown)

1

The year was 1967. It was August.

The first thing I notice is the sweltering heat as I get picked up by my Uncle's driver in Birmingham. I peel off my knit shirt which is sticking to my skin. Ma told me not to pack it but that was my problem. I was stubborn.

"The girls in the south will love you, Mr. Crawford," Peter, my driver says.

He's a white man in his mid 30s maybe. I was white too but for some reason we both had a deep tan. Mine had come from playing Tennis up North. I've just turned 21. His eyes are glued on my biceps and the way my wet undershirt sticks to my skin with sweat. The biceps and my muscular frame had come from tennis as well. I'd seen the stare he gives me before. It's this silent appreciation of a muscular man. I was from a suburb in Pennsylvania right outside of Philadelphia. I'd never been down south until now. However in Philadelphia I knew there was a bar. No one talked about it, but I remember my friend Johnny told me it was 'sissy' bar. I'd been so confused. Things like that weren't legal up north. It was supposed to be a big secret, but everyone seemed to know what it was. Everyone seemed disgusted. Everyone but me.

Every time I went back to Philadelphia I'd walk past that bar, intentionally, too scared to go in, but feeling a sense of belonging when I noticed the stares of the men who frequented that bar.

"I'm no Mr. Crawford man. August is fine."

"You're a Crawford sir. In Birmingham all Crawfords are misters...no matter what age," my driver explains.

He gives me a smile. His tongue quickly wipes past his lips and I can see his eyes staring at me in the mirror. This wasn't the first time a man appreciated my beauty. No where near. I was attractive——as hell, and I'm not being conceited by saying that. It was just a fact. I had that 'ideal' beauty that people think of. I looked like the guy in the Retro shows.

I had blonde hair that was obnoxiously yellow and a sharp tapered face. I didn't have facial hair but I did have stubble. No one feature makes me so handsome, though I'd say my eyes come close. People often speak of the colour of eyes, as if that were of importance, yet mine changed colors depending on the light. Some days they were green, some days blue and some days hazel. My ex-girlfriend Alli said my eyes would be beautiful in any shade. Looks didn't matter to me. What was important was intensity, honesty, gentleness. At 21, I was just understanding what it meant to be a man. Perhaps this is what is meant by a gentleman, not one of weakness or politeness, but one of great spirit and noble ways. What I am, what is beautiful about me, comes from deep within.

We pull up to the Crawford home. Ma said my Uncle Charlie had money but pulling up to this house I had no idea it was anything like this.

I reach out to get my bags but I'm stopped by the driver, "I'll get those for you, Mr. Crawford."

"It's really OK."

"I insist."

He rubs past my hands slowly. His fingers intertangling with mine as he gets my luggage from me. It's more flirtation. Definitely more flirtation. I flash him a smile. He's not a bad looking guy.

"Is that you August?" a voice interrupts our flirt, "Well look at my nephew. Margeret didn't tell me you were so gosh darn handsome."

Gosh darn? I was definitely in the south.

I'm approached by the person who I assume is my Aunt Loribeth. I'd never met Loribeth before but I'd spoken to her several times. She's plump, round and has breasts that are as big as watermelons. She has a bright smile on her face. When she walks to me she's all fat and happiness.

"Happy to be here ma'am," I tell her.

"I was jus' fixin' to get supper ready," she tells me with a toothy grin, "Come on in. Your cousins and 'em can't wait to see ya."