Queer Valentines: Powerful, Poignant, or Painful?

Incident in Room 214

Or Should I Say He Once Dreamt Me

The warmth of the Bahamas sun wrapped itself sensually around my shoulders. So nice to get away from the New York City chill in the middle of February.

All the cruise ship staff who were working poolside—men and women—sauntered in colorful bathing suits. The men wore leather sandals, the women—kitten heels.

The attractive young waiter who had come over with my drink wore a brief purple Speedo-type suit.

I was admiring the budgerigar resting within it as he leaned over to put my drink down on the small table beside my chair.

“Put this on my tab, please. Room 214.” I said.

I then noticed that where there might be a Speedo logo on the swimsuit there was instead a QR code.

My smartphone was in my hand so I casually pointed my camera towards it and snapped.

The waiter smiled—and with the slightest wink, walked away towards the bar.

I looked at the little link-window in brackets that the QR code was pointing me to.

It read—“Awaken Now”.

So I clicked on it.

Instantly I was back where I had dozed off some time ago—lying naked on the red couch in our apartment. The book I’d been reading had fallen to the floor.

I chose to quickly snap closed my eyes—and just barely managed to get back into that small frame of time that the subconscious provides to allow one to still return to where the dream was—still in progress.

During my few seconds up to the waking world, things here had shifted around somewhat. I was now sitting on the other side of the pool, near the bar and dance floor.

“Calipygian”, said a man to my left, his eyes following my waiter’s butt as he went back towards the bar. “His name is Lars. Introduced himself to me earlier. A student from Norway — doing this as a bit of a summer job with free travel. A tasty morsel.”

The music became quite pronounced—pulsing electronic beats—my legs responding with movement.

Projected on a screen behind the DJ was a light show of collaged images, abstract colors and shapes, interspersed among which were black and white film clips of couples dancing.

I watched as Alec Guinness spun around the floor with Marlene Dietrich and Alan Cumming with Lady Gaga.

A few seconds later they switched partners, Alec was now with Alan, Marlene with Ms. Gaga.

As Lars passed by delivering drinks elsewhere, he briefly stopped, smiling, and confirmed—“That was Room 214, yes?”

Then things shifted quickly.

You know how that can be.

I found myself putting the key into the door, opening it. 214. It was an outragously fancy suite with wrap-around couches, what looked like Rauchenburg paintings on the walls, and a dazzling vintage Rock-Ola jukebox that was playing 45 rpms.

I walked across the room and as a Dusty Springfield song ended, the machine animation dropped the needle onto Marc Bolan’s “20th Century Boy.”

I move like a cat, charge like a ram Sting like a bee, babe, I wanna be your man, hey!

From where I stood I could see the open door to the bedroom. The lights were dim, blue—but the presence of Lars on the bed was unmistakable.

I approached and saw that the covers had been pushed to the bottom of the bed—all except for the white sheet covering him, with a very obvious tent in the middle.

[My dreams often lead to sexual situations, sometimes partaking in a bit of suggestive light foreplay, but just when any actual sexual energy should arise—things always shift. Neither Freud nor Jung mentioned this Oneric Fruition Dysfunction. And there are no little blue pills for this inhibition. And so…]

I pulled aside the sheet and touched his leg. I ran my hand along his strong warm lightly furry thigh. The sleeping budgie now a crowing cock. That familiar hunger was coming over me. But then a sense of light-headedness. Thoughts wandering. Dancers changing partners. Something about a QR code. I was laying down. Dozing. off.

I awoke suddenly. The sun was up.

I was in the cruise ship bed. So I was still in the dream.

Lars was gone. The jukebox in the other room was silent.

My smartphone on the end-table buzzed. A text.

“It’s Valentine’s Day. XOXO. Go play #214 Lars.” Followed by a heart emoji.

I got up and went to the jukebox. I selected that B side of the 45rpm.

A 213 — If I Needed Someone—The Beatles B 214 — Norwegian Wood (This Bird Has Flown) — The Beatles

I sat on the rug next to the jukebox with a smile on my face, my eyes closed, trying to conjure up what might have happened last night.

When the song ended and the record clicked back into place I opened my eyes—our apartment, the red couch—oh, and an erection of note.

The click turned out to actually be my girlfriend Annie closing the door behind herself, returning from getting groceries.

She looked at me in my aroused state and smiled. “I’d like to help you with that but I do have to be at a meeting in 15 minutes. Besides, I think you’re due to call your Norse god boyfriend Karl for a date.”

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art/text © AleXander Hirka 2023. All Rights Reserved.

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This story is a response to the Prism & Pen writing prompt, Queer Valentines: Powerful, Poignant, or Painful?