Ruby and me in a lesbian bar
This is our favorite pastime, our favorite urban hangout, and these are the loud, cool guys we feel most comfortable drinking and dancing with into the night: the lesbians at the bar Minerva!
The Minerva bar hid in a small street behind Allenby somewhere in the depths of Tel Aviv. At least twice a week, we drove in Rubi’s Volkswagen golf car from his apartment in Yehuda Halevi to Beit HaSho’eva Alley and sat at Miriam’s bar for cold beers, cheeses, and grapes. We felt lesbians ourselves: two adorable chicks but also rough and tough gay guys, crazy all over our heads, men from the top of social prestige but also little women hidden between the dishes. We felt at home in the lesbian bar. It’s fun here. The background music is always fine, the place smells of perfumes, shampoo, and Vogue cigarettes, and from all the bars in the city, only at Miriam’s does a real Belgian Hoggarden beer pour straight from the barrel into large, frozen glasses.
***
The first time we met at the bar was awkward. We found each other on the Scruff dating app, and our broken texts, inside jokes, and conversations flowed happily. We decided to meet in a neutral place, and Minerva seemed perfect. We met at the bar early in the evening in the middle of the week. We recognized each other quickly, but our communication sparks remained in the air. There was emotional and sexual tension, but the vibe in the mind did not meet with our longing bodies. Strangers on a first date. We sat at the bar and didn’t talk. Miriam, the bartender, looked at us sternly. Our desire was locked behind an intricate heteronormative facade. A hard mirror. It was too heavy to talk, but we did it not to shatter into pieces inside ourselves.
“Do you have AIDS?” I smash the mirror. It will force us to talk.
“No,” Ruby looks at me seriously. “Do you?”
“Not. I’m not sexually active.”
“I am, but on a perp, as you know,” Ruby plays with his hair. He looks at me with a blank face. “What a successful way to break the ice between us, Amir. I’m shocked, and I think, what am I doing here with this stranger?”
“That much so?”
“Absolutely. I already figured out who you are through our conversations on Scruff, and I loved it terribly, but now I’m shocked.”
“I wanted to shake up the situation a bit. We would sit here on the bar like two pups if I hadn’t broken the ice.”
“Smashed it, you mean.”
“You’re exaggerating. What about all our talks into the night in the last few weeks? Don’t you feel close to me?”
I look into his eyes. It’s strange. I’m so attracted to Ruby, to his pictures, at least. I’ve even had sex with them a few times… his light body hair, his blue eyes… and now he’s playing it as a stranger? Sucks. I don’t think we’ll ever have sex if this goes on.
The look into his eyes works. He looks down. “I remember, yes. I feel close to you in my heart.”
“Beer from the barrel?”
“Yes, bro.”
I ordered two pints of Hoggarden from Miriam, the bartender. She took the large glasses from the freezer and started pouring.
“Sorry,” Ruby picks up the beer, takes a long sip, and places the glass on the bar, looking at me shyly. “There is something about the energetic charge of reality, seeing you in real life, that hardens me completely. It’s harsh for me to flow.” He lights a cigarette.
“Me too,” I take the glass from Miriam, “you remind me that I’m gay, that I want to be gay, and it arouses an ancient conflict in me.” I sip the beer. So cold. I’m shocked at my honesty, but Ruby pours it out of me. “Let’s switch our talk. Remind me, passive? Active?”
“Active.”
“Understood,” I also light a cigarette, “me too.”
The DJ at the stand is playing retro nineties alternative tonight. The place is dark, and I feel like I’m in a pub in Netanya. Nirvana’s ‘Lithium,’ all so beautiful, is reducing us into ashes.
“Do you think we’ll ever have sex?”
“No.”
“I think so, too.”
“Bummer”.
***
Even though we are gay, we both always had a screaming blast with girls. Deep down, we both prefer laughter, frolic, and sex with hot boys, but, as we discovered in our open heart conversations here, on the bar at Minerva’s, we both made it through high school and the military service as heartbreaking, straight machos, because we couldn’t have it any other way. We both felt, in our innocence, that there was no choice, and this was the only way to survive the privileged adolescence we had, in which we stayed within a complex closet with no way out.
Deep into a nocturnal reservoir of a glitzy urban night, at the end of the long bar in our soap opera conversations, as two young gay men who are 100% out, we realized that we had developed an aversion to the straight machoism we internalized in our youth. The feelings of guilt about the flat and rude masculinity, which guided our spirit and controlled our behavior, disgust us and are unbearable.
“Shira was the love of my life,” Ruby sips from the beer glass, “or at least I thought so. I didn’t know anything but loved her and was very excited when we were together.”
Early evening pop music plays on a speaker not far above our heads. The floral scents of “L’eau — du — femmes” and glossy hair gel odor make me smell someone smoking a Gitan cigarette.
“As we deepened our relationship, she became more and more attached to me, and I couldn’t contain it. Homosexuality was not an option in my mind, and I truly believed that I had run out of love with her. At the height of life and fun, I had to pull the brakes in Shira’s face, and I didn’t understand why the hell it was like that?”
“And how did you feel?” I light another cigarette.
“Sad and in pain. I had terrible distress and a headache, but I had to keep pace. She didn’t understand what was happening and why I was walking away, and I didn’t understand why I was breaking her heart out of denial about my true desire. I believed I was out of my mind.”
“You’re mentally challenged even as an out-of-the-closet gay. What’s the problem?”
“You’re mentally challenged, wretch. I was really in trouble! I wanted the relationship to succeed. Shira was beautiful and popular, and the sex was a blast, but the situation felt impossible. My head exploded with self-hatred and a lack of acceptance of my life. My heart was blocked. I felt that I was standing in front of a great wall of death, and Shira, she’s a firing squad, and woe betide me if I don’t love her. And I couldn’t. She spoke to me with fists on my chest and tears in her eyes, and I didn’t hear anything. I didn’t want her, even though everything was seemingly perfect. I didn’t understand what was wrong with me. I felt Impotent, cold-hearted, braindead, and empty. The opposite of who I am. It depressed me and drove me completely mad.”
“Terrible. I understand.”
“No, you don’t understand. You were never cruel to anyone. I abused Shira. The more she loved me, the more miserable I made her. She cried a lot.”
“My girls cried and screamed, and I felt miserable, too. Really. Do you know the screams and beatings I got from Mickey when I broke up with her? “Faggot!” she yelled at me in the school hallway, “You dirty son of a bitch! Junkie! After you opened me up, do you think you’re leaving me?” Every time, she would get into it again and again in front of everyone in the class, explode at me, hit me, and make scenes. “I offered you paradise, but you don’t want me. You asshole! Who do you think you are?!” She made me feel like the devil. Ultimately, she hit me on the chin near the Lev cinema box office. She strangled me violently and with all her might to hurt me, and to get free, I gave her such a slap that for two weeks, a huge Hamsa flashed red on her cheek and looked like a piece of a baboon’s ass. Her father called my mother and said that if he or any of her brothers accidentally met me, they would tear me to pieces.”
“Wow, disgusting. How violent.”
“Yes, it was a nightmare. I lived underground for a month,” I said, putting out the cigarette and finishing the beer. “At least today, we don’t have these experiences. We are not cruel to anyone. We go only with our hearts.”
“Totally,” Ruby savors a cluster of purple grapes. “Refined, sweet, truly enjoying life. A shared destiny of Holly sisters. Karma of good old things.”
“Yes! Until the end, with all my heart,” I hug my blond lover’s shoulder and kiss his cheek, “no more situations of disgust, rudeness, and tastelessness.”
Miriam, the bartender, listens to the conversation like a skilled psychologist and smiles. “Friends, even as a pair of two sweet cuties, you are still disgusting, rude, and tasteless,” she pours us new beers. “It’s the nature of your male biology. There’s nothing you can do about it.” She places the foamed glasses on the colored coasters. “No offense; I know it sounds insensitive of me to say this, but how will you know if I don’t tell you?”
“You’ll be surprised,” says Ruby, sipping the new beer, “we are aware of the situation.”
“Right,” I poke at the plate of grapes and stick the skewer into the cheese slot. “What do you think is the solution? How can we free ourselves from the shackles of physical masculinity and become heart-throbbing swans with spectacular style?”
“The fact that you are here at my bar already shows that you are on the right path,” Miriam laughs and lights up a giant joint. “In general, it’s better to establish one big state, only for women, and leave all the men outside to destroy themselves.”
“I’m in,” I take the joint from Miriam, inhale deeply, hold the sweet smoke deep in my lungs, exhale, and immediately feel a liberating joy.
“Me too, of course,” says Ruby, putting the empty glass on the bar. Just let us come in occasionally to forget about our charged masculinity.”
“You are always welcome to visit us at Minerva for a drink and a dance with great love,” Miriam looks at the order notes that come out in the corner of the bar and gets ready to prepare the drinks, “just leave the toxic masculinity outside the door, in the street, with the rest of the dogs,” she winks, and we laugh heartily.
***
We only had sex once. At Ruby’s in the loft, on the sofa in the well-designed living room, we sat facing each other and talked intimately. Suddenly, the bold blond began to caress my legs. I was shocked. Despite the awful first meeting, we stayed in touch and became very close friends. I felt like Ruby was my lost childhood friend. I was convinced that we had given up physical contact between us, but when he hit on me, despite the terror, I flowed inside the wild moment with great fun. I was very horny. The chemistry between us exploded like crazy; the sweet touch was vibrating and wet, the kisses ecstatic, and most extremely — our cocks looked the same.
After we squirted, we showered together, stood naked in front of each other, and stared intensely at each other’s penis. We were in shock.
“What is my dong doing between your legs?” I ask with humor but also with abysmal seriousness.
“That’s exactly what I wanted to ask you,” Ruby replies. He reaches out, plays with my balls, and pulls my tiny pecker. “The same dingy, just like mine. Listen,” he grabs the dome with his fingers, squeezes, and the cock hole opens and breathes, “If you weren’t brunette and me blond, I’d be sure we were Siamese twins.” I clung to him, and we hugged. I see in the mirror that I am taller, with a body covered with tattoos, but we are both naturally thin and muscular. Maybe it’s because we smoke cigarettes all day and drink sugar-free black coffee instead of eating. Indeed, as I said — two graceful chicks who look excellent.
***
The DJ in the stand is playing “Fresh” by Cool & The Gang. The lighting dims, and under the bar spotlights, everything looks magical and New York. It’s fun here. I love Ruby, and we love the Minerva bar.
August, 2022
