Oso Para Vos

One response to “In difesa della frociaggine 🏳️‍🌈”

1. 

   Adam Donaldson Powell

   commented on

   June 15, 2024

   Denying priests and nuns the right to have sex is a recipe for many personal and social ills. I addressed the question of priests being accused of «cheating on God» in my gay novella «Entre Nous» (here on this blog):

   After a shower, Mariusz suggested that they get dressed and take the subway downtown. He still wanted to experience the Staten Island ferry. He had heard of a good Mexican restaurant on Staten Island and thought that they could eat lunch there. Mischa was torn. He mostly wanted to run away … and repent his actions, but he couldn’t refuse Mariusz’ offer to spend more time together. Besides, there was much Mischa wanted to know about being gay … and about Mariusz. And so it was that he consented to a ride on the ferry and lunch at the restaurant. Mischa had never before had these feelings for another person; but he realized that this was a sexual and emotional breakthrough for himself … and not necessarily the beginning of a prolonged love affair or relationship. That realization was both comforting … and troubling. Not only had he officially broken his vow of celibacy, not only had he had (and enjoyed) sex with another man … but he had had sexual relations with another person outside of the sacrament of marriage (and even without the intent of eventual marriage). However frightening the experience felt, he knew he had gone beyond the point of return … he must find out where the road leads to, and who he (in fact) really is.

   Mariusz was dressed first and was on his way to the mini bar to get a couple of sodas when he heard a knock on the door. It must be the maid wanting to clean, he thought. He called out to Mischa: “Mischa, I think the maid is at the door. Why don’t you continue getting dressed in the bathroom while I let her in.” As he heard Mischa close the bathroom door behind himself he ran his fingers through his still wet hair and proceeded towards the entrance of the hotel room. He froze stiff when he opened the door: it was Rickard!

   “Rickard! What are you doing here?” he exclaimed.

   “Good morning to you too, Karol Mariusz,” said Rickard noting the discomfort between them. “Since William and Bertrand are out visiting art galleries today I thought that you and I could spend a couple of hours together, and perhaps talk through our differences once and for all. I acted like an asshole in London, and I thought it would good for us to put things right before you and Bertrand return to Paris tomorrow. Besides, it will make things more comfortable for the four of us when we go out to dinner tonight if you and I have called a truce.”

   Mariusz replied: “That is a good thought and a kind gesture, Rickard. However, you have caught me at a bad time. I have other plans, and am just on my way out the door. I thought it was the hotel maid at the door and …”

   Just then Mischa walked out of the bathroom and asked: “Mariusz, do you have another shirt that is cut a little looser. This one is a little tight around my shoulders.”

   Mariusz replied: “Sure, just a minute!”. He then turned to Rickard and said: “Rickard, I feel like we finished our discussion in London. We have both moved on – you with William, and I with Bertrand. We will possibly never be the best of friends again, but we do not need to drag out any old scenarios each time we come in contact with one another. Let us spare ourselves and our lovers this indignity. I suggest that we just …”

   “You suggest that we just what, Karol?” barked Rickard. “Who is that in the hotel room with you? I thought you had changed. That you are so ‘in love’ with your Bertrand. I was right all along. Let me in!” And with that he pushed Mariusz aside and stormed into the hotel room, and soon came face-to-face with a startled and embarrassed Mischa, standing in the middle of the room holding a shirt in his hand.

   “Who the hell are you?” demanded Rickard in a hostile tone.

   “Leave him alone, Rickard,” said a notably worried Mariusz. “He is a friend who needed a fresh shirt after he spilled coffee on himself. We stopped by here on our way out.”

   Rickard glared at Mariusz and retorted: “Karol, I am not stupid. I have learned from the ‘best’ – remember? You both have wet hair, for Christssake!” Turning back to Mischa, who was very uncomfortable in the developing situation, he repeated: “So, who are you?”

   Mariusz interjected: “That is none of your business, Rickard. Now please leave. I do not want another one of your drama queen scenes. I am on vacation.”

   “Yeah, this was supposed to be my vacation with William … and suddenly you and Bertrand decide to tag along. Don’t tell me that was Bertrand’s idea Mariusz. What are you fucking doing here in New York anyway … what are you up to now?” Rickard was quite hot around the collar.

   “You really need to calm down Rickard. This is personal, and does not involve Mischa. To tell you the truth, who Mischa is and what he is doing here does not concern you either. You know nothing about my relationship with Bertrand, and neither he nor I need a moral protector or controller. And another thing, neither Bertrand nor I horned in on your vacation. Your lover William invited us. I was originally against it, but Bertrand felt we needed a vacation before returning to Paris and when he managed to get airline tickets at the last minute I felt I could not say ‘no’.” Now Mariusz was equally worked up. He had had enough of Rickard’s outbursts and threats. “We finished this discussion about our past in London, and we reached an agreement. I expect you to let go of the past …”

   But Rickard was staring at Mischa, looking him over from head to feet. “So your name is ‘Mischa’! What kind of name is that for an American?”

   Mischa thought that he could perhaps calm things down if he talked to the man. That was – after all – an important part of his work as a priest: listening and talking to people. He reached out his hand to greet Rickard saying: “My formal name is actually ‘Mieczyslaw’. It is Polish. Mischa is easier for people here to pronounce and remember, so I usually just use it.”

   Rickard took his hand with an extra hard handshake, hoping to counteract Mischa’s gesture with an air of formality and masculine superiority. He then turned to face Mariusz, laughing and uttered with sarcasm: “Now why am I not surprised at this? This is rich, Mariusz. Not only do you have a half-dressed man in your hotel room in the middle of the day, but he also has two names and you are also both …”

   “Watch your mouth now, Rickard!” shouted Mariusz. “You are about to say something very stupid. And show some respect, please! The man is a Jesuit priest.” As soon as he had said the word ‘priest’ Mariusz knew that he had opened a new can of worms. Sure enough, Rickard picked up on this remark immediately.

   “A priest, you say?” replied Rickard. “Well isn’t that purr-fect! When the cat is away the mice immediately start to play. I thought priests were supposed to take a vow of celibacy. So you are cheating on Bertrand, and Mischa is cheating on God!” Rickard laughed until tears began to well up in his eyes. “Two Polish man sluts find each other …”

   Mischa began to lose his ‘cool’. “Sir, I am not a slut … and I would frankly …”

   “Save it – both of you. I get the picture.” And turning to Mariusz he said: “Karol, I came here bearing an olive branch – hoping to reach out to you and resolve our past differences. But I see that I have been right all along; with you it’s all just a series of lies – from start to finish.” And turning to Mischa he said: “Enjoy yourselves boys”, before he hurried out the door.

   Mariusz approached Mischa and tried to hug him, saying: “I am so sorry. Don’t pay any attention to anything Rickard said. He is an ex-lover and he has never gotten over me. I should never have …”

   Mischa pulled away, quietly replying: “Mariusz. This was obviously a mistake. I really think that I should go. Where did I put my shirt?”

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