Finding Hosea

I had come here for more than a drink–I wanted a straightforward hookup with a young guy who would get Carl out of my system. This could be that guy.

“Can I buy you a drink?” he asked. The Native-American-themed Halloween costume party was swirling around us in the room, but we were zeroed in on each other, in a bubble all our own.

“Yes, sure,” I said, knowing that that was a major step in a hookup and further established that he was dominant. Everything he was saying and doing toward me screamed that he was a dominator. “And what is it that you do…?” I left space for him to fill in his name as well as his occupation. He had the musculature of a construction worker.

“I’m Choovio,” he said. “That’s Hopi. Guys call me Cho, though.” He pronounced it as “Show,” but he spelled it out for me. “I live and work at the Hopi reservation northeast of here. I build things. I’m Hopi.”

Ah, truly a Native American. Just as I had surmised. It wasn’t just a costume for him tonight. I told him my name, so now we were pals. We took a few minutes out to down most of our drink. “So, it isn’t just a costume for you. This is how you are.”

“Yes, this is me, all but the mask. Disappointed?”

“Not in the least. I think you’re magnificent.”

“This is a gay bar,” he said, adding, “being from out of town maybe you didn’t know that.”