Readers, the first chapter of this story describes a casual encounter of three men in the dunes behind the gay beach of my town. It does so in overly graphic language—language that could discomfort or even harm some of you. I have therefore decided to replace it by a flat summary of the events related there, events that triggered the heartbreaking, murderous, but ultimately fortuitous story of the Green Eyes.
My name is John Lee. I live in Georgia Beach, GA, and teach French at Southern Georgia College, a small school 30 miles to the south-west near the Florida border.
I have issues. During my adolescence, I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder, a psychological condition characterized by difficult mood-swings. As I grew up, I became arrogant, shy, and homosexual, character traits that interact with my bipolarity. At my age—I’m 29 years old—I find myself in a downward spiral of disengagement, depression and neglect. I was outgoing and sexually active during my youth, but confine myself mostly now to my small apartment on the Davis Canal, where I—autoerotic efforts aside—play chess on the internet (losing), publish a blog (that nobody reads), and prepare classes (that students don’t care for). A side effect of my bipolarity important here has to do with my language. Although I am averse to power-point expressions (“going forward”), I myself use various forms of new-speak (e.g., “un” as an antonym-shirking prefix), idiosyncratic expressions (“said” as adjective, “wise” as post-modifier), and am given to awkward metaphors and abundant bracketing (()). My mother is French, my father rarely spoke when I was young (he did other things), and English is not my first language.
We’re in early July 2012 when the story begins. I wake up on a Sunday morning, feel the need for fresh air and decide to take a stroll along the beach. As I saunter past the gay section of said beach, I encounter a man of great physical attractiveness. He is roughly my age, but his most remarkable feature is a pair of green, mesmerizing eyes. We take note of each other. The man, let’s call him Green Eyes, is somehow indicating his readiness for an immediate exchange of bodily fluids. I follow him into the dunes. We undress for, and engage in, a sexual act. A third man appears on the scene, undresses, and joins. All three of us reach a climax in due course. Green Eyes re-dresses and disappears. In a surprising turn of events—surprising at least for anybody familiar with the anonymous behavior of gay cruising—the third man invites me to a party at the house of a friend later in the evening. So far, Chapter I.
Hold on. Bowdlerization of Chapter I doesn’t mean you can fool around. This is serious adult material. You’ll see.