There's an old pickup line that goes...

"Did it hurt?"

"What?"

"When you fell from heaven. You must be an angel..."

Well Terry didn't fall from heaven but it most certainly hurt when he fell.

But I'm getting the story out of order....

I'm a commodities trader working in downtown Manhattan. That is, I work for my dad's firm buying and selling coffee futures in the commodities pit near the World Trade Center. I’m young I’m openly gay and I have a great life. I have the pleasure of being the only gay guy in a crew of what are otherwise all straight, streetwise young turks. I love watching the new guys' reactions when they first hear about me but since my old man is the founder of the firm, they adjust. Hell, after a little uneasiness we mostly become good friends. Although straight guys are a little uncomfortable at first, thinking that guys might look at them as sex objects, the guys we hire are basically good guys and we quickly establish a “live and let live” philosophy. After all, most men are dogs when it comes to anything vaguely touching on sex. Hell, some find the idea that they may be lusted after flattering and even try flirting. But flirting back usually scares them off. There is a good deal of good-natured teasing that goes on but I give as well as I get.

I think all that overt cruising or flirting is a bonding thing that harks back to our hunter gatherer days. I've worked there for about ten years now and enjoy nothing more that going to lunch with these guys in the summer. We sit on the steps in the plaza across from the WTC and ogle the passers by. Couple weeks ago, my co-workers just about busted a gut when I whistled at a particularly hunky construction worker. He looks around all mystified, like he can't quite figure out what's going on. The guys figure that if its OK for them to whistle at secretaries then it's OK for me to whistle at whatever turns me on. It’s strangely liberating to be as big a sexist pig as they are. And it's certainly safer to whistle at construction workers when surrounded by five or six guys as big and solid and straight looking as these guys.

Anyway on the day of this story it was a deadly slow day and I’d decided to let myself go home early. My apartment is just across from the WTC in Battery Park City. As I was walking back to the apartment, I paused on the traffic median in the middle of West Street waiting for my opportunity to finish crossing. This intersection has got to be one of the most dangerous Gotham's civil engineers can devise. Traffic comes from about eight directions. Cars are constantly jockeying for position as they try to head for the Brooklyn Battery tunnel, Battery Park, or any of the other destinations to which these streets lead.

Today though I was startled when I heard a horn and tires squealing. Looking up I saw a black car coming out of the WTC underground ramp turning right, across three lanes of traffic and a bicycle messenger passing all the cars stopped at the light didn’t see him in time to stop. He ran almost full speed into the front fender of the car. His bike stopped but he didn’t, flipping head over heels, and not letting go, he dragged the bike into the air with him. He landed with an oomph at my feet as the bike continued on for a few more feet. Being New York there was only a second’s pause and then it's as if the guy was invisible. The other people crossing the street altered course slightly and kept walking. Horns started blaring, and cars started moving as the lights changed. The car that the young man hit continued changing lanes and started to speed away. I grabbed the kid's bike and pulled it out of the way of the car before it was crushed. Leaving the bike on the traffic median I turned back to the kid who was still lying there as cars passed him on both sides. While he had some pretty ugly scrapes, he didn't appear to have busted anything and apart from a cut over his right eye he wasn't bleeding too much.

"Are you OK" I asked.

"I don't know" He said, definitely a little dazed.

"Here, let's get you out of the street" I said as I offered him my hand.

I helped him to the median and he sat on the curb next to his bike. He dropped his head into his hands and let out a stuttering breath that was a cross between a sigh and a moan. His breathing sounded shallow and he was looking kind of pale under what I normally would have noticed as a great tan.

"Would you like me to call an ambulance" I offered.

"NO" he said a little loud and a little panicked.

"Well", I offered, "You’re bleeding a bit. I live right across the street. Would you like to clean up there? Or you can use my cell to call someone"

"Yeah... I’d like to clean up if that's OK" he said.

"OK - as soon as you catch your breath."

After sitting on the curb for about ten minutes, he signaled that he was ready and I helped him to his feet. He winced when he tried to put his weight on his right leg, so I offered my shoulder. He put his arm around my shoulder and we started to cross the street.

"Wait, My bike" he said.

He took the bike chain from around his waist - he was wearing it like an oddly clunky belt, and undid the padlock. He handed it to me and I picked up and secured his bike to a street sign while he balanced his weight on his good leg leaning against the concrete lane divider.

“Ready” I asked. “By the way, my name’s Scott”

“Terry” he replied.

Together we crossed the street and went into the foyer of my building.

“Jeff , This is Terry” I told the doorman. “He had an accident on his bike. I’m taking him upstairs to clean up and use the phone”

The overly chilled air of the main lobby felt wonderful after the steamy outside air as we entered the building and headed toward the elevators. As we crossed thru the lobby I noticed Terry’s eyes darting around taking in all of the surroundings.

“Are you sure it’s OK if I go up?” he asked as we waited for the elevator. He was clearly a little intimidated by the formality of the entryway.

His asking that question triggered something in my own thinking. Up to that point I’d thought of him as an accident victim. He was clearly an attractive young man, but I hadn’t consciously been thinking of him that way until now. I’m not sure if it was the air conditioning or this new awareness but I felt my nipples getting harder under my dress shirt. Sexual tension had entered the equation.

The elevator came and we moved into the car. Perhaps sensing my thoughts Terry took his arm from my shoulders and leaned on the handrail in the back of the elevator. The awkwardness of our unvoiced thoughts hung in the silence. For the first time I started noticing details about him. His very blue eyes, his T-shirt was slightly damp and I smelled his scent accentuated by the smell of fresh sweat. When we reached my floor I offered Terry my arm and he leaned against it, hobbling as we walked to my door. When I opened the door he put his arm around my shoulder again and I helped him in.

With his arm over my shoulders I felt his ribs through his damp T-shirt. I steered him toward the couch and, as I helped him sit down, I felt his heart beating. Mine started beating harder. I was very attracted to this guy and I didn’t know if he was gay or straight. Trying to regain my composure, I went into the bedroom and grabbed the portable phone and brought it into the living room.

“Who would you like to call”?

A puzzled look came to his face “I don’t know”.

“Well” I said, “Are you hurt? Would you like me to call an ambulance? Or if you like I can get a cab to take you…”

“No hospital. They cost too much” The panicked sound was back in his voice.

“Well OK” “You can clean up here if you like. The bathroom's right over here” I said pointing the way.

He started to stand and winced as he put weight on his leg again.

“Here let me help you” I offered.

He smiled. He really had the most beautiful smile. I reached out and put his arm around my shoulder again for the trip to the bathroom. I guided him to the toilet stool and stepped back but didn’t leave, waiting to see what he would do. He started to take his T-shirt off over his head and winced again dropping his arms as the shirt scraped against the abrasion on his shoulder.

“Can you help me with this” He asked somewhat embarrassed.

“My pleasure” I said. My voice was a little huskier than I would have liked.

I slowly and gently eased the T-shirt over his head noting the smooth and rippling torso I was unveiling. Getting some gauze and some antiseptic out of the medicine cabinet I offered them to him. I was afraid to trespass so far as to start touching him unasked.

“You’ve got cut on your forehead and a couple of other scrapes on your shoulders… Would you like me to…”

He nodded so I began. As I was cleaning the cut on his forehead I noticed that he was looking over my shoulder and I remembered the drawing of the young man’s back and ass that hung on my bathroom wall.

“Are you Gay?” he asked.

For some stupid reason, the way he asked that question quickly pushed all my buttons in a split second, triggering emotions I thought I was long over; panic, fear of rejection, humiliation. Then a sane thought got through the mix. He wasn’t asking derisively. It seemed more as if he was surprised, pleasantly so. Hating my initial reaction and still not completely back in control, I said

“Yes I am. And you.”

"Yeah, I guess. I’m not sure."

"What does that mean?" I asked.

...to be continued