Lukas's Story

I'd like to think the famous Czech gay porno Lucas's Story wasn't responsible for my decision to move to Prague. Surely I couldn't have guessed I'd briefly have a boyfriend by that name, only spelled with a k, not a c.

We met at a gay bar called L-Club. He wore a suit with a sheer T-shirt and alligator shoes and his brown curls were slicked back with gel, like he'd been slapped by a wave.

"Chces radost?" Lukas asked me in Czech, translated literally as "You want joy?"

Why not, I said. OK to joy. It turned out he meant not literally joy but an expat bar whose name meant "joy" in Czech. We shared a purple plush couch. Our thighs brushed. I let them.

Lukas looked up a word in my pocket dictionary. "You are shy boy."

He lived in a neighborhood behind Kmart called "New Town," meaning new in the 1300s. We talked in the dark as best we could and I wondered if I'd made a mistake, but he said, "You are pretty boy," and touched my hand. He reached for my underwear, and I held back his hand. "Pristi," I said. Next time. We kissed and lay next to each other, eyes closed.

That afternoon, I met him in an over-priced cafe on Wenceslas Square. He paid the waitress for us both and left a ridiculous tip.

"I'm no gay. If I want girl in bed I have girl. If I want boy, then boy."

"What is name for my boyfriend?" he asked. "I am like you. No sex on first date. I want love, no only sex."

Lukas had recently been promoted to manager of the local DKNY, though he intended to quit because of "politics."

"I never have American boyfriend before," he whispered into my hair.

"Is it hard for you to be gay in Prague?"

"I'm no gay. If I want girl in bed I have girl. If I want boy, then boy."

The next day, I dropped by DKNY, clean and white with neatly folded clothes in small, incidental piles on shelves. I asked an assistant in a sweater that cost twice my monthly salary to find his boss.

Lukas came out of the back, handsome in a brown suit. He led me to his office, pulled down the blinds, and stuck his tongue into my mouth. A half-eaten cruller from Dunkin' Donuts sat on his desk.

"I love, love Dunkin' Donuts. I eat every day." He sat by his computer. "I must save money. I want go U.S.A. I want fashions, nice models, shopping. When you go home?"

"Soon, I guess. The school year's ending."

"You no go." He pinned my wrists to my chair. "Kiss," he commanded.

I went home with him. In bed, Lukas licked my penis and raised an eyebrow at me. I braced myself for him to swallow it, but then he sat up. "I want go with you U.S.A."

"I don't know," I said. "You don't know who I am." His perfume made me queasy. "I have to go home soon."

"I go too."

He wasn't getting the hint. "We can't be in love. I'm leaving soon . . . "

Lukas slumped his shoulders and frowned. "As you want." He slipped off his shoes and his pants, which he hung in his closet. Suddenly he pulled his penis out of the pee flap of his underwear. When I reached for it, Lukas said, "No for you," and put it away. His cheeks were wet. I hugged him, but he pushed me back. "I have no more boyfriend," he said.

I saw him once more before I left Prague, in Radost. He wore a transparent shirt and eyeglass frames with no glass and said something in Czech I didn't catch. Then he laughed and ran off to join his fabulous friends on the dancefloor.

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