devilexc.html

Selected excerpts from:
THE DEVIL IN MEN'S DREAMS
Short Stories by TOM SCOTT
From the short story, "Dream Men"

Dear Christopher,
You too, like other lonely men out there, wonder whether I am your dream. That is of course my question for you, only you, to answer; I cannot and would not try to impose an answer.
Dozens of–well, several–interesting letters have come in as a result of my ad in the San Francisco Social Appeal.
Am I such stuff as dreams are made on? (Do you know, incidentally, who first penned the beautiful line that I paraphrase?) Another question might be: If I am so wonderful, why am I advertising? I can provide answers to that question. The reasons satisfy me, and perhaps other men whose lives seem empty will feel the same.
I am amazingly handsome, athletic, well bred, intelligent, educated, cultivated, superbly hung, world- traveled, financially more than secure. In one word, desirable. Why advertise, you well may wonder, when I could merely stroll down Castro Street and leave scores of delicious hunks swooning in my wake. But that is just the problem, can't you see? I can't show my face, or my body, without the risk of being an object for all varieties of lustful speculation. . .
I haven't enclosed a photo. I remind you that you did not enclose one in your application to me. I believe in reciprocity, but obviously the other person has to act first in order for reciprocity to go into effect. Besides, I do not wish anyone to be so dazzled by a photo of me that he will decide that I sent along a picture of a commercial model, even an emerging star in the entertainment field (I speak modestly), instead of my own soulful self.
Hoping to hear from you, I remain,
Mark
**********

Dear Mark,
My letter to you was an inquiry rather than an application. I was not looking for a job or a favor. I am looking for a man, actually, not a dream. I used the word only because you put it in your ad.
I well understand your reluctance to expose yourself to the awe-stricken eyes of mere mortals on Castro and other streets. I have found the same problem. Unlike you, however, I have appeared in scores of–well, several–films and television spectaculars. The swoonings of beauty-struck worshipers pose no problem, I assure you. One simply turns his handsome back and proceeds onward. The true annoyance of fame and beauty, I have discovered, is the constant jostling by legions of adoring creatures who keep thrusting pens and autograph books at one.
I detect in your response to my inquiry a certain Olympian attitude that I could not welcome in any relationship. While two such near-perfect men could share a magical closeness, only one of them could fill the leading part, and for that I feel that I would be the better equipped.
I have answered because, although I too have placed my own ad, "Mysteriously Magnetic," I am always curious about other men's dreams. I hope you can transform yours into actuality.
With kindest regards,
Christopher
**********

Dear Christopher,
I have located your ad in the San Francisco Social Appeal. Ironically, it is at the bottom of the column in which my own offering appears, as if yours were looking up to mine for fulfillment. You write that you are "tall, dark and handsome, filled with the mysterious magnetism of manhood, with stupendous equipment, a prize for the lucky guy who appreciates and demands the finest; at home in concert hall, bullring, on sound stage, at the tiller of a racing yacht, in a leather bar or between the sheets." You do indeed list a variety of locations, a couple of which I have not visited; at the very least you would be a versatile tour guide.
You have said little about yourself as to your history tied to dates and places. I am preparing a form for applicants to fill out so that I can compare them with one another and with my own curriculum vitae, as we say in Latin.
I will be interested in reading your response to my letter. I have put this reply to your inquiry ahead of the others, for I detect a presence in you that may intrigue me with further exposure to it.
Awaiting your response, I remain,
Mark
**********

Dear Mark,
I too have considered creating a form to be filled out by those answering my ad. The information would include the usual date and place of birth, height, weight, color of eyes and hair, length and weight of –the basics. I might add essay-type questions: the first time I experienced sex; my busiest night between the sheets; men who have swooned and drooled over me; my conquests in all the great cities of the world adinfinitum, which is Latin for "to infinity."
It might be fun for us to meet on what we might call neutral ground. I notice, in glancing across my frantic social calendar, that I will be at liberty on October 2. That is a Saturday. How about our meeting at a quaint little Western bar I know, the Barbary Boite. We need no identifying signs for each other, such as green carnations, for we will both stand out like two suns in the night sky. I may be wearing a Western costume with a dashing paisley kerchief, but you still can recognize me instantly. After all, there can be only one of me. So until the evening of the 2nd, sometime after 11 o'clock–for I do not dine early–I'll be seeing you. I look forward to the meeting, just as I am sure you also do.
With warm personal regards,
Christopher
**********

Dear Christopher,
At the last minute I discovered that I had committed myself to another important engagement that had completely slipped my mind. It involved having to leave San Francisco for a few hours in the evening. Before leaving, I had the presence of mind to send Edgar in my place to make contact with you at the Barbary Boite. Strangely, he has not yet returned. . .
Mark
**********

Dear Mark,
Unfortunately I found that I would be unable to meet you as arranged. The sudden, unexpected illness of a dear friend–I am sure you well understand how, as time advances, illness strikes more and more often without warning–compelled me to dash to Petaluma. I was able to return to the city sooner than expected, but not in time to keep our appointment. In order that we could make contact of a sort, I sent my houseboy, Perry, to meet you. I gave him a description, based on what you wrote me. Because I was not there, you would have been the only outstanding man in the Barbary Boite on Saturday night. . . It is unusual for him to stay out all night. . .
Christopher
**********

Dear Christopher,
I may be old-fashioned, but I do expect upright behavior from those I choose to deal with. I had a valid reason for being unable to meet you at the Barbary Boite. Yet you expect me to believe that cock-and-bull story about the "sickness" of a "friend" in Petaluma, of all places, the former poultry capital of the world–no doubt the sudden disease was a case of chicken pox!
Edgar returned home only moments ago to collect his things and announce that he was "moving on," as he put it, with someone called Perry. . .
Mark
**********

Dear Mark,
You are responsible for devastating my life. Perry has left. Your Edgar accompanied my poor Perry into my very home like a worm invading an apple to prevail on him to leave, despite my entreaties. . .
Whatever happens, I must remember to remain serene, you S.O.B. Better to be alone and neglected in this world than to be surrounded by traitors.
I remain,
Christopher
**********

Dear Christopher,
Your diatribe only added smoke to the fire. You accuse me of not living up to my description of myself. Perry, that viper you set loose to destroy my world, spilled a few secrets about you to Edgar, who phoned me just to gloat about his "newfound happiness."
Despite slings and arrows, I remain,
Mark
**********

Dear Mark,
Never can I forget that you are responsible for my losing Perry, but I can try to forgive, even though I don't see any need for doing so. You will carry the guilt for what you have done the rest of your life, which may not be very long. . .
Never again shall I place an ad or answer one. I have learned a tragic lesson: Writing an innocent letter can lead to life's greatest pitfalls. Perhaps one day our paths will cross. If they do, we may not even notice.
I remain,
Christopher

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