ENTZUG

How do you say "cold turkey" in German?

I certainly can't ask the Blue Light Special anymore after trying definitively to end our relationship or commercial equivalent a little more than a week ago Saturday. Testa Grande announced $10 was missing from his room only hours after I learned that the Blue Light Special had used crystal meth a second time even though I had told him last summer that I wouldn't tolerate it again. The combination of the two freaked me out and although he denied taking the money, I changed his Southwest Airlines reservation and put him on the first ferry out of the Pines as soon as he finished packing.

Then, upon returning home Sunday and checking my e-mail, I discovered that he had changed the reservation again back to the original departure time from McArthur Airport, at 1 p.m. today. Immediately, I called Thug Lover to ask him to relay a message to the Blue Light Special for me: if he tried to contact me, I would cancel the reservation, stranding him in New York City on Thug Lover's dime. Money appears to be the only leverage that I have with either of them. When I offered to explain my actions to Thug Lover, he declined to listen.

What happened is between the two of you, he said.

My strategy appears to have worked, at least until now. Although my cell phone had recorded a missed call from the Blue Light Special around the time I called Thug Lover, and although my downstairs buzzer rang within minutes of that same conversation, I didn't find him on my doorstep as I feared after hiding in the apartment for at least an hour before venturing outside to do the grocery shopping at Fairway. Just to be safe, I changed my routine for the last week, including swearing off the Ramble, so he can't stalk me.

How did it come to this?

My dissatisfaction with the Blue Light Special has been building for months, especially as my intense passion for him has waned since he followed Thug Lover to Chicago in March. During his second visit to the Pines this summer, just before he began his lifeguarding job, I had a genital rash and avoided sex with him. He didn't pursue it either and I decided then that obligatory sex on his part, like the determined blow job he had given me under the covers on the last night after his first visit, didn't interest me.

Even though "gotta have it" gave way to "take it or leave it," I enjoyed his company most of the time and found myself missing his daily phone calls if he failed to make them for a day or two. Once the lifeguard job ended, he called to let me know he was available for a much longer visit around that time that his mother was supposed to come from Germany for a visit.

Thug Lover got an e-mail about cheap fares from Delta he said.

Delta never trumps Southwest but I took the bait and booked him a round trip flight for a visit that would give us three weekends together in the Pines as well as two weeks for him in the city. I thought of the visit--which would be the longest period of time we ever had spent together--as a test run for cohabitation if his visa situation brought him back to New York City. I even cleared out a substantial portion of space in my apartment for his luggage.

That isn't necessary he said when I told him what I done.

The Blue Light Special arrived on schedule a week ago Friday, beating the Ditz to the house. He was supposed to meet me at the dock.

Sit on the right side of the boat so you can take a picture of the Pavilion he commanded. They've started tearing it down.

His wave and smile were missing in action. I ran into him at the intersection of Fire Island Boulevard and Ocean wearing camouflage shorts and a Chicago Cubs t-shirt. On our brief walk to the house he stopped to play with a French bulldog who was strolling the boardwalks unaccompanied.

Why don't you show the Ditz your new outfits? I asked, encouraging a fashion show of the double knit sweatpants he had purchased in the women's section of Abercrombie & Fitch with the gift card I had given him for Christmas. I call these his "schatzie" outfits in homage to my father. When we lived in Germany Dad would say "get a load of that schatzie" when a blond fraulein strolled past in stretch pants. Last summer, on our way to Folsom Street East, the Blue Light Special gave me a "schatz" button he had picked up at the German festival in Central Park. The nickname stuck.

We got more than we bargained for, however, when the Blue Light Special strutted downstairs wearing the studded codpiece I bought for him at the Chicago Leather Mart.

He really knows how to put on a show, doesn't he? observed the blushing Ditz.

The Blue Light Special turned in with me that night and spent most of Saturday shopping and cooking a huge meal, a tactic I know he uses with Thug Lover to ensure that he has leftovers to consume all week long and one that I routinely employ in the Pines if I'm planning to stay beyond Sunday.

The Hoboken Real Estate Agent had left behind an acorn squash. It inspired a fabulous bruschetta. We consumed it on the roof with the Ditz and Willow, his boyfriend, before going to tea.

It didn't take long before a chatty doctor introduced himself to the Blue Light Special. I suppressed my irritation when the Blue Light Special failed to introduce me, even after the guy, an infectious disease specialist with offices in Sherdian Square, passed along his card. I reacted less well when a much cuter (and drunker) Latin guy began flirting and pawing him.

Why should I hang around for this humiliation? I asked myself before bolting.

My disappearing act must have made the Ditz and Willow pretty nervous, but I wasn't mad so much as I was "over it." I may not be able to control the Blue Light Special but that doesn't mean I have to bear witness to his insensitive behavior. He is, after all, my guest as the Ditz pointed out when I explained my abrupt departure later.

The Blue Light Special, no fool, returned to the house soon after me.

I never would have left you alone like that he said, trying to turn the incident back on me.

A girl has her pride I said, doing the cocktail hour dishes and determined not to give in to a display of anger that would make everybody uncomfortable. At dinner I even raised a toast to "our flirtatious chef."

The Blue Light Special slept beside me all night long. I fully expected that he would want to go out again, but he didn't.

The weather that had kept everyone but the Ditz and Willow in the city looked like it would improve on Sunday. The Ditz announced he would be staying over until Monday.

I don't mind if the Blue Light Special stays, too he said.

Not after that fashion show, I thought, a little miffed that he hadn't delivered this assurance in private.

Nevertheless, I encouraged the Blue Light Special to stay, letting him know that this would be his only opportunity to do so because the Hoboken Real Estate Agent and new owner of our house would be returning next week. The Ditz changed his mind as soon as the clouds began rolling in, but the Blue Light Special, who walked me to the boat, didn't.

Actually, I was relieved that I'd have some time alone before he invaded my apartment with 60 pounds of luggage. I also was pretty confident he wouldn't have much opportunity to get into trouble during the last week of September, especially as there had been no sight of Rob Ramos, aka Jerry Gentillela, the porn star who had shared his pipe with the Blue Light Special the summer before.

So who do you think I saw as soon as the boat started to pull out of the harbor? Yessiree, there was one of the stars of Fire Island Cruising 5 & 6, with that unmistakable sunburst tattoo on his shoulder walking east on Fire Island, chugging from a half gallon plastic container of milk. Fortunately, the Blue Light Special, who had walked to the south end of the harbor to wave, couldn't see him. For long.

When the Blue Light Special called me half an hour later--no doubt to assure me that he had returned to the house instead of going to the meatrack--I mentioned the sighting.

I hope that Rob Ramos' beverage choice indicates a commitment to clean and sober lifestyle I said.

The Blue Light Special ended this wishful thinking later in the evening when he called to deliver a somewhat breathless account of "running into" Ramos on the boardwalk.

I was out browsing the boardwalks when I saw him come out of a house, walking really slow like he was having a hard time keeping his balance. It took him five minutes at least to get his key into the lock when he got to where he was going.

My naivete, reinforced with what seemed like hourly bulletins from the Blue Light Special updating me on his activities (which included kayaking to Ho Hum Beach) lulled me into a bittersweet complacency. Obviously, he placed a higher premium on enjoying the perfect fall weather in the Pines than returning to the city to spend time with me and investigating his visa options with HB Studio.

Hey, but who can blame him? My career stalled during the 10 years I gave the Pines priority over everything in my life.

On Thursday, however, I didn't get the early morning briefing, usually delivered while I was riding my bike to work in Hudson River Park. By the time he did call, my suspicions were aroused.

The Blue Light Special told me some impressionistic story about a hot tube party he had been invited to the night before while "browsing" the boardwalks, mentioning both the presence of drugs and Rob Ramos, but insisting that he had had "some fun" only with Walt Kohler, a balding 45 year-old muscle guy who claimed to be the heir to the family bathroom fixture fortune.

He's a very nice guy insisted the Blue Light Special more than once.

You're judged by the company you keep I responded and if Rob Ramos was there, passed out on the couch with open sores from herpes in full blossom on his lips, the company couldn't have been that good. Porno star or not, he's a mess.

We talked for at least an hour and I warned him repeatedly that people who play with fire get burned. I thought he sounded a little manic and there was no trace of the cheerful voice he uses to charm me. He finally hung up insisting that he would spend the rest of the day clamming in the Great South Bay in preparation for a weekend feast.

Again, I didn't hear from him for hours. When he finally did call, around 5 p.m., he said he was completely exhausted and claimed to have a full bag of clams, several crabs and aching muscles to show for his exertion.

I'm going to take a nap now he announced, blaming Thug Lover for awakening him with a phone call late the night before and getting him involved with friends of Tina.

I was pretty sure then that he had used. He obviously had trouble falling asleep, calling me at least twice more to report on his meal and sightings of the next-door neighbors' return.

The next morning he sounded much better, or at least he was sufficiently rested to resume using his charm.

I got 110 clams he announced. What should I do with them?

Nobody in our house ever has gotten more than 30 clams. Did someone say speeding?

I instructed him to leave a note for the Expatriate, who was due to arrive from Crete, letting him know that I planned to make linguini with clam sauce. But when the Expatriate arrived, with No Nonsense in tow, he insisted on making the cumin-flavor stew from the Silver Palate instead. Food poisoning fears I suppose.

Work prevented me from thinking too much about what the Blue Light Special had done. On Friday evening he met me at the ferry with the bicycle he had found near the Sunken Forest. En route to the house, little bits and pieces of his adventure in the Pines demimonde emerged in response to my probing questions.

He didn't say much during dinner--he rarely does, unless we're eating alone--even though the Expatriate, No Nonsense and Testa Grande tried as hard as I did to include him in the conversation. He did, however, respond well to our praise of his leek tart and helped clean up the dishes before disappearing upstairs to the Sun Queen's bedroom. We had decided to sleep there when Testa Grande expressed his irritation that he was being asked to vacate the Hoboken Real Estate Agent's room for us.

The Blue Light Special seemed very pleased with himself for having repaired the bed frame that had been broken all summer with the nut and bolt I had brought from the city. I was ready to go to sleep but as I lay in bed and he lay across me, we chatted for nearly an hour during which time he told the whole story, including admitting that he had snorted crystal.

But I didn't kiss Rob Ramos he said proudly. As if this proved his mettle.

Then he modeled the jock strap and cock ring that the Kohler Heir had provided for their little party.

We walked like this on the boardwalk and beach he giggled.

I was too tired to react and kept dozing off during his increasingly tawdry tale. Long before dawn he left the room after much tossing and turning. When I got up to pee I didn't see him in the living room. He said he had gone to get a drink of water when he returned an hour or so later. When I complained about his continued tossing and turning, he decided to go for a run.

The Blue Light Special left me feeling pretty grumpy but not particularly angry. In retrospect, I probably should have realized that he didn't really dress for a run. When he returned a couple of hours later, he was wearing his schatzie pants, the new sneakers I bought him last summer and a windbreaker I didn't recall seeing before. He began telling me about talking to somebody he had met on the beach but I didn't really pay too much attention.

A short while later, we began discussing what to do with the clams in front of the Expatriate and Testa Grande, who suggested an all-seafood meal. When I expressed concern it might bust the kitty, Testa Grande remembered that he had squirreled away an overage from the month before.

Somebody must have taken it he said after returning from the room he usually shares with the Expatriate. I was standing at the kitchen sink, washing the dishes.

I immediately suspected the Blue Light Special and shot him a look, mostly because I recalled that he had told me he had gone through the Hoboken Real Estate Agent's trunk and because he thought nothing about rolling the pennies that had been leftover in the kitty and using it to purchase groceries when he ran short of money during his extended stay.

If he hadn't reacted so strongly to my silent accusation I might have given him the benefit of the doubt.

Well, if you think I did it then I should leave he muttered to the room at large even though neither the Expatriate nor Testa Grande accused or even suspected him.

I quickly finished rinsing the last glass and told the Blue Light Special to follow me upstairs. I shut the door to our tiny room where we played an extremely tense break-up drama his repeated denials fell on my deaf ears and tears from both of us dripped on to the white blanket beneath us. After he accused Testa Grande of deliberately plotting against him, I told him that he had to pack up and leave. Immediately.

The Blue Light Special didn't take me seriously at first. When he finally understood that I meant business he tried every trick in the book including the love word, something he'd never uttered to me before, physical intimacy and poor, poor, pitiful me. Nothing he pulled from his bag of tricks worked. I wish only that I could display such determination and resolve with my diet.

I called Southwest Airlines and booked him on a 5:50 p.m. flight back to Chicago, moving his reservation up by more than eight days, at a cost of $152. He had begged to sleep on my couch but I told him that I didn't trust him anymore and demanded that he give me back the keys to my apartment instead.

The Blue Light Special called Thug Lover and spoke to him in German. The only two words that I could make out were drama and Herr Biedermeier, the wealthy German antiques dealer he cooks for and who owns a home in the Pines. But as soon as their conversation ended, he began packing, probably because he told Thug Lover that I had threatened to call the police if he didn't.

The Blue Light Special must have been as amazed as I was by my transformation from indulgent sugar daddy, tethered to him by a telephone more than anything else, to what he now called a "hard ironman" and who kept insisting that his actions had consequences.

I told you last summer that I wouldn't tolerate your crystal use a second time, didn't I? Have I ever not done what I said I would?

Finally, the ugly words between us ended. He finished gathering his things. I surprised him when I handed him the i-Pod I had given him. He probably thought I would try to take back everything but more than recouping any material losses, I simply wanted to end things as cleanly as possible in private, so that there might be a chance for both of us one day to look back on the past couple of years with more pleasure than regret.

The Blue Light Special tried to manipulate me a couple more times by putting on his pink baseball cap, the one with the no high heel designations that I had bought for him at Paragon Sporting Goods during happier times. He also refused to keep the first gift I ever had given him, an ankh key chain that I found at the Carlsberg Glyptotek in Copenhagen shortly after we met, after I removed my keys.

His refusal hurt. If I were in his shoes I would have kept it as a symbol of hope. Later, when I shared this detail with the Expatriate, he disagreed completely.

I would have thrown it in the bay he said. "If anything, it symbolizes emptiness."

Right up until the moment that we walked down the ramp leading away the house, his luggage noisily clicking behind me, the Blue Light Special kept pleading that we talk things over some more. Miraculously, nobody was aware of what had happened. The Expatriate and No Nonsense had gone for a walk together. Testa Grande was sunning himself at Wanker's Way and the Sun Queen, who had arrived while we were upstairs, lay on a chaise lounge by the pool.

Why are you doing this? he asked again and again, still refusing to accept that he was being banished from paradise.

I'll tell you why on the way to the ferry I said to keep him moving. I lost it a little on Fire Island Boulevard when I explained that ending our relationship this way would be a good thing in the long run.

I love the little boy in you who loves animals and nature and everything life has to offer I said, sobbing and recalling all the fun we had hide when things were going well.

He's still here he answered. You don't have to send him away.

Fortunately, the ferry already had docked. We hugged briefly, tears flowing down both our faces. He boarded without turning back to look. I hid behind a tree and watched to make sure that he didn't get off.

As soon as I got back to the house I told the Sun Queen everything. He held me when I broke down in the kitchen. I was less forthcoming though completely honest with the Expatriate and Testa Grande.

Any doubts about my decision to send the Blue Light Special packing vanished just before I left to go to the Pantry with the Sun Queen. A hunky dark guy in a green t-shirt that showed off his pecs and biceps came to the front door.

Does a German guy live here? he asked.

He's gone back to Chicago I said, incredulous that the Blue Light Special would have given one of his drug buddies our address. Of course I shouldn't have been surprised at all. The Blue Light Special plays people against each other for his own advantage but having the Kohler Heir thrown in my face so quickly convinced me I had done the right thing and that I had been a fool not to have done it sooner.

The incredibly beautiful morning turned into a cool, gray autumn afternoon. I took a long walk on the beach and waved, rather optimistically, at a plane that flew overhead around the time he was scheduled to depart from Islip.

It was good to be around people, all of whom treated me kindly, for the rest of the weekend. During brunch on Sunday, the Sun Queen asked me point blank if I had been looking for an excuse to end it with the Blue Light Special.

It's possible I answered thinking that if so, there were plenty of less messy ways to end a relationship.

He also kept bugging me to call Southwest to determine if the Blue Light Special had checked in but I refused on the grounds that they wouldn't divulge that kind of information. If he hadn't, I certainly didn't want to know.

Like a slasher in a bad horror movie, reality intervened as soon as I got home and checked my e-mail around 5 p.m. Southwest confirmed two reservation changes, the one I had made on Saturday and a second two hours later that I hadn't. A Southwest representative confirmed the second change, explaining that it didn't cost any more because the penalty I had paid to make the first change had brought me up to full fare. This also meant that the ticket could be changed again or even cancelled.

You've got to love an airline that gives you just the leverage you need during a messy break up.

It's now Monday around noon. Southwest has just confirmed that the Blue Light Special has been issued a boarding pass. Within a couple of hours there will be more than a thousand miles between us.

End of story. But the Blue Light Special still shines in every corner of my mind.