Goodbye to you, my trusted friend

As we reflect on the life of a dear friend who was taken from us far too soon, I’m reminded of all that he taught me during our short time together. To many he was known as Arpad Miklos, a sex god among men, whose presence commanded attention and reverence. He was one of my first big porn crushes, but over time I came to know him as Peter, a gentle giant and trusted friend.

When we first met two years ago through my work work in porn and, I was beside myself with excitement at finally meeting the man whose videos and performances got me through my awkward teenage years. I was surprised to find such a genuinely sweet and kindhearted man beneath the chiseled features and muscular physique. We quickly bonded over having a twisted sense of humor, giving start to a friendship bound by love and laughter. He was my mentor and, despite the generational gap between us, we shared a lot in common. Peter acted like a big brother to me, overprotective but allowing me to make and learn from my own mistakes. He led by example and selflessly looked after his friends.

I hated New York City when I first moved here and complained about everything: from the cold and cost of living to the difficulty in making friends. Peter was one of the first people to show me kindness and helped me grow a tougher skin while staying true to who I am. He admired my bravado, intelligence, and charisma, noting how he was inspired by my ability to be so open and honest with myself at a young age. He meant more to me than he will ever know and, though our schedules hardly permitted a lot of time to spend with one another, I cherish every moment we shared.

Yesterday we held his public memorial service at G Lounge in New York City where some of his closest friends, family, and fans came together to celebrate his life over drinks, laughter, and tears. I admittedly had a difficult time keeping it together and not shedding a tear during his service. This was made more difficult when I walked in and saw his smiling face on a poster, greeting everyone at the door. Sitting down to write in his book, I held back tears until I remembered a conversation we had a few months ago when I was in a dark place. “It’s difficult for me to see you so down,” he said, “Your smile is a big reason we’re friends. Let is shine, it’s contagious.”

Honoring his wishes, I walked over to the bar and did exactly what he wanted and expected me to do. So I ordered a gin and tonic and flirted with the cute bartender. I raise a toast to the man who touched so many hearts, and whose smile was equally, if not more, contagious than my own. You will be dearly missed, my love.

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