Some Things Are Meant To Be

Just before my first birthday, my mother moved into a furnished studio apartment in Alameda, a suburb of San Francisco. One night in the first week, she pulled out the sofa bed and found a man's ring. She wasn't sure what to do with it. Her first thought was to bring it to the landlord, but he gave her a funny vibe and she wasn't sure she could trust him, so she decided to hold on to the ring until she could figure out what to do with it.

A few weeks later she went to interview a woman named Louise to be my babysitter. As they talked, Mom mentioned that she had just moved back to town, and Louise asked her where she lived. Mom gave her the address and described the building, and Louise said that was quite a coincidence, because her husband, Clement, had just moved out of that building. (Louise and Clement were married for 20 years, but separated many times). Louise called Clement into the room and asked which apartment he had lived in. It turned out that he had lived in Mom's apartment. After a bit of suprised chit chat, Clement said, "I lost a very important ring in that apartment. If you ever find it, let me know."

Mom couldn't believe it. She reached into her purse and pulled out the ring she had found in the couch. "Was it this one?" she asked. It was. Mom said that at that moment she felt like she had been given a sign that Louise was meant to watch over me. As I look back now, I think she was right. Louise became a great figure in my early life, and my sister's after she was born, and over seven years became a part of our family.

As Mom told me this story yesterday, it got me thinking about an old theory of mine that you don't create relationships randomly. A long time ago I started thinking that maybe you just go through life searching for the souls that you are somehow meant to find. That theory helps explain why sometimes you meet someone who you immediately feel comfortable with. It explains sudden best friends, and love at first sight. It explains the hope that a lot of us share: finding Mr. Right.

Of course, you never really know at the time if the sign you are getting is a legitimate message from Fate or a coincidence thrown at you by Chance. This summer when I dated Daniel, I was suprised to find out that we went to San Diego State at the same time. He brought his transcripts to my house one night, and I was shocked to find out that we had taken the same small psychology class in the fall of 1997. I thought it was fate. It didn't take me long to learn that it wasn't.

But those little instances aren't enough to shake my hope that sometimes Fate does take your hand and guide you in the right direction. While Daniel and I were dating, I was already becoming friends with D. Later in the summer when D and I started dating, I was suprised to learn that in early 2003, I chose his team at Emory University to work on a vaccine study I was setting up. It was suprising, but not enough.

Then late last Saturday night, I woke up in D's arms. It was a cool night, and I was pressed tightly against him. He had woken me with a twitch and a quiet moan. Then his arms tightened around me, and after another small moan he mumbled the words, "I love you." I laid awake for a minute, wondering if he had woken up, but it was clear that he hadn't. His breath told me he was asleep, and he was probably dreaming. I have no idea what he was dreaming about, or who that "I love you" was intended for. I didn't know what would happen the next day, or the next month or year. But as I fell back to sleep, with his skin warm against mine, I let my insides tingle with the idea that maybe, this time, it is meant to be.

Chapter 4: Losing My Virginity

Lord knows I was an awkward kid in high school. In my head it was very clear that there was a distinct social force separating me from the popular kids, and like every misguided dork, I used outlandish style to get the attention of the popular kids and try to overcome that force. I had a pair of pants that were kind of MC Hammer-ish but made of tiny squares in yellow, orange, and red. I had the most garish Z Cavaricci jeans that I could find at the mall. I even bought a pair of skin tight black stonewashed jeans from the thrift store once and cut a series of very symmetrical one-inch slits down the front of the legs, and long slits down the back. My friend Vikki told me that one day when I got up to leave Spanish class, my white Hanes briefs pinched out one of the slits under my ass. Everyone got the joke except for me. For God's sake, I even had a surfer wave in my bangs and a mullet in the back.

So I have established that I was a nerd. You can imagine my suprise then when the girl with the biggest boobs in high school took a fondness for me. She wasn't exactly at the top of the social ladder either, but let me tell you it didn't hurt to have the attention of a girl who the hot guys in the class had at least a curiosity for. Crystal was actually a pretty sweet girl too, so in my junior year, we started dating.

She might be able to correct me on this, but I think the first sexual contact we had was at my house. Her older sister had chapperoned her, but Sis fell asleep on the floor of the living room while we were watching a movie. Crytal and I started making out, and somehow my pants came down a bit. Wow, as I remember that I can visualize how little hair I used to have. Those were the good old days. It takes a variety of heavy duty lawn equipment to keep my bush at a respectable level now. Anyway, so Crystal and I messed around.

Let's just get to the good stuff. After we had been dating for about three months, Crystal and I decided that we wanted to lose our virginity to each other. We enlisted the help of my friend Vikki, who was dating a guy that I just adored. What was his name? Doesn't matter. His parents kept the family RV parked on the street in front of the house. So one night Crystal and I made up stories to our parents about staying the night at friend's houses and Nameless Cutie gave us the keys to the RV.

I believe that I made an attempt at sex that night, but Crystal got scared, and instead we spent the night cuddled in each other's arms. The affection must have been what she needed to feel safe though, because in the morning she let me in. It was nice actually; a bit awkward, but I found her gushy spot to be quite fascinating. It didn't blow my socks off or anything, but it was definitely a memorable experience. Halfway through, Crystal started crying. I stopped immediately thinking of course that I must be terribly huge and tried not to revel in my pride as I asked her what was wrong. It turned out she was just a bit overwhelmed at the finality of her virginity being gone. I imagine that must happen to a lot of Catholic girls. I just felt curious, and excited to tell my friends, and sad that my penis wasn't big enough to make her cry after all.

Crystal and I didn't date much longer, but we did continue to have sex for over a year. My best story from that time was when we went with her mom to a family friend's house, and while mom and the friend sipped tea in the kitchen, Crystal took me to the backyard and "hid" us behind a tree. She opened her shirt, got down on her knees, and played the famous Hide-Mr-Happy-In-The-Big-Boobs game. Oh, we did it in the changing room at Miller's Outpost in the mall too. Hmmm, that must have planted the seed that in my 20's became the public sex tree. I'll talk about that later.

So I guess officially I lost my virginity with Crystal, but if you know me or have read any other post or found my blog through my profile on bigmuscle.com, then you know I'm a big 'mo, so this story wouldn't be complete without talking about my first sex with a boy. When I was 17, in my senior year of high school, I worked at the Krikorian movie theater in El Cajon. On one slow weeknight, the girl working the ticket booth called me over from the door. She was laughing at the newspaper, and told me that she just noticed that the column titled "Seeking Just a Friend" in the personals section was actually listings for guys seeking guys. On the way home from work that night, I bought a newspaper, and when I got home I read every word of every ad in that section. I can't describe the excitement I felt inside me. I didn't really know that men who liked men sought each other out. I thought it was something to hide and be ashamed of, and maybe if you were lucky you might get chance encounters with drunk straight friends every year or two. Could it be this easy?

A week later I wrote an ad for myself and sent it to the newspaper. I said I was an 18yo surfer type. I was actually 17 and afraid of the ocean, but let's not get bogged down in semantics. The first person who left me a voice mail was a 25yo old guy that lived in the suburbs. I called him back and after a few minutes of mostly logistical conversation, we hung up. An hour later I drove to his house. He was babysitting his sister's kid, but apparently I passed his initial inspection because he told me to meet him down the block in 10 minutes. He showed up in a car and told me to follow him. I did, and he led me to a Motel 8 that rented rooms by the hour.

I won't go into too much detail, but I will say that it was completely different than having sex with a girl. I was intoxicated by his smell, by his skin, by his touch. I did everything he asked. And as I got close to finishing, I whispered under my breath, "You are a God." He said, "What?" I said it again, and I remember that in that moment I meant it. He saved me from feeling like I might never experience the kind of intimacy I had been wanting for what seemed like an eternity.

He held me for a while afterwards, and as I lay on his chest, I said, "I have a secret to tell you. I'm not actually 18. I am only 17." He said, "I have a secret too. That wasn't my sister's kid I was watching. That was my kid. My wife came home right after I told you to leave."

I think that about 16 other men left me voice mails from that newspaper ad, and over the next six months or so, I called every single one of them. I didn't connect with all of them, but I connected with enough that by the time I graduated high school, I was already considering myself a bit of a slut. I loved it. And so began my sex life with men.

Deep Discussions in Jock Straps

This last Sunday was Folsom Street Fair in San Francisco, a weekend of bondage and leather and pure twisted fetishism. For us partying gay boys, its climax comes Sunday evening at a party called Real Bad. I went to that party with a group of friends that includes a gorgeous man I will call D who recently transitioned from "friend" to, well, more than a friend. After my friend Todd watched us together late in the night, we began a discussion that has stuck with me for days.

Todd (wearing a jock strap made of neoprene and elastic): When does a guy you're dating become a boyfriend?

Me (wearing a jock strap made completely of leather): I think that he becomes a boyfriend when you both know for sure that you are in love, and you say it to each other. "Boyfriend" implies that you plan to make an attempt at staying together for a while.

Todd: Well, then when do you think a boyfriend becomes a partner?

Me: I guess it would be when you experience a life-changing event as a couple, like moving to a new city or buying a house. I started calling Scott my partner when he moved with me from Sydney to New York.

Todd: Ok, well now that we can get married (...in California...), does that change your answer?

That was a really good question. It occurred to me that, despite our inability to get married, us gays had indeed found a structure for advancing a relationship that made sense to us. But now that we can get married, I guess we stand the same chance as our straight counterparts of making the wreckless decision of marriage before we really have the foundation to support it.

Though the conversation ended there, the question probably remained with me because the status of my relationship with D was called into question so many times that day. We had been together in social situations all weekend by that point, and we received no less than 30 questions about our status. Everyone wanted a label. Because we hadn't anticipated or discussed it, the first one caught me off guard. After an awkward silence, I said, "We just started dating. Ask me next month." D seemed to be ok with that answer. So I gave it another 29 times.

As I rode the bus to work this morning, I told Jason about all the fun I had over the weekend, and about the great time I had with D. He said, "So are you boyfriends yet?" I said, "No, there's no need to put pressure on it with a label." To which he replied, "Spoken like a true commitment-phobe. You might want to explore that." Hmmmm, maybe he has a point???

Though I know that D is not dating anyone else (and I'm clearly not), I am in no hurry to call D my boyfriend. But this does bring up a connundrum that most people probably face when they begin dating someone. When does the label change? You don't want to move too fast, because the label comes with certain expectations that each party needs to be prepared for. However, waiting too long might make one party feel invalidated, or.... oh.... actually I can't think of many reasons why waiting longer is bad. Wow, writing doesn't lead me to answers very often. Oh hallelujah. Ok, good Tony. The answer is wait wait wait.

Nonetheless, Jason made a good point today. I might have developed a little fear of commitment after Scott and Brett. It looks like this post just bought me several weeks before a label change will be in order though, so Therapist, here I come!