A few years back, when I was living in Maine and before I went to Asia, I was taken to my first actual gay bar by Mark, a tall thin guy I worked with one summer at a temporary office job.
Looking back now, I realize Mark was gay. Very gay. And I believe now, the first gay man I ever spent time with even if I didn’t realize it.
Even as inexperienced as I was about pretty much everything, Mark seemed to me to not fit into Maine very well. He was witty, stylish, and erudite, and he (not to pigeon-hole him into a stereotype) talked about fashion incessantly, especially his own. On an after-work visit to his apartment, Mark made me my first gin and tonic, but only after I thought he might pass out when I said I never had one.
He also introduced me to his roommate who turned out to be a certain handsome, muscle-jock chemistry major I’d noticed in the lab in college. That chem major probably recognized my face because in front of Mark he didn’t really say hi back to me―also in the closet? (I wondered if later he asked Mark what the hell was I doing there!)
Anyway, one evening after work, Mark took me to Cycles, a small bar that I had suspected was a gay place but had never dared to go to. I’m sure Mark recognized that I was a closet case (I found out about “gaydar” much later) and was maybe being gentle about nudging me just a little toward the closet door by not explaining it was a gay bar, and perhaps to gauge my reaction. Whatever it was, I felt very nervous being in a gay bar in my own hometown and was ready to leave after half a beer. Mark never came on to me, at least not in any way I could recognize at the time.
Now that I was back from my year-plus in Asia, it was a Saturday night and I was headed out, determined to try a second venture into Cycles. I had recently re-noticed Cycles and this time I resolved to check it out for real and on my own, although I was still a little unsure about walking in the door. So, of course, I walked up the street past the door, turned, walked back down the street past the door again, turned, then walked back to the door and in. I felt sure that the people in the few passing cars saw me and knew.
But the moment I stepped inside! For the first time in my life, I found myself in a place where I was completely relaxed, a totally different feel than when Mark brought me here. What? I was suddenly, instantly at home. Yes, like I had come home. Like I belonged. For the first time in my life, I felt like I didn’t have a secret. I wasn’t transparent. I was a real boy. I could let my guard down and just be me. And part of being me was looking at other men and… and… I don’t know. It was just amazing to feel OK, for the first time, ever.
Anyway, as I stood there with my beer, looking around and feeling so normal, the bar gradually filled with various and handsome men, including one reddish-haired guy a few years older than me with a bright grin, a well-filled T-shirt, and a short but lush beard. I kept glancing at him and finally worked up enough courage to edge (sidle?) closer and say hi. To this nice-looking guy. In a gay bar.
He stuck out his hand and introduced himself as Benjamin. We started chatting and he seemed actually interested that I had been living overseas. (I was a little tired of friends and family who never went anywhere or did anything, asking mind-numbing things like “How was it?” and then not hearing what I said. Me: I met the emperor of Japan. They: Oh, wow… Did you see Cheers last night?)
I didn’t stay at Cycles for long but before I left, I got Benjamin’s phone number and his invitation to come by sometime and bring photos of my travels. I’m sure I must have gone home after that and jerked off thinking about Benjamin, or what I imagined of his body under his clothes.
You bet I called Benjamin later that week and went over the very next Saturday. Feeling both nervous and horny, I rang the bell at a small house in the nearby town of Yarmouth and Benjamin appeared, padding barefoot down the stairs. He put on some tea and we sat on his couch, flipping through a few pictures I brought.
As we sat there talking, I surprised myself by suddenly saying that I’d really like a hug.
Benjamin jumped up and with a huge smile, came over and gently wrapped himself around me. It was a lovely feeling, just lovely, to be embraced so affectionately by this man. I was trembling. I wanted to melt like a cliché in his arms. I was also feeling chilly (April in Maine) and said how much warmer he felt. We sat back down, quietly making out, and finally he pulled me up and back toward his bedroom. He pushed me down onto his bed, pulled off my shoes and socks, and climbed on top of me, gradually stripping off the rest of my clothes as I fumbled with his.
I was right: He turned out to have a good body, with not huge but lean muscles, and a wonderfully hairy chest. And Benjamin had magical moves, like when he wriggled his arms under my thighs, lifted my ass in the air, my cock warm and wet in his mouth, all in one smooth motion. Melting. Ya can’t go wrong with your cock warm and helpless in some guy’s mouth.
He set me down and while I chewed happily on his beard, Benjamin said he played safe, which I took to mean safe sex, and said he wanted to put a condom on me so I could fuck him. I hadn’t thought, not once ever before this moment, about me actually fucking a man in his ass, and wasn’t sure I would like it. But he rolled me onto my back, unrolled the condom on my stiff dick, which kind of felt nice, and added some lube (I’d never seen lube before!). He swung one leg over me and straddling, sat his ass down onto my dick, slowly and carefully. (My erection is rather large, did I say?)
His ass felt warm and tight, but it wasn’t as quite the wonderful feeling I assumed it would be. Nevertheless, I did my best as a first-time fucker. At first, I mainly felt his sphincter tight around the base of my erection, which didn’t do much for me. It was more stimulating if I didn’t push in so deeply, but pulled out a ways to rub along the more sensitive areas of my cock. (Hmmm… so that’s how it works.)
I came quite a lot into the condom. And I manage to jerk off Benjamin as I fucked him, which is how I think he envisioned it all going.
After we were finished, I put my clothes on and left pretty fast, ONCE AGAIN upset that I was indulging in gay sex when I really didn’t think it was “my” life. I had read once that in India and other countries where there is little public contact between the sexes, a common feeling is that boys and immature men, or men who can’t get a woman, have sex with each other, but that it’s not a “lifestyle.” (“Life” is getting married and having children to take care of you when you get old.)
That stuck in my head, and I still felt I could get over “indulging in” gay sex, again wishing I hadn’t done it―it’s not who I am! (Was I confused? In denial? Definitely.)
But over the next few weeks I went back to Benjamin’s twice, loving to touch, and the touch of, this handsome man. Despite that, after both times, I left as soon as we had sex. I was so taken up with actually having sex that I hadn’t given our relationship, if it could be called that, much thought.
Each time after we had sex, it was like, “I’m done, time to go,” kind of like the stereotype of the man who rolls over and falls sleep after sex. I rolled over and went home. In a relationship, one behaves kindly and considerately, not selfishly. I was overwhelmed by what I was at last experiencing. But also, I was new to being with someone and didn’t know how to think or feel about myself or them (him).
But mostly I was running away from my visits with Benjamin, repeatedly upset and confused about who I thought I was and wasn’t, what I should and shouldn’t be doing―it’s not who I am! But reasons are not excuses for being thoughtless.
Whatever my ignorance, I was beginning to realize that after seeing Benjamin, I was going away not very happy, despite how kind and patient he was. And on my third visit, it came to a head. Benjamin, a nice guy but nobody’s fool, confronted me about this very thing, saying he didn’t like me using him, as he put it, “to get your nut and then leave.”
Benjamin was right and I was sorry. I said I agreed with him and understood, ashamed of how I treated him, and that I didn’t mean to hurt him or use him. I didn’t attempt to explain it away. I hoped he understood but I knew better than to try to make it instantly OK.
I didn’t call Benjamin again and I moved away a few months later. But I respected him for telling me what I was doing, and for standing up for himself.
A couple of years later, I was back in Maine visiting family and stopped by Benjamin’s house, not for sex but just to say hello, and learned he had moved away. His neighbor across the street saw me and waved me over. She asked if I was looking for Benjamin, then said he moved to California and offered me his phone number. I eventually called Benjamin and we struck up a more realistic friendship, one which included me visiting a few years later when I was in San Francisco for my very first gay pride festival.
Benjamin also came to visit me once in DC for the 1993 March On Washington. On that visit he helped me once again, without meaning to. By simply sleeping in my bed and being his funny and gay self, he eased me out to my housemates, all the while reassuring me that my roommates knew about me and moreover, didn’t care. He had a no-hiding, no-bullshit, even manlyapproach to life that I admired very much.
Benjamin turned out to be one of the best guys I ever met, though we eventually lost touch. Maybe I should have tried harder to not lose touch.
And Cycles closed long ago, but I never forgot that amazing, first moment there when I was suddenly normal.