The Satyr Schemes to Keep Me Away from Troy

Upstate, Spring 2009

Me and sports don't get along.  My eyes glaze over during discussions of rbis and forward passes.  If I am forced to go to a sports match, I try to focus on the biceps and bulges.

I can barely tolerate having friends who are sports nuts, and I've almost never dated any.  It's on my list of top turn offs, along with being elitist, tall, thin, and feminine.

But what if he looks liked this?

At Christmas in 2008, my boyfriend Chad and I went to a Christmas party thrown by the Rich Kid.  Troy came as the Rich Kid's date.

He was tall, slim, athletic, very handsome, except for the big black earrings and a pink triangle tattoo.

As new meat, he was mobbed by the Gang of Twelve, especially the Satyr, but he kept close to the Rich Kid.  We chatted briefly: he was 22 years old, a senior at the University, president of the Gay Student Association, and a sports nut.  He started out as a physics major, but switched to French, and planned to become a high school teacher and coach.

"I go to Paris every year!" I exclaimed.  "We should talk."

"Sure.  Friend me on Facebook," he said, while both Chad and the Rich Kid glared at us.

During the spring of 2009, I saw Troy regularly on campus and on dates with various members of the Gang of Twelve.  Three days after Chad and I broke up, I began making overtures like "We should get coffee and discuss Paris" or "There's a good movie playing in Cooperstown."  But he always gave curt, noncommittal answers.

Usually I can take a hint: after two rejections, I back off.  But I could tell that Troy was interested.  He was just...reluctant.  In March he said "Ok, I'll go if Chad will be there, too."

Did he have a thing for my ex-boyfriend?

It was too soon after the breakup for hanging out with the ex, so I refused.

Soon Chad and I managed to become ex-boyfriend friends, and started hanging out together again.

In May 2009 Troy graduated with a degree in French.  But he was out of money, and you need an additional year of graduate study to become a teacher in New York, so he took two jobs: a sandwich maker at Subway, and a baseball mascot, Damien the Bulldog.

I claimed to be a baseball fan and got the Satyr and Chad, who had season tickets, to bring me along.  It wasn't bad: he looked like Scooby Doo on steroids, with muscular arms and an incongruous basket.  And he was very athletic, doing somersaults and backflips to get the audience enthused.

On the 4th of July, the Rich Kid held a barbecue at his summer house.  I  came with the Satyr and Chad, and Troy came with the Pitcher with the Secret Move.  Apparently he was going through the Gang of 12 one by one, just as I had.  Or maybe he had a thing for women's underwear.

As I was talking to him, the Satyr approached.  "Boomer, where's Chad?" he asked.

"I don't know.  Maybe over by the hot dogs?"

After the barbecue, Troy and the Pitcher disappeared.  "I think they headed down that trail," the Satyr told me.  "The Rich Kid brings all of his boy toys there -- it's secluded, perfect for a quick make-out session.  Or more, if you have the mind."

Jealous, I followed, and caught up with them.  "Hi, guys, I guess we both had the idea of going on a hike.  Mind if I tag along?"

We trudged through the woods.  Troy was wearing tight shorts that bulged outrageously, and one of those t-shirts slit at the sides, so every time he moved, you got a glimpse of his chest.

"Hang on, gotta go," the Pitcher said. He disappeared into the woods, leaving us alone.

"My friend Eli from Amsterdam is visiting next week," I said.  "Since you're a native of Upstate, you should help me show him the sights."

Ok, I'll go...if I have time," Troy said doubtfully.

"The Pitcher can come, too, of course."

"Oh, he's not my boyfriend.  This is our first date.  We haven't even had sex yet."

"Then you don't know about his secret move?  Let me tell you...."  I leaned in to whisper in his ear about the Pitcher's crossdressing, but suddenly we were kissing.

"Ahem!" the Pitcher said, returning.  "Can I join this party?"

We all kissed and groped for awhile.  Then Troy was on his knees.

No, it wasn't public sex -- this was on the Rich Kid's property.

Even after all that, Troy "didn't have time" to help me show Eli around!

What was going on?  We weren't dating anyone else, he was perfectly willing to get on his knees in the Rich Kid's back yard, but whenever I asked him for a date, he blew me off.

I went to more baseball games with the Satyr and Chad.  I stopped by Subway to eat their awful sandwiches.  I invited Troy to movies and dinners, only to get rejected.

At the Gay Pride Festival, which in Upstate is a picnic held in the Sunday before Labor Day.  his date was the Bodybuilder in the Park.

"Great, the last of the Gang of Twelve!" I thought.  "Maybe now I have a chance."

Nope.

The last straw came on Saturday, September 19th, when he showed up at the Rapper's birthday party with Pete the Water Guy, the one who had a wife on Long Island!

I cornered Troy by the gift table.  "Ok, what gives?  The moment we're alone you fall on your knees, but whenever I ask you out, you make up a lame excuse and go out with Pete the Water Guy instead,  What, I'm good enough for you to have sex with, but not good enough to get coffee with?"

He looked around anxiously.  "I'm sorry that happened, ok?   Now be quiet -- your boyfriend will hear us!"

"Boyfriend?  What boyfriend?"

"Chad, of course."

"What...er...um...we broke up six months ago.  Who told you were were still together?"

"His roommate the Satyr."

We quickly figured it out.  The Satyr had been dropping strong hints that Chad and I were still together, in a monogamous relationship.  Maybe he was angry that I had broken up with his bff, and wanted us to get back together.  Maybe he was miffed because Troy rejected him.

It didn't help that I kept showing up at events with Chad.

Troy thought that I was inviting him to cheat.  Which would render him undateable forever.

Devious!

Troy and I had our first date the next day, on Sunday, September 20th.

We were together for the next five years.

See also: The Satyr and his Boy Toy.

The Stonewall Veteran and the Bodybuilder in the Park

Upstate, May 2009

When I moved to Upstate New York my social calendar was soon crowded with invitations from members of the Gang of Twelve, guys who had known each other for years, and who shared everything, from gossip to boyfriends.
1-2. The Rich Kid and the Crying Truck Driver.
3-4. The Rapper, and the Grabby Nurse.
5. The Satyr and his roommate Chad, who I dated through the fall and winter.
6-7. The Klingon and the Sword Swallower.
8. The Pitcher with a Secret Move.

Date #9: The Stonewall Veteran

One day in the spring of 2009, the Rich Kid told me "There's a guy you have to meet."  I thought he was setting me up on another date, but instead, we drove to an assisted living facility in Cooperstown.  There was an elderly man in a wheelchair sitting by a window in the dayroom, reading a large-print version of Tales of the City.  The Rich Kid hugged him affectionately.

"Is this your lover?" the Stonewall Veteran asked.

"No, no.  We went out a couple of times, but it didn't work out."

"Your loss.  Can I have him?"

The Rich Kid grinned.  "Sure -- he's yours.  If you can handle him."

"Oh, I've handled some big ones in my time."  The Stonewall Veteran patted me on the knee.  "Let me tell you about my night with James Dean."

The Stonewall Veteran told me that he grew up in Cooperstown, served in the Korean War, worked as a longshoreman, slept with James Dean, belonged to the Mattachine Society (the first gay rights organization in the U.S.), and participated in the Stonewall Riots, the dawn of the modern gay world.

In 1982, he moved back Upstate to take care of his elderly parents, and got a job at the Otesaga Resort.  There he met the 18-year old Rich Kid, and became his first lover.

"He was quite a hunk!" the Rich Kid exclaimed.

Over the years, he was also in relationships with the Satyr, the Grabby Male Nurse, and the Truck Driver.  He was a fixture in the Gang of Twelve.

He retired in 1998, and lived on a fixed income in a tiny apartment in Cooperstown.

In 2005, the Rich Kid paid for him to move into an assisted living facility, and visited him every Saturday afternoon.

Not really a date, but nice.

Date #10: The Bodybuilder in the Park

I saw the Bodybuilder long before I knew he belonged to the Gang of Twelve.  Whenever I went jogging in the park near my apartment, he was there.  He had a weight bench on the grass, and he was doing some bench presses and bicep curls with weights that he brought over in a battered red pickup truck.

He was in his 50s, a little shorter than me, with a rather scraggy, unattractive face, but ripped!  Massive chest and shoulders -- six pack abs -- not an ounce of body fat anywhere.

Then I saw him at the Utica Gay Men's Social.

Asking around, I learned that he preferred younger guys -- both the Klingon and the Rapper had dated him -- so I figured I was out of the running.  But no, the Sword Swallower called him and arranged for us to meet in the park.

Right after his daily workout -- so he was positively shredded!

As we walked the three mile jogging path, the Bodybuilder told me the harrowing story of his life.  Growing up fundamentalist, marrying a preacher's daughter.  Guilt over same-sex desire pushing him into alcohol and drugs. Losing his job and his house, living on the streets for awhile. Having his first same sex experience at the age of 42, unprotected, and getting infected with HIV.

Now he was clean and sober, living in a residential hotel near the park, and in good health, thanks to the United Methodist Church, the Rural AIDS Project, and his AIDS Buddy, the Sword Swallower.

He recognized that this was a lot to spring on a guy on  the first date. But there was more.

He was on a strict macrobiotic diet, meditated for an hour every morning, went to bed at 9:00 pm without fail, and practiced only the safest of safe sex -- no deep kissing, condoms for everything else.  "Are you sure you want to go forward with this?"

Well...you know, he was shredded.  Besides, I was running out of gay men in Upstate. Why not give it a try?

So we went back to my apartment and did things that didn't require the exchange of body fluids.  Then the Bodybuilder said "I've been waiting all my life for this moment."

That was a little weird! But it was nothing compared to our second date.

We went to lunch at the Undercover Eggplant. a hippie-vegetarian place in Cooperstown, followed by the Catskills Art Fair.

Which was fun.  But the Bodybuilder's conversation wasn't:


"Can you come to church tomorrow?  I want to introduce you to some of the guys." Ok.

"We're having dinner with my brother and his family on Thursday. I said we'd bring a macrobiotic dessert."  Meeting the relatives on the third date?

"When's your birthday?  I want to start planning your party now."  Um...not for six months. What makes you think we'll be together then?

"I don't need to give notice at the hotel.  It goes week by week.  So I can move in whenever you want." Ok, too fast.  Way too fast!  What's next?  Cemetery plots?

Since we only went out twice, I didn't think there was any need for a formal break-up.  I just didn't call anymore.  Our only contact was at the Truck Driver's birthday party and in the park: I waved as I was jogging past.

Still, for months, the Bodybuilder told all of his friends and colleagues that we were a couple.  Two months later, I got an invitation in the mail to a support group for the partners of HIV Positive men.

The Klingon and the Rapper told me the same thing -- one or two dates, then no contact, and the Bodybuilder continuing to cling for months.

This turned out to be quite a problem with dating new guys.  They often hesitated, thinking that I was proposing an illicit affair.

Liam Gives Me a Present on his 18th Birthday

When I applied to grad school on Long Island, the admissions director said "Oh, yes, we're only eight miles from New York City.  You can get there in ten minutes."

He meant eight miles from the hinterland of Queens, by car, without traffic.

When I arrived, I discovered that the gay neighborhoods of Manhattan were thirty miles away, two hours by train!

Cut off from the usual venues for meeting people, I started hanging out in online chatrooms -- you waited there until someone attractive showed up, then started an Instant Message conversation.

But you had to be careful.  Profile pictures might be ten years old, or of someone else entirely.  Guys dropped 20 pounds, added a few inches, and changed their age.  Sometimes they were really much older. Sometimes much younger.

Once I had made the date and was getting ready to go out the door when the guy said "By the way, I'm not really 25.  I'm 15."

I ran.

Soon I learned some strategies to weed out the underaged:
1.  They didn't want to talk about their jobs or school.
2.  They talked about their parents a lot.
3.  They wanted to "hang out," not go out on a date.
4.   They wanted to know "what it's like" to have sex with a guy.

Of course, some older guys who were closeted might be eliminated, too, but it didn't matter. There were lots of choices in the chatrooms.

Liam started hanging out in the Long Island chatroom in the fall of  1998.  I didn't need clues: he told me right off that he was in high school.

I immediately crossed him off the list of potential boyfriends, but we continued to chat. We had a lot in common.  He was from a working-class household: his dad was a truck driver, and his older brother was an auto mechanic.  He wasn't out to anyone.  He liked Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Pokemon, and the Harry Potter books, and he was taking piano and judo lessons.

We didn't talk about sex -- that was my #1 rule in chatrooms, regardless of age -- but we talked about cute guys, dating, coming out, and gay culture.   I heard about his crushes on his judo sensei and his English teacher, and encouraged him to come out to his best friend.  He heard about my research projects and my romances with Blake and his roommate Joe.

Liam began his senior year in high school in the fall of 1999.  I heard about his senior project, his first date, coming out to his brother and his parents.  One day in February 2000 he emailed me: "Hey, I'm coming to the City to talk to some admissions reps at NYU.  We should hang out while I'm there."

Did he mean hang out or hook up?  He was a senior in high school, of legal age --  but  a 20 year age difference?  What would my friends back in West Hollywood say?

"Oh, and my brother wants to meet you, too."

In that case, fine.  

Liam turned out to be a little shorter than me, firm but not muscular, with sandy blond hair and blue eyes and a warm handshake.  His brother, Ozzie, had massive biceps and a ready smile.

We browsed at the Different Light and went to a Japanese restaurant, and once Ozzie took me aside and said "Thanks for being such a good friend to my brother.  You really helped him."

I did that?

"None of us knew anything about being...you know, gay.  You really helped."

I did that?

"And it was so great that you haven't put any pressure on him to have sex.  You could have really taken advantage of him."

"Well...you know, I can restrain myself."

Liam decided to attend NYU, and in August 2000, he moved into the Goddard Residence Hall on Washington Square East, about a mile from my apartment.

"Only a mile away!" he emailed me.  "We should definitely hang out.  Guess what -- my 18th birthday is coming up on Friday!"

"18!  The big one!  What are you going to do to celebrate?"

"Nothing really.  It's too soon to go home for the weekend, and I don't really know anybody on campus yet."

"You're in the biggest party town in the world. We'll figure something out.  I'll invite Yuri."

But Yuri couldn't make it, so Liam and I went out alone, to a barbeque place in the West Village, then for frozen yogurt, then for a walk along Christopher Street, where Gay Liberation began.

"You're old enough for a 18+ dance club," I said.  "Do you want to go?"

"Maybe later.  Right now I'd like to see your apartment."

Did he mean....?

"I want to look at your books on gay history."

A little disappointed, I said "Ok, fine."

We returned to the apartment I shared with Edward the Art Appraiser.  He was camped out in the living room, so after saying hello, we went into the bedroom.  I sat on the desk chair, and Liam looked through my bookcase.  Eventually he took down the massive 1978 edition of Gay American History and sat down on the bed to leaf through it.

"You can sit next to me, if you want."

"Well, it's a little warm in here."

"Yeah.  We should take our shirts off."

We sat on the bed, side by side, shirtless, thighs and arms touching.   I wasn't going to push myself on Liam, not after his brother's vote of confidence, not without a clearer signal.  But there weren't any clear signals.  We were two friends  leafing through a book.

Sigh.

Suddenly Liam looked around the room.  "Do you know what time it is?"

I checked my clock.  "A little after 11:00.  Why?"

He put the book aside, leaned over my lap, and started kissing and groping me.  I responded.

The next morning we had another session, then got up and went out to breakfast.  "I had no idea that you were interested," I said.

"Well, I don't think we should be like boyfriends, but I wanted to thank you for being so nice.  Sort of a birthday present."  He laughed.

Ok, I was a little disappointed, but who can complain about a night with a hot guy?  "Why did you ask the time before making a move?"

"I didn't want to get you in trouble, so I waited until it was legal for us to be together.  I was born at 10:36 pm, so technically I wasn't 18 until 10:36 pm last night."

"Well -- thanks for being cautious."

I didn't have the heart to tell him that the legal age of consent in New York is 17, not 18.


See also: My Date with the Teenage Model and The High School Bodybuilder.; Yuri and the Penis Size Contest