Friday, September 12th, 1997. The end of the my first week of classes at Setauket University, my 10th day in New York.
10 days after moving to West Hollywood, I found a gay bar, a gay gym, and a gay church, I had about a dozen friends, and I had been on about four dates.
On Long Island, there are no gay bars, gay gyms, gay churches, gay anything. There is nothing in walking distance of Setauket University but a hardware store and an Indian restaurant. Unless you want to take the train two hours into Manhattan, you're stuck on campus, where all of the events and activities are for undergraduates.
I've met about 50 people: roommates, fellow graduate students, undergraduates, faculty. But only on who is "openly" gay.
After 12 years in California, where I rarely saw or spoke to a straight person outside of work, I assume that all of the men are gay, except for those who mentioned wives or girlfriends, or who asked me if I had a wife or a girlfriend. But we're not going to come out to each other in the Straight World and risk a homophobic assault or a stupid question like "Are you the boy or the girl?"
The only "openly" gay guy is Jesse, the 17-year old farmboy from Ulster County who I met while in "emergency housing" in the freshman dorm. Tuesday night I went down on him while we were lying on blankets on the roof (see Trapped in a Dormitory with Freshmen).
10 days without talking to a gay person other than Jesse the 17-year old. No gay friends, no dates, no sex except for that night with Jesse. I latch onto him as a beacon of hope, and ask him out, in spite of our monumental age difference.
1. Dinner at the Indian place, down a country road with no sidewalk. You dress nicely for a date, but Jesse shows up in a white t-shirt with stains on it, short pants, and shoes but no socks. I am embarrassed to be seen with him.
Then he orders the hamburger platter. At an Indian restaurant!
2. A grad student mixer. Ok, at 17, he is the youngest one there, but he doesn't have to go out of his way to call me "sir."
He introduces himself to the department chair as "a freshman in Mr. Davis' class."
He's not in my class -- he just wants to embarrass me.
The chair gives me a nasty look.
I think I just got outed.
3. A walk through the quad. Jesse keeps trying to hold my hand!
I don't hold hands in public. It's a sure way to get a homophobic jibe yelled out of a passing car.
Besides, it looks silly, and it's not necessary. You don't need someone to guide you in the proper direction.
We squeeze uncomfortably onto my single bed. It is hot, and we are sweating. We get naked.
I try kissing him, but he is facing away from me, and he won't turn his mouth around.
"Um..would you turn around so I can kiss you?"
"Oh, sure..." We kiss for a moment, and then he turn around again, facing away from me.
Does he want me to do anal? Forget it!
I scoot down, pull up his rather small cut penis, and start oral sex. He gets aroused.
I've had guys ask all kinds of silly or even insulting things during sexual encounters (see What Not to Say During Sex):
"Do you like that big cock?"
"Who's your Daddy?"
"You do that better than my girlfriend."
"You're a dirty boy, aren't you?"
But Jesse is the worst. After about five minutes, he asks:
"Are you having fun?"
In the middle of a sexual encounter, he's bored?
I've never been so insulted!
I immediately pull my head up, and lie there fuming while he uses his hand to finish. I say no more than two or three words as he wipes off with a kleenix, pulls his clothes on, and leaves.
For several days, the kleenix stays on the floor where he missed the waste basket. I don't want to touch it, or Jesse, again.
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