My Date with the Most Conservative Professor on Campus

West Hollywood, May 1986

The University of Southern California in the 1980s was extremely elitist, stuffy, and conservative, and Charles Bertan was the most elitist, stuffy, and conservative of the faculty.  A little shorter than me, slim, with an oval, slightly irregular face and a crooked smile.

He had stuffy degrees from Harvard and Princeton, always wore a suit, carried a briefcase, and spoke with super-correct grammar.

This isn't him -- I couldn't find a picture that did the conservatism justice, and also showed some muscle.

He was only a few years older than me, but he had already published a dozen books and articles on Restoration and Augustan literature: John Donne, Henry Fielding, Alexander Pope, 18th century pastoral...

His classroom skills weren't great: he called students "Mr." and "Miss", never joked, rarely smiled, and called out mistakes tactlessly.  When asked a pleasant question like "How was your weekend?" he fumbled and stammered.

Other students disliked him; I was fascinated.

What kind of life did this guy have?  What did he do at night? Who did he go home to?  Did he watch tv, collect antiques, volunteer at a homeless shelter, go camping at Yosemite?  Or were Tom Jones and An Essay on Man life enough? 

I could not imagine Dr. Bertan taking off his shirt, getting naked, lying in bed, kissing someone, having sex.  Not that he wasn't attractive. He just wasn't a sexual being.

Or was he?  Maybe I could find out.

If I cruised him, he would probably rush off in horror, like a squirrel when you get too close.  I had to be subtle, make him think that he was cruising me.

1. Setting the ground work.

I began working out just before class, so I would still be pumped, and came in with the tightest t-shirt I could find  to show off my chest -- 50", my best feature.  Dr. Bertan kept trying not to look.

We met in a conference room, around a rectangular table, with Dr. Bertan at the head.  I started sitting adjacent to him, so occasionally our legs would brush together "by accident."  Once he got flustered and scooted his chair to the far end, but the next class session, he was in the middle of the table again.

When he passed me a batch of papers to hand out, I made sure that our hands touched "by accident."  He quickly moved away -- I just smiled.  

2. Piquing his interest.

His reactions suggested that he was gay, but just to make sure, one day I said, "I know we skipped over John Wilmont, Earl of Rochester in our anthology, but I read him anyway.  One line has me puzzled.  What does he mean by There's a sweet soft page of mine, does the trick worth forty wenches."

"Oh, well...." Dr. Bertan blushed a little.  "No doubt Rochester is suggesting his preference for...um...homosexuality."

"Right, right!"  I pretended it had just now dawned on me.  "I know all about that trick."

The class laughed. "Pages or wenches?" someone asked.

I just smiled.  Dr. Bertan stared at me for a moment, as if expecting a response, and then moved on.

Definitely gay.

3. The seduction.

I waited until final grades were posted, in case he had scruples against hooking up with a student, and then went to his office.  It was small but elegant: walnut desk, two chairs, small couch, Persian rug, floor-to-ceiling bookcases.

"I just wanted to thank you for a very interesting semester," I  began," "accidentally" slamming the door behind me.  "Wow, I wish I had a library like this.  A copy of The Rape of the Lock, illustrated by Aubrey Beardsley!"  I pointed to an old book on the top shelf.  "I love Beardsley!  Can I take a look at it?"

He beamed at my interest.  "Why, of course.  That's a beautiful edition.  I picked it up at a bookstall in Paris."  

It was too far up to reach, so I had to stand on a chair.

"Wait -- it's rickety -- let me support you.  There's a stepladder in the main office, if...."  Dr. Bertan's hands were pressing on my sides.  I tried to steady myself with a hand on his shoulder.  I grabbed the book -- and the chair slid out from under me.  I collapsed onto the floor,

Dr. Bertan knelt beside me.  "Are you...are you all right?" he stammered.

I just planned to leaf through a book, but this was much better!  "Fine.  A little shaken. Maybe I better sit down."

"Of course, of course."  He helped me onto the couch, and sat beside me. "Do you want to go to the Student Health Center?"

"Oh, no,  I'm fine.  Except I think I hit the chair on the way down.  Could you check for bruises?"

"Um...ok."  I raised my t-shirt.  He reached out and gingerly ran his hand over my chest.  "Anything tender?"

"No."  I put my hand over his and squeezed.  "You have a soft touch."

"Um...thanks."  He was staring in deer-in-headlight terror.  I had to make my next move carefully.

I retrieved the book, sat down beside him again, and put my arm around his shoulders, squeezing hard so he could feel my bicep rise. His hand moved to my lap.

"So, ready to look at those Beardsley illustrations?  Or did you have something else in mind?"

Dr. Bertan blushed red, and drew his hand away.  "I don't...I don't...I mean, I've never...."

"Well, isn't it about time you did?  We're the same age, and I'm not your student anymore, so what's stopping you?"

"Um...well...um...I suppose we could have dinner."

 So I didn't get a hookup, but I did get a date: very nice dinner at the Cafe Etoille  -- he was a little nervous, but warmed up quickly -- followed by a walk through West Hollywood, a stop at the Different Light Bookstore, then back to my apartment to spend the night.

We dated once or twice more, but then I flew off to Australia and Japan for the summer, and he went to London to research Alexander Pope, and by the time we returned, the moment had passed.

Besides, I kept calling him Dr. Bertan instead of Charlie.

See also: Cruised by a Young Republican; 8 Harvard Yard Hookups

Marcus's Beneath-the-Belt Mystery

West Hollywood, July 1985

Even in a gay community as big as West Hollywood, the new kid in town always gets noticed.

I arrived in Los Angeles on Wednesday, July 3rd, 1985.  Before July 10th, when I started my new job at Muscle and Fitness, I was cruised many times, received six phone numbers, and went out on two dates.

Marcus was Date #2.

We met on Friday, July 5th, in the Human Resources Department at Paramount Studios; I was waiting to be interviewed for an administrative assistant job, and he was dropping something off.  We chatted, and cruised, and exchanged phone numbers.

Marcus was in his 20s, shorter than me, muscular but a little chunky, African-American with very light skin, freckles, and a hairy chest.

Sounds great, right?  Three of the five traits I find attractive.  I just needed to check on his religiousity and his beneath-the-belt gifts!

Our date was on Saturday, July 6th:

An insider tour of Paramount Studios, followed by dinner at the French Quarter and cruising at the Gold Coast.

Marcus grew up in Kalispell, Montana, a hotbed of white supremacism, machismo, and homophobia: a horrible place for a kid who was quiet, shy, artistic, African-American, and gay.  He found solace in  the Episcopal Church, the the old movies they showed in downtown Kalispell, and the drama club at Glacier High School.  Before the ink was dry on his diploma, he headed out to Los Angeles to become an actor.

Sounds great, right?  I could certainly relate to being a shy, quiet, artistic kid in a terrible small town.  And he was religious, #4 on the list of traits that I find attractive. I just needed to check on #5, his beneath-the-belt gifts.

I can't count Marcus as a celebrity friend.  He had some tv guest spots and some live theater on his resume, but mostly he made do with temp jobs.  Currently he was working as a production assistant for Gimme a Break! 

At the end of the evening, we drove up into the Hollywood Hills, to a weird, eclectic house that Marcus shared with a film producer who may or may not have been his ex-lover.  We sat on the couch by a picture window that looked down on the lights of Hollywood.

Sounds great, right?  Exactly what I thought West Hollywood would be like: gay people everywhere, and lots of connection to the film industry, and a room with a view!

That's when things went wrong.

Time for the end-of-the-date activities!  I leaned in for a kiss.

Marcus pushed me away.

"No one knows what causes AIDS," he said solemnly.

Rather an odd nonsequitor! "Sure they do.  It's the HIV virus,  transmitted in semen and blood."

"They're not sure. Could be any body fluid, like saliva. We have to be safe."

"I'm always safe!" I announced, somewhat offended.  "I always use condoms."

"Condoms for anal and oral both?" Marcus asked pointedly.

"Um...no.  There's really no evidence that HIV is transmitted through oral alone."

"And what about French kissing?  If saliva doesn't do it, a tiny nick or puncture in your mouth will!"

No kissing?  "I've been tested!," I protested. " I'm HIV negative!"

"Those tests are inconclusive."  He touched my shoulder.  "Look -- I used to be out there cruising with the best of them, but when this whole thing stated, I vowed to be celibate until they find a cure."

Celibate?  Suddenly I felt very foolish. Was this supposed to be a just-friends outing?  "Does that mean...um...no dating?"

"Oh, no, we can date," Marcus said.  "There's a lot of fun things to do -- we can play tennis, go bowling, go to movies.  We can even spend the night together.  But no sex or kissing, until they find a cure.  Um...that's ok, isn't it?"

He was talking to the empty space left after I zoomed out of the house, leaving a me-shaped hole in the wall.

I didn't get chance to investigate his beneath-the-belt attributes.

But Marcus and I stayed friends, and he introduced me to several celebrities, including an old buddy from his acting class, Michael J. Fox.

Later he forgot the celibacy thing.

See also: My Date with Michael J. Fox; Marcus Hooks Up with One of the Hollywood Squares