Dating Two Roommates Who Aren't Out to Each Other

Dayton, Fall 2006

In 2005, after 20 years in gay neighborhoods, I moved to the Straight World of Dayton, Ohio. There were some gay people around, of course, but they adopted an aggressively heterosexual public life.

1. They appeared at events alone or with female friends.

2. They dropped pronouns when answering the question "What did you do this weekend?"

3. They had no gay friends, just hookups and romantic partners.

4. Whom they never discussed with their heterosexual friends.

5. Who obeyed an unspoken rule to pretend not to know.

In June 2006, I began going out with Paul (not his real name). He was in his 20s, a recent graduate of Ohio Dominican University who was doing some sort of lower-level office drone work while trying to become a writer.  He had four of the characteristics I find attractive: short, husky (actually tending to fat),  religious (devout Catholic), and gifted beneath the belt (not the fifth -- he was a pale blond).  

Since gay men in the Straight World would rarely agree to being seen in public in pairs, Paul and I mostly had Chinese food and watched DVD movies in my apartment (I never saw his apartment, because he wasn't out to his straight roommate.) 

When we wanted to do something public, we drove into Columbus, for dinner at La Fogata, or a gay-themed movie, or the theater.

In gay neighborhoods, you dated one guy at a time.  You became romantic partners by the third date; from that point onward, it was taboo to date or hook up with anyone else (except for "sharing" with friends and roommates).  But in the Straight World, it was acceptable, even expected, to date several guys at once.

I think the reason was the aggressively heterosexual public life.  Your boyfriend could not give you all of his attention; he couldn't take you to office parties, or to family functions, or even to street fairs.  So you needed several boyfriends to be assured of a date on Saturday night.

(That must be why the Episcopal priest who I met in Omaha had three boyfriends.)

So I kept on cruising and dating, and met another guy: Charlie (again, not his real name), a high school football coach and physical education teacher.  He was in his 20s, extremely muscular, with nice biceps and a thick, hairy chest.

Unfortunately, he also had 4 of the my Top 10 Turn-Offs:  taller than me; a sports nut; an outdoor nut; and an affinity for drinking beer.  

But in the Straight World, there are so few gay men to choose from that if he likes you and he's not completely repulsive, he's worth a shot.

Like Paul, Charlie led an aggressively heterosexual public life.  He wasn't out to his roommate, who was straight and "wouldn't understand."

He even had a "beard," a female friend who agreed to go with him to games and events, to help hide his gayness.

There was one nice thing about being closeted: Charlie never asked me to go to any football game.  We went hiking, deep in the wilderness of John Bryan State Park, where no one would notice us.  We went jogging at Rivers Edge park in Dayton, early in the morning when no one would notice us. We drove into Columbus to go cruising at the Exile.  

Things were going great -- I had two regular boyfriends, Paul and Charlie, one artistic, one athletic.  Of course, they insisted that our relationship be strictly secret, described in only the vaguest terms to gay people, and never mentioned at all to heterosexuals.  But it was easy to adapt to the new rules.

See if you can guess which statement I would say to heterosexuals, and which to gay people:

"Saturday night, one of my boyfriends took me to dinner at La Fogata"
"Saturday night, I had dinner at La Fogata."'

"The guy I'm dating swears by bicep exhaustion sets."
"A friend of mine swears by bicep exhaustion sets."

"My date and I went cruising at the Exile in Columbus."
"I went to Columbus."

Besides, I could continue cruising, in search of a third, fourth, or fifth boyfriend -- maybe, eventually, one for each night of the week!

In December, shortly after my birthday, Paul came down with a cold, so I decided to play the role of the thoughtful boyfriend and surprise him with some chicken soup.  I never got his address, so I had to call him for it.

"Sure, come on over," he said in a stuffed-up voice.  "But my roommate's here, so play it cool.  Say you're my cousin or something."

I drove out to his apartment in a rather nice complex in Huber Heights, a northern suburb of Dayton, and dialed the security code.  The door immediately buzzed open -- I was expected.

I walked to the second floor and knocked.

By now you've probably guessed what happened next:  

Charlie answered!

I was dating roommates!  

Paul and Charlie had been living together for over a year, but each thought other was straight and stayed strictly closeted.  Neither had any idea that the other knew me, or any gay people.  They had different interests, so their paths never crossed.

You may think that, when the smoke cleared, the three of us settled down into a cozy romantic triad.  In fact, they were both extremely embarrassed over the year of closeting.  Charlie broke up with me on the spot (not because I had another boyfriend -- because someone else "knew").  He soon moved out.

Paul and I continued to date.  But, when he was advertising for a new roommate, I insisted that he tell all prospects that he was gay. Then we moved in together.  Big mistake!

See also: The Guy Who Was Too Good in Bed

The Ex-Con at the Ice Cream Stand

Nashville, August 1991

I arrived in Nashville on August 18th, 1991, sad about leaving West Hollywood but looking forward to my new graduate program in Biblical Hebrew at Vanderbilt Divinity School.  I found an apartment and an adjunct teaching job, toured the campus, and looked for Nashville's gay life:

Three gay organizations, some bars, and a Metropolitan Community Church.

On my first Saturday, I went to two of the bars, both on dismal country roads beyond the city limits.  The first was completely deserted except for a woman who tried to pick me up -- a real woman -- and the second was about half drag queens, half rednecks.  No one I found attractive.

I missed Mugi and the French Quarter.

Disappointed, I left after about an hour.  On the way back into town, I stopped at an old-fashioned ice cream place called Bobbie's Dairy Dip, ordered a hot fudge sundae, and sat at one of the picnic tables outside.

"'Scuse me, sir, do you mind if I join you?"

I looked up:  A country boy, barely out of his teens: tall and thin, scruffy black hair, handsome round face, unshaven, wearing a button-down shirt, jeans, and dirty tennis shoes.  Holding a dish of frozen custard.

Shocked, I motioned "ok."  He sat across from me and stuck out his hand.  Very dry, firm handshake.

"You were looking at me at that other place we was at, but I didn't have the nerve to come say hi.  The name's Red."

Was this the way people cruised in Nashville?

Red was very talkative: he was 25 years old, grew up in a small town outside Nashville, and worked at a gas station.  He just got out of prison a few months ago -- DUI and resisting arrest.

Not the best pickup line!  

But he "turned his life around." He was sober, he had his GED, and he was taking classes at the community college.  He wanted to go to Middle Tennessee State and study zoology.

"You been to college, ain't you?" he asked.  "I can tell by the way you talk."

"Yep, I almost got a Ph.D.  I'm at Vanderbilt now, studying Biblical Hebrew."

"Whoa, Biblical Hebrew, that's hard.  I can tell, just talking to you, that your brain is working at like three or four levels above mine.  Let me ask you something."  He reached under the table and rubbed his foot against mine  "Do you think it will ever be legal for people like us to get together?"

At that moment, some kids at another started table laughing.  Red jumped up and ran to his car.

I joined him.  "They weren't laughing at us, you know."

"It's not safe here.  You're from California, you don't know -- we got to keep a low profile.  Could we go to your house?"

Red was cute, with the "lost soul" look I liked  But I was a bit nervous about inviting a scruffy-looking stranger, an ex-con, back to my apartment.  "I like to take things slow, get to know the guy," I said  "How about we go out to dinner Tuesday night?"

"Ok.  But someplace safe."  He thought for a moment.  "How about Bucky's, down in Columbia."

I'd never heard of Columbia, but I assumed it was a suburb of Nashville, where Red lived.

Of course, I got his contact information, and gave it to Lane back home.

Columbia turned out to be about 50 miles away, and Bucky's a heterosexist "family restaurant" that served "chicken an dressin'."

Red was wearing a plaid button-down shirt and a red tie.  He gave me a plastic rose, the kind they sell at 7-11.  A little weird.

"I never had a real date with a guy before," he said with a shy smile.  "Usually they just want to do you and go home."

We ate our "chicken an dressin'" while Red fondled my leg under the table with his foot and smoked cigarettes.

I hated smokers!

Afterwards he wanted to go to the club up in Nashville, where they had drag shows on Tuesday nights.

Then why did I drive all the way down here?  For Southern Country Cooking?

But I had already invested time and energy in this guy, so we went. It was ok, if you like drag shows.

On the way back to our cars, a pick-up truck pulled up next to us, and the passenger-side door opened.  It was all dark inside. "Hey, faggots," someone whispered.  "Get in."

Red grabbed my hand, and we ran back to the bar.  We waited a half hour before trying to leave again.

It was after midnight  I was tired and scared.  I just wanted to go home -- alone.  But when I suggested that we call it a night, Red looked so disappointed that I invited him home.

We sat on the couch in the living room, kissing -- Red was admittedly good at that.  But the moment I tried to go down on him, he said "You got any photo albums?  I want to know everything there is to know about you."

So we watched TV and leafed through my photo albums.  I showed Red photos of my parents and brother and sister, my friends at Denkmann, Washington, Rocky High, Augustana, Indiana, and West Hollywood.  He kept up a constant stream of questions

It was 2:00 am!  Time for bed!

I drew Red to his feet and pulled him into the bedroom.  He stared at the bed next to the window.

"We can't sleep there!  Too risky."

I was too tired to argue.  I spread some blankets and pillows out onto the living room floor and tore off Red's shirt and tie.  Hard hairy chest, lanky arms.  I pulled his pants down and went down on his cut Kielbasa+.  He groaned.

"Hey, you know what would be good?  Some music."

So I turned MTV on, and we moved into 69 position to Madonna's "Express Yourself."

So if you want it right now, make him show you how
Express what he's got, oh baby ready or not

Red was very eager -- he finished while I was going down on him during "Express Yourself," and again on top of me, with his penis between my legs.  Then he went down on me twice.

But the evening was too weird -- a 45 minute drive for chicken, a drag show, gay bashing, photo albums, MTV -- I decided not to see him again.

The next Sunday, I went to services at the MCC, the gay church.  And Red was there, sititing in the front row!

See also: The Country-Western Star; the Bed-Switching Freshman at the Chocolate Moose.