My Date with the Estonian Mountain Climber

Long Island, September 1997

I was very busy in the fall of 1997, my first semester on Long Island.  I was taking  three graduate seminars in sociology; teaching an adjunct class at Hofstra University, 2 hours away by train; going into Manhattan every weekend; and being swarmed by undergrads.

Every twink, Cute Young Thing, and newly-out prettyboy on Long Island wanted my phone number, including Yuri, the Russian "teenager", and Jaan the Estonian mountain climber.

Jaan was a graduate student in physics who Yuri brought as a "date" to my 37th birthday party in November 1997: tall and blond, two turn-offs, but very, very muscular, with intense black eyes, and very persistent -- he kept following me around the room, staring shyly.

I hadn'd met anyone from Estonia, the Baltic country with the language similar to Finnish, since 9th grade, when George and Kristjan taught me Graeco-Roman wrestling. Jaan didn't speak English very well, but I managed to get him to tell me about growing up in Johvi, near Narva, on the Russian border (only two hours from St. Petersburg by car), mountain climbing in Scotland, and especially his best friend Arvi.

Eventually I disentangled myself and found Yuri.  "Do you mind if I ask Jaan for a date?"

He frowned.  "You mean like...um, a boyfriend?  No, why do I care?  I don't like guys."  He wouldn't admit to being gay until the Christmas party next month.

"Ok, thanks.  Oh -- by the way, he is gay, right?"

"You know, I didn't ask, but maybe he is.  Here in America, you are always careful.  Anybody might be gay."  He leaned in close.  "If you date him, tell me how big he is, ok?"

"Sure, no problem."

So I made a date to take Jaan to see Brad Pitt in Seven Years in Tibet, followed by dinner at the Curry Club, a very nice Indian restaurant in East Setauket.

I talked about how cute Brad Pitt is; how I always thought of Tibet as a "good place" where same-sex desire was open and free; and about Lee back in West Hollywood.

Jaan agreed that Brad Pitt was very handsome, and talked about how he and his best friend always wanted to go to Tibet to climb Mount Everest.  Our legs brushed together. Then he stared intently into my eyes and said "Do you want to come back to my room?"

Score!  New York was much more conservative than West Hollywood.  Inviting someone home on the first date was practically unheard-of!

Turns out that Jaan lived in a graduate student apartment, and shared his bedroom with a guy named Erik, who was watching tv out in the living room.

After the introductions, I put my arm around Jaan's waist, and led him into the bedroom.  Jaan got me a soda out of the mini-fridge and invited me to sit down on the bed.

At that moment Erik came tromping in. "Sorry, I need this book," he explained.

We sat on the bed side by side.  I took a few sips of my soda to be polite, then put it aside and leaned over to kiss Jann.  Then Erik came tromping in again.  "Sorry, I need a pen."

"He's trying to get a glimpse of us making out!" I exclaimed.  "Can you tell him we'd like some privacy?"

"He has as much right to be here as I do."

I shrugged.  Ok, if Jaan didn't mind, then I didn't either. Maybe Erik was gay and wanted to join in, as was the custom in West Hollywood.

I reached over, put my arm around Jaan, drew him close, and kissed him on the mouth.


Or tried to.  Before I got there, he leapt to his feet and ran to the other side of the room.  His face was ashen-pale.  "Mida sa teed?" he exclaimed "Mida sa teed?" (What are you doing? in Estonian.)

"Um...I was....um...going to kiss you," I said, shocked.

He stared.  "Why?"

"Are you nervous because of your roommate?  Because we can go to my apartment -- I have my own place, where we can be alone."

He stared.

"Um..because, you know, it's the end of our date.  You invited me to your room. That means you want to..."

He stared.

"Maybe I'd better be going."

The next day Yuri called.  "Hey, you really freaked out Jaan.  He doesn't know you are gay, and then suddenly you try to have sex with him!

"He didn't know?" I repeated, rather angry.  "How could he not know? It was a date, we talked about ex-boyfriends, and then he invited me back to his room.  That's a major tease!"

"Estonia is...what do you say...old fashioned."

"But... All during the date, talking about my boyfriends? Same-sex desire being open and free?  How could he be so oblivious?"

 "He didn't even know that there were gays until last night.  I had to explain it to him."  He paused.  "So anyway, he wants to know if you will date him again next Friday."

The Estonian Wrestling Brothers

There are only about 25,000 people of Estonian ancestry in the United States, as opposed to 1.2 million of Swedish ancestry.  But when I was growing up in Rock Island, Estonia appeared in my life nearly as often as Sweden, giving me an early impression that it was a "good place," where same-sex desire was open and free.

1. In 4th grade at Denkmann Elementary School, Bill's parents took us to a performance by the Estonian National Ballet at Augustana College. I don't remember the piece (this is from Modigliani, the Cursed Artist in the 2012-13 season).

2. Our 4th grade teacher considered Estonia part of Scandinavia for some reason, and told us Estonian folktales and the story of Kalevipoeg.

3. At a garage sale in 5th or 6th grade, I bought a book written in Finnish. I couldn't read it, of course -- the lady at sale told me that the title meant Come to Estonia-- but there were some nice pictures of Estonian houses, monuments, and the naked statue of Kalevipoeg by Kristjan Raud, plus some shirtless Estonian men (not this photo).


4. In 9th grade at Washington Junior High, I was playing the violin and coveting the position of first chair, when one day in the spring, a slim, sandy-haired 7th grader named George (top photo, left) appeared out of nowhere and easily won the audition.




A few weeks later, I entered a chess tournament, and George was my first opponent.  A 7th grader -- an easy win! I thought.  Nope, he trounced me in five moves!

It was annoying to be beaten in everything, but George was cute, and my boyfriend Dan was becoming more and more distant, so I thought of making "the switch."  I told George that I was on the wrestling team, and offered to show him some moves.  "I'll show you Estonian wrestling!" he offered.

It turned out to be Graeco-Roman wrestling.  He pinned me easily.  

George's parents were refugees from Communist Estonia.  His father worked in the factory, but he had been an athlete of some sort back home.  There was a picture of him and his muscular, shirtless teammates on the mantle (not this one).


George had a older brother, a 11th grader named Kristjan, who was just as accomplished.  One day all three of us practiced Estonian wrestling in their basement rec room.

We never became close friends, but I still have warm memories of two muscular bodies pressed against me.

(Photo from Alo Paistik, an Estonian artist living in Paris, whose Applied Art for a Gay Club is on display at gay clubs around Europe.)

5. At Augustana College, the professor who taught my first-year music theory class was Estonian (no doubt he was the one who arranged to have the Estonian National Ballet visit a few years before).  He gave me a B- on my paper on Peer Gynt.  He wore jeans to class -- a remarkable feat of daring for a professor in the 1970s, and one which offered proof of why Kristjan Raud always depicted his models nude.

Yuri and I Hook Up with A Swedish Bodybuilder in Estonia

Tallinn, Estonia, June 1998

In 1998, Yuri and I were competing over Jaan the Estonian mountain climber, and accompanied him home for a visit, only to discover that he already had a boyfriend.

We were scheduled to spend seven days in Johvi, Estonia, ending with the Jaanipaev, the Midsummer Festival, but there wasn't a lot to do except visit old churches and go to Russian movies, especially with Jaan off with The Boyfriend and his parents interrogating us about when we were planning to find girls and get married.  So we decided to spend three days exploring Tallinn, the capital, about two hours away by train.

It turned out to be my second-favorite city in Europe (after Paris), with an Old Town full of quiet cobblestone streets and Hanseatic red-roofed houses.  Interesting museums, naked statues of national hero Kalevipoeg, and monuments like "Kiek in de Kok Tower" (which means "Peek in the Kitchen").  No gay saunas, but several bars with "dark rooms," an area separated from the main bar by a thick curtained doorway.

On our second night in town, we were in the Angel Bar on the aptly-named Sauna Street, a few blocks from the Kiek in de Kok Tower, when an older guy came in, probably around 50, very tall (a big turn-off), but muscular, nearly a bodybuilder, with a hairy chest visible beneath his thin white t-shirt and  a blatant bulge in his worn jeans.

He looked exactly like a serial killer who was in the news back in the U.S. (I forget his name), so I said "Best keep away from that guy!" But when he went into the dark room, Yuri foIlowed.

Other guys went in and out, so I figured they were ok until, after about ten minutes, the tall guy left abruptly and practically raced out the door. Was there a problem?  Was Yuri lying on the floor, stabbed to death?

I went back into the dark room, felt around until I found Yuri -- not stabbed to death -- and dragged him out.  "Well, what happened?"

"I'm in love!"  Yuri exclaimed with a beatific smile, spreading out his hands as if he was measuring a fish.  "But I don't forget you.  We are having dinner with him tomorrow night."

"Who is he? What's his name?"

Yuri shrugged.  "How do I know?  We don't do a lot of talking back there, right?"  But he held out an address scribbled on a scrap of paper in the dark: Texas Honky Tonk, Pikk 43, 20:00 (8:00 pm).

"Wait for tomorrow -- tomorrow, we will share, ok?"

You didn't really "share" a first date -- too many things could go wrong.  Besides, a tall, stern guy who looked like a serial killer -- maybe he just wanted to get us alone to strike!

 But it beat spending the night alone.

We ended up going home with Kaspar, an office worker in his 30s with blond hair, a tight muscular frame, and a Bratwurst+.

The next night, we showed up at the Texas Honky Tonk, a restaurant with American and Texan flags outside and a live band singing Estonian versions of Mexican mariachi songs.  Maybe Yuri's date wasn't a serial killer, just gauche.

He was waiting in the foyer, wearing a ruffled white shirt and blue slacks, much less gaunt and scary than before.  I could see myself hanging out with this guy.  "Oh -- I didn't know you had someone," he said with a frown.

"Oh, yeah, Boomer came to Europe with me.  We visit our friend Jaan in Johvi.  He wants to join us, ok?"

He said "How do you do? My name is Kalle." Politely, but obviously displeased with my interference.

As we ate our quesadillas, sopa de buca, and fajitas (with pickles and marinated onions), Kalle ignored my questions.  He said only that he was in Estonia "on business," and he often traveled through the Baltic states and Russia.  He didn't say what business.  But he asked Yuri detailed, complicated questions in a mixture of English and Russian, about weather inversions, hurricanes, cyclones, and climatic patterns.

Wait...wasn't Kalle a Swedish name?  "I had a date with King Carl Gustaf," I said tentatively.  "That was before he got married, so everyone thought he was gay."

Kalle stared at me, then turned to Yuri.  "On siniy?," he asked in Russian, assuming that I wouldn't know siniy = blue = gay.

"Natural'no!"  Yuri exclaimed.  Yes, of course!

With a chuckle, he reached over and put his arm around Yuri and pulled him close. "I didn't know!," he told Yuri -- not me.  "I thought we had to be cautious -- Americans are crazy about that kind of thing, you know!"

From then on, Kalle was all smiles, but he continued to give me Attitude (pretend that I wasn't there).  I tried to pique his interest by talking about growing up in a Swedish community, attending a Swedish Lutheran college, reading Nils Holgersson, Miss Julie, and Dag Hammarsjold's Markings.

Nothing worked.

One thing I have learned:  if intellectual conversation doesn't work, penises do.  So I talked about my nude modeling career and porn movie.  But Kalle merely nodded politely and asked "How do you measure the Coriolis Effect?" while fondling Yuri's leg.

By the time we got to the flan (Mexican custard, oddly flavored with ligonberries), I gave up.  "Why don't we all meet for breakfast tomorrow?" I suggested.

"What?" Kalle exclaimed, startled. "You're not coming back to the hotel with Yuri and I?"

"Well, I thought...I mean..."

"Come now, don't be a crazy American...join us."

In the morning we had a huge Estonian breakfast of black bread, herring, fried eggs, and some kind of porridge.  "There are lots of jobs in Stockholm for men who speak English and know statistical software," Kalle announced.  "Maybe you will send me your resume."

"I'm an expert in SPSS..." I began expectantly.  But he was back to ignoring me to gaze lovestruck at Yuri.  He pressed a card with his telephone number and email address into his hand.

Back in America, Yuri and I both emailed Kalle our resumes, but he never responded.

See also: Yuri Teaches the Gay Bears About Sharing.

Summer 1998: The Estonian Mountain Climber Makes His Choice

At my birthday party in 1997, my friend Yuri, the Russian meteorology major who claimed to be heterosexual, introduced me to Jaan, the Estonian mountain climber.  Jaan didn't even know what gay people were until he found out the hard way during our "date" on November 29nd.

 He learned fast.

Two weeks later, on December 13th, I took Yuri to a Christmas party, and gave him the choice of dancing with me or sharing my bed later.

He chose my bed.

Then it was Christmas break, and we scattered, me to Rock Island, Yuri to visit friends in Montreal, and Jaan to a skiing vacation in Vermont.

When I returned, Yuri was out. And interested in Jaan.

 I couldn't figure out why; they were nothing alike.

Jaan was quiet, shy, conservative, and monogamous: he wanted romance, "one special guy."

Yuri was loud, flamboyant, liberal, and not monogamous; he wanted to do everything and everyone. He went through my copy of The Joy of Gay Sex and circled fifty acts that he wanted to try.

It must have been their shared heritage: Estonia was part of the Soviet Union until 1991, and Jaan spoke fluent Russian.

But most likely it was Jaan's obvious gifts beneath the belt; Yuri liked them big, the bigger the better (in 1999 he would drag me to the Basque country of Spain in search of the World's Biggest Penis).

So we spent the spring 1998 semester competing over Jaan.  Every week we orchestrated bigger and better dates.  If I took Jaan to the Mr. New York Leather contest at the Manhattan Eagle, Yuri would come up with a weekend at Fire Island.  If Yuri invited Jaan to a campus production of Angels in America, the next weekend I would score tickets to Chicago on Broadway.

Dinner at The Curry Club?  Dinner at Mirabelle.
A free concert in Central Park?  The New York Philharmonic.
Hiking on Shelter Island?  Rock climbing in the Adirondacks

In New York's gay culture of the 1990s, there was no such thing as having multiple boyfriends.  You dated one guy at a time. Yet Jaan kept accepting dates with both of us.

It was excruciating.  Something had to give.

Then Jaan announced that he was flying back to Estonia for a visit.


Yuri and I braced ourselves; whoever he invited to go with him was obviously the One.

He invited us both.

"Great!" I said.  "I'd love to meet your family.  But could we spend a few days in Helsinki first?  I've been dying to see Finland ever since I was a little kid."

"Great!" Yuri said.  "I'd love to meet your family. But could we spend a few days in St. Petersburg first? I'm homesick for my friends at the university."

We waited anxiously for his answer; whoever he agreed to a side trip with was obviously the One.

He agreed to both.

We flew out of New York, changed planes in London, and arrived in Helsinki about 4:00 pm on June 14th, 1998.  After dinner and a brief city tour, we checked into our hotel.  Our room had a double bed and a single rollaway.

Yuri and I looked at each other with surprise and elation. Whoever Jaan invited to share his bed was obviously the One.  

We stalled while Jaan undressed to his underwear.  Then, without a word, he climbed into the rollaway and fell asleep.

We kept the same bedroom arrangements for three days of sightseeing in Helsinki.  In St. Petersburg, we all shared the same double bed, with Jaan in the middle (yes, things happened).  Then we took the two-hour train trip to Johvi, Estonia, a small town near the Baltic Sea known chiefly for St. Michael's Church and an annual Ballet Festival (which we missed.)

We were met at the train station by a middle-aged man and woman and a tall black-haired muscle god.  After hugging them effusively, Jaan introduced us in Estonian.

"Minu sober Boomer, minu sober Yuri."

Then he switched to Russian.  "Moya mat, Katria; Moy otets, Peeter.  Moy druzhok, Arvi.

They hugged us so effusively that he forgot to translate into English.  Then they bundled us off to a loud, raucous lunch at a little cafe on the second floor of the Concert Hall. They chattered mostly in Estonian, with occasional phrases translated into Russian or English for our benefit.

I'd been learning Russian with Yuri all year, so I knew mat, "mother" and otets, "father."  But what was druzhok?  When I had a moment alone, I checked my Russian dictionary.

Good friend, bosom buddy, boyfriend!

Jaan had made his choice.

See also: The First Time Yuri and I Shared.