"My Uncle's Queer": My Nephew's Transformation from Choir Boy to Punk Rocker

Rock Island, December 1999

I am in grad school in New York, visiting Rock Island and Indianapolis for the holidays, staying with my brother Kenny in his rundown, rambling house downtown.  The house is crowded with Kenny's children and stepchildren, plus a huge assortment of dogs, cats, hamsters, and parrots.

It's easy to miss Joel, Ken's youngest son, in the crowd: he's thirteen years old, short, slim, a quiet, polite Johnny Nazarene.  But a talented singer: he's toured in Iowa, Minnesota, and Sweden with the Moline Boys' Choir.  We go to their Christmas concert and hear his solo in "Come, O Come Emmanuel."

December 2000

Yuri and I are visiting Rock Island for the holidays. My family practices a "don't ask, don't tell" policy, so they don't know if we're friends or boyfriends or lovers.  Most of them probably don't even know that we are gay.  But Joel figures it out.  Although he claims to be straight, he asked us to teach him and his friend Max "how gay guys have sex."

Yuri and I teach him about gay kissing.





August 2001

I've completed my Ph.D., and I'm visiting Rock Island for a few days just before moving to Florida.  Joel is a cute 15 year old with short black hair, pale skin, and nicely rounded biceps.  Nazarenes aren't allowed to listen to "the devil's music," basically anything with guitars, but he likes Weezer, Nickelback, and other groups that I never heard of, but sound loud.

Oddly, ,my brother doesn't forbid it.  "It's his life," Kenny says.  "If he likes the devil's music, that's on him."

Joel asks why I didn't bring Yuri.  "You guys are, like, hot together, aren't you?"

Ken glares at me, accusing me of outing myself to his son.  "Boomer has a lot of friends, all kinds," he explains.  "Black, white, Jewish, Muslim, gay, straight.  He's so liberal, it hurts."



December 2001

It's only been six months since I saw him last, and the transformation is amazing.  Joel is a surly 15-year old, dressed all in black, who protests the "capitalist spending frenzy" of Christmas.  He spends most of his time in his room, listening to metal music.  He emerges to eat a bowl of Lucky Charms instead of Christmas dinner, and to ask "So, Uncle Gizmo, are the beach boys hot down in Florida?  I bet you get tons of action."

In front of the whole family, including relatives I wasn't out to!

"Um...well, I do ok," I stammer.

Later I ask Kenny if Joel is gay.

"Nope, nope, nope!" Kenny exclaims.  "He's totally hot for girls.  He's got a little gay friend, but that doesn't mean a thing."


June 2003

Maybe Kenny is angry about my accidental outing, or maybe he's just busy, but he doesn't invite me to Christmas in Rock Island in 2002. I don't visit again until June 2003.

Joel has just turned 17.  He has green hair, earrings,  and a pierced lip.  He gives me a hug and calls me "Beach Boy,"

He just got back from Hardcore Fest, where he heard Walls Of Jericho, Suicide Note, Saved By Grace, As We Speak, Provoke, How It Ends, Devastator, Preacher Gone To Texas, Blood In Blood Out, Too Pure To Die, For Death or Glory, Wings Of Scarlet, Uphold, Begin Again, King of Clubz, Pound for Pound, Undo Tomorrow, Haunted Life and Butt Lynt.

"Sounds like a great lineup," I tell him. I've never heard of any of them.

And naturally he's the lead vocalist in his own punk band, The Dead Eunuchs.

June 2004

Joel has a bright red mohawk and a nose ring.  The Dead Eunuchs has been performing all over the Quad Cities.  Tonight they have a gig at the Rusty Nail in Davenport.

"You should come," Joel says.  "We play a great set."

Well -- I'm not much for punk music in noisy heterosexual bars. "I don't think..."

 "You'll like one of our songs.  It's called 'My Uncle's Queer.'"


My face begins to burn.  Is Joel outing me in front of roomsful of drunken heterosexual rednecks?  "Queer?  Sounds homophobic!" I exclaim.

"The Dead Eunuchs are opposed to racism, sexism, homophobia, anti-Semitism, fascism, capitalism, brutality, and the police state," Joel recites.  "It's right there on our MySpace page. Come Saturday night.  You'll find out."

It's a small club with a bar and grille and a little stage.  About 20 people in the audience, some rednecks, but mostly bohemians of all shapes and sizes.  The Dead Eunuchs, five guys in their late teens or early 20s, perform in mohawks, shirtless (nice abs), with lots of crotch-grabbing and pretending to lick each other.

Their songs are the standard punk "life is meaningless" shtick, until they come to "My Uncle's Queer."

As far as I can tell from the screeching, the lyrics are:

My uncle's queer, you heard me right!
He won't tell Dad, he's scared to fight!
Break the system, break the wall,
Press your cock against my balls.
We're all dying from the fear
Inside out, everybody's queer!

Not very complementary, but at least it's inclusive.

Guitar riff, and then the second verse:


My sister kissed a dyke for [?],
My brother sucked a stud for Jesus
We all got cocks, we all got balls,
We all got faces pressed to the wall.
I am queer!  You are queer!
Hear that preacher, the world is queer!

"Nice inclusive message," I tell Joel later as he sits, shirtless and sweat-soaked, at my booth eating a hamburger.   "But not entirely accurate.  I've been out to your Dad since high school.  He was the first one I told when I figured it out."

"The song isn't about you.  It's about everybody who's afraid to be who they are."

I hesitate about asking if Joel is really "queer" or not -- it would be contrary to his message of solidarity.

And no, he never invites me to "press my cock against his balls."  

Nephew Sausage Sighting #4: My Nephew's Boyfriend

Washington DC, November 2014

Of all the strange phone calls I've received from my mother over the years, the weirdest was at 7:00 am one Saturday morning in November 2014.

"When you're in Washington, DC for your conference next weekend, why don't you drive down to Norfolk to visit your nephew?  He lives there now."

What nephew lived in Norfolk?  Last I heard, my sister's son was in Indianapolis, and Kenny's sons were all in Rock Island.  Except Frank, who lived somewhere in Tennessee or...Virginia.  "Is it Frank?"

"No, it's Robbie."

"Who?"

I can't be blamed for not recognizing his name.  I'd forgotten about Kenny's stepson Robbie.

Kenny's first wife died of cancer in January 1993, leaving him 29 years old, working night shifts at the factory, with four kids, aged 10, 9, 7, and 5.  The grandparents helped out a bit, but everyone gossipped that he remarried less than five months after the funeral to get free childcare.

His new wife, Angie, scandalized the Nazarene Church.  She was a heathen Baptist!  Eight years older than him!  And divorced -- nearly the unpardonable sin!   Plus she had three kids of her own:  two girls, ages 13 and 10, and a boy, Robbie, age 15, nearly as old as Kenny!

I saw Robbie at the wedding, at Christmas dinner in 1993, when Kenny and his family took me out for pizza in the summer of 1994, and at Christmas dinner in 1994.  He was a cute teenager with black hair and glasses, pale, soft, and quiet.  I don't think we exchanged more words than a "how's California?" and "how's school?"

By the summer of 1995, Robbie was living somewhere in Ohio or Pennsylvania with his grandparents.  I don't know why.

Maybe he didn't like his new role as "big brother" to his stepbrothers and stepsister.

 Maybe he didn't like living in the big, rambling house downtown, in a "bad" neighborhood.

Maybe the Nazarene rules seemed oppressive.

Although Ken adopted him, so he was technically part of the family, he cut off all contact with the Davises (he did sometimes call his sisters).  As far as I knew, neither Ken nor Mom and Dad had heard from Robbie in 20 years.

How would Mom even know where he was, let alone want me to visit?

"He doesn't talk to your brother, but he talks to the girls [Ken's step-daughters], and they talk to me.  They even had us over when he flew out to visit a couple of years ago."  She paused.  "It wouldn't hurt for you to go see him."

It wouldn't hurt.  I could ask him why he left so abruptly.

Besides, I love Norfolk.  It reminded me of my old West Hollywood friend Alan, and his boyfriend Sandy.  Beautiful Colonial architecture, the Chrysler Museum of Art, lots of gay nightlife, 50% black population.

So I called -- it took Robbie a moment to remember that "Oh, yeah, Ken had a brother."  He invited me down for a visit.

On the Saturday of the conference, I drove down to Norfolk and got a hotel room -- no need to press my luck.  Then I stopped by an antique store to buy a gift, and drove to Robbie's house.

It was way on the north side of town, in Ocean View near the military base.

There was a teenager trimming the hedges with a weed wacker.  Probably 18 or 19, blond hair, scruffy blond beard, blue eyes.  Shirtless, even though it was in the 60s outside: broad shoulders, smooth chest, lightly tanned, firm but not massive, pinprick nipples, tight abs with an innie belly button.

"Hi!  I was hoping to finish before you got here.  We were trying to spruce up the place."

"Oh, everything looks fine, believe me," I said, looking him up and down.

"You must be Boomer.  My name is Beau."  We shook hands.  "Robbie's inside -- he's a little nervous."  He wrapped a buffed arm around my shoulders.  "Come on, let's do the reunion."

Calling him by his first name --  Robbie must be gay!  Beau must be a boyfriend!

He led me into the house and yelled "The victim for the human sacrifice is here!"

Robbie appeared.  My nephew was 37 years old, tall, slim, eyeglassed, balding on top.  "Is this wise guy giving you a hard time, Uncle Boomer?"

None of my nephews and nieces call me Uncle anything.  Way to make me feel old!

"Oh no, he's great."

"He smells like he's been skinning skunks!" Robbie exclaimed.  "Beau, go upstairs and take a shower, and put on that nice shirt I got you.  We're taking Uncle Boomer out to dinner."

"Yes, Master!" Beau shot me a wink and trounced up the stairs.

"He's cute," I said as Robbie led me into the living room.

"Yep.  On the wrestling team.  And smart, too -- he's going to study engineering at Old Dominion.  I really lucked out with this one."

Lucked out?  Obviously Beau was a boyfriend!  Of course Mom wouldn't have said anything -- the whole family practiced a "don't ask, don't tell" policy.

Robbie opened his gift and talked about his job -- at the Navy yard, but a civilian -- and the house -- $150,000 mortgage --  and asked me about the Plains, while I ruminated:

I'm not actually related to Robbie by blood, and since I only saw him a few times, I have none of the family-bond stuff that stifled erotic interest in my other nephews.  

We could have a three way!  My nephew and his boyfriend!  I wonder if they are hung....

It didn't take long to find out.  Beau came bounding down the stairs -- naked, his penis swinging between his legs.  Bratwurst, cut, low-hanging balls, shaved pubic hair.    I gaped.

"Beau!  Where are your manners?"

 "What -- we're all guys here!  I can't find that new shirt."

"Look in your closet, next to your suit."

"Gotcha." He turned -- nice view of his butt as he walked up the stairs again.

"I swear, that boy is a born nudist!  He would go naked at the Metropolitan Opera, if I let him!  He must have got that from his mother."

His mother?  Wait...

"Does...um...his mother live in Norfolk, too?" I asked.

"Oh, no, she's got her own place in Newport News [about ten miles away].  Beau is just with me on weekends.  That's why I moved to Norfolk -- I wasn't going to go months and months without seeing Beau, so when Kathie's husband got a job out here, I came too."

Wait -- that's a weird thing to do for your boyfriend...

"Um...sounds like you get along well with Kathie."

Robbie shrugged.  "I guess so.  I mean, there's no hostility or anything.  I like Joe, too.  He's a good stepfather, supports the boy, but never tries to take my place."

I missed the implied criticism that my brother had not been a good stepfather -- I was too busy being embarrassed.  Beau wasn't Robbie's boyfriend.  They might not even be gay.

Way to make me feel old: my little brother's kid has an 18-year old son!

Who I just saw naked!

I smiled.  That's got to be one for the record books: Sausage sighting of my nephew's son.

See also: I Visit Alan and His Boy Toy in Virginia

Nephew Sausage Sighting #3: A Fondle and a Penis Sock

After my parents moved to Indianapolis in 1995, I used to stay with my brother when I returned to Rock Island for Christmas or summer visits.

He put me in a room next to his sons, Ethan (born June 1982) and Frank (born October 1983), so I saw them shirtless and in their underwear often, and had several sausage sightings over the years (of course, I only count the ones that happened after they turned 18, when their penises were fully matured).

But his youngest son, Joel (born April 1986), had a room on the other side of the house (actually two houses crammed together), so I rarely saw him at all.




Rock Island, June 2004

When I visited Rock Island in the summer of 2004, Joel was the only nephew still living with Kenny: an eighteen year old punk rocker with a scarlet mohawk, a pierced lip, and several tattoos.  Nice smooth chest, though, washboard abs, thick biceps, more buffed than emo.

I saw him perform with his group, the Dead Eunuchs: five guys with scarlet mohawks, all in their late teens and early 20s.  They did a lot of crotch-grabbing and pretending to lick each other, with lines like "push your cock against my balls" and "everybody is queer."

Quite a penis fixation!  Now I definitely wanted a sausage sighting!


But my brother still put me in the small room next to Frank and Ethan's old room.  I could hardly walk all the way down the hall, go down the stairs, cross the kitchen, and walk down another hall to burst into Joel's bathroom.

There are only two other foolproof ways to get a sausage sighting:

1. Invite him to go swimming or to the gym, where he'll have to strip down, and you can sneak a peek.

I invited Joel to work out with me and my friend Dick, a very buffed ex-bully, at the YMCA.  But he came with his gym clothes on beneath his leather jacket, so he wouldn't have to shower or change clothes there.

2. Have sex with him.

 I got no gay vibe from Joel -- he was always talking about this or that girl -- but with lines like "suck a stud for Jesus" and "press your cock against my balls," he had to be bi or pansexual.

I had no intention of going down on my 18-year old nephew, but I wouldn't mind watching while he went down on someone else: Dick or his boyfriend Jack, the "pizza boy," a slim, theatrical twink: oval face, sparkling black eyes, wavy black hair, nice chest and biceps.

They invited us to dinner the day after the workout, which also happened to be the day before I would be leaving Rock Island.  I didn't say anything about a three-way, figuring that it would take care of itself, but the evening had a West Hollywood feel: a guy bringing his new boyfriend over for his friends to "share."

Joel plowed into his steak and kidney pie with a gusto that made one wonder how he kept the weight off -- especially given the increasing bulk of his father and older brother.  "I know Uncle Beach Boy won't be around, but you guy should definitely come and hear the Dead Eunuchs on Saturday.  I can get you VIP seats."

"Does that come with a backstage pass?" Jack asked.  "You know, so I can see you strip down in your dressing room and such?"

Joel laughed.  "I strip down enough on stage for all the girls and gay dudes."

"You take your shirts off," I said, "But you don't show any cock.  You should do something to illustrate your line 'press your cock against my balls' in 'My Uncle is Queer.'"

"Full frontal nudity in Rock Island!"  He shook his head.  "I'd be arrested."

"You could try wearing a sock, like the Red Hot Chili Peppers," Jack suggested.

He shrugged.  "We tried that.  They don't stay on."

"I know the trick," Dick said.  "You just take some string, and wrap it from the top of your shaft.  Want me to show you how?"

He nodded.  "Sure, if Uncle Boomer doesn't mind seeing me naked."

"I don't mind a bit," I said with a grin.

We put the dessert and coffee on hold while Dick went to the bedroom and fetched an athletic sock and a shoe lace.   Joel stood in the living room and stripped -- he was not at all shy about being naked in a roomful of gay men.

Huge Mortadella, thin, uncut.  He didn't inherit that from his father!

"Nice!" Jack hinted.  "I'll bet you get lots of action."

"I do ok.  But you know, the girls are more into your face than your dick.  You can be a pipsqueak, they don't care."

"What about the boys?" he  asked. "I'm sure there are a hundred guys in the Quad Cities who would love to go down on you.  One or two even in this room."

Joel laughed.  "You're right -- the dudes are all about the dick."

Dick knelt in front of him.  "Ok, so you tie the shoe lace like this -- Boomer, would you hold it steady for me?"

Flushed with erotic potential, I knelt and wrapped my hand around my nephew's Mortadella.  Maybe I should go down on him after all...

"Hey, if Boomer gets a grope, I get a grope," Jack exclaimed.  He knelt  beside me.  I let go, and he wrapped his hand around Joel.  He started to stiffen.

"Sorry," Joel said.  "That happens sometimes."

"You just need someone to take the pressure off..."

"Or maybe he needs every guy in the state to stop manhandling him!" Dick exclaimed.  "Now, are we going to demonstrate the penis sock, or are we going to have a gang bang?"

"Um...." I began.

"Penis sock, please,"  Joel said.  "Unless you have some babes waiting in the bedroom."

So Dick finished tying the knot -- it was just like tying a shoe lace -- and Joel swung his penis sock around a few time.  It didn't come off.    Then he got dressed again, and we had our dessert and left.

In the car, Joel said, "Cool guys, but if didn't know better, I'd think that Jack was trying to get with me."

"No way!  He was just being flirty.  Lots of gay gays act like that."

"I know.  I mean, who would try something in front of his boyfriend and my uncle!  How crazy would that be?"

"Incredibly crazy."

See also: Nephew Sausage Sighting #1: The Father-Son Retreat; and My Uncle's Queer: Joel's Transformation from Choir Boy to Punk Rocker.

Nephew Sausage Sighting #2: Gay Dudes Have Purple Cocks

Indianapolis, June 2013

The nice thing about having heterosexual relatives is, they tend to reproduce. And their kids grow up into a whole new group of mega-hunks.

My brother has three sons: Ethan, Frank, and Joel, plus a  stepson, Robbie.

My sister has a transgender daughter whom we thought of as a son until she came out at age 28.

 I've gotten sausage sightings of all of them (I only count the ones that took place after they turned 18, of course).

Frank (born October 1983)

Frank was the athlete of the family, playing baseball and basketball almost as soon as he could walk, going out for every sport at in junior high and high school.  He played Varsity football and basketball made all-State in something or other, and became a letterman.

He was definitely a mesomorph, maybe tending toward endomorph, with thick, hard muscles in his chest and shoulders, thick biceps, and a little belly.  In his 30s he went to fat.

After 1995, when my parents moved to Indianapolis, I stayed with Kenny during my Christmas and summertime visits to Rock Island.

He had a very big, very crowded house, so he put me in a tiny room with a single bed and a sewing machine, at the end of a long, narrow corridor.  The room Frank and Ethan shared was next door, and a half-bath (toilet and sink only) next to that.

I often heard Frank's loud snoring through the wall.

The bathroom had no lock on the door, so it was not uncommon for someone to burst in during the night and get an eyeful before the half-asleep occupant could say anything.  

I saw Frank sitting on the toilet or standing to urinate on several occasions when he was a kid.  And he saw me a lot -- so often that I suspected he was lying in wait, listening for my footsteps in the hallway.

He graduated from high school in 2001 and joined the army, and when his military service was over, found a job in Nashville or Memphis or somewhere like that.  So I saw him once a year, at Christmastime, and sometimes not even then.   

My sausage sighting came in the summer of 2013, when my niece (then male-identified as Joseph) got married in Indianapolis.  Frank, now age 29, came to the wedding, along with a wife, son and daughter that I had never met before.

He was not an athlete anymore: he had thick arms and a belly.  Thick hair, a beard, a little redneck looking.  Tattoo, cowboy hat, chain-smoker.  And a card-carrying GOP conservative, even more conservative than my other crazy relatives.

I steered clear of him.

Except for some reason he and his family were staying at my parents' house.  They got the guest bedroom, and I was stuck on the pull-out couch in the home gym.

I almost called my ex-boyfriend Fred in Indianapolis to see if I could stay with him instead, but it wouldn't have been polite.

So for three nights, I lay on the fold-out bed, listening to Frank's loud snoring through the wall.

One night, late, the snoring stopped.  I heard padding in the hallway -- Frank in the guest bathroom?

I waited, but didn't hear a flush.  He must be out in the kitchen, getting a snack.

Feeling the urge myself, I put on a bathrobe and walked out to the guest bath.  I opened the door and flipped on the light.

Frank was sitting on the toilet in the dark, looking at something on his cell phone.  He had his hand on his cut Bratwurst+.  Semi-aroused.

Was he masturbating?  

Well, he had been sleeping in a small room with his two kids for the last three nights.

"Hey, turn out that light!" Frank whispered.

"Sorry.  I didn't know you were in here."  I flicked the light off, but his face and penis were still visible in the glow of his cell phone.

In the morning I took Frank aside and said "Sorry about last night.  Mom and Dad really should put a lock on that door."

"That's ok.  I guess we're even now.  Remember all the times I burst in on you while you were in the bathroom?"


"Yeah.  It happened a lot."

"I'll tell you a secret -- I was doing it on purpose." He leaned in conspiratorily. "My crazy brother said gay dudes have purple cocks, and I wanted to see if it was true."

Nephew Sausage Sighting #1: The Father-Son Retreat

We typically get our first sausage sightings from relatives, uncles, brothers or cousins, and they remain a reliable source through our lives, especially when the new generation of nephews and second cousins (your cousins' kids) starts to mature.

You don't have to have any erotic interest to enjoy seeing a nice penis, and there's always some curiosity: did they inherit your brother or brother-in-law's size?

My brother has three sons: Ethan (born June 1982), Frank (born October 1983), and Joel (born April 1986), plus a stepson.  I've gotten sausage sightings of all of them (after they grew up, of course).  First up: Ethan.




Manville, Illinois, June 2000

I am in grad school in New York, but visiting my parents in Indianapolis for a week before flying out to South Africa for a conference.  I offer to drive to Rock Island, to visit my brother, but Kenny says that he and his sons will be at a "father-son retreat" that weekend.

Held at Manville, the Nazarene camp in eastern Illinois.

Having spent innumerable summers fighting the flies, mosquitoes, heat, deplorable food, sports, flirting girls, and screeching sermons at Manville, I scoff.  "If you want to torture your kids, why don't you just tie them to an ant hill?"

"It's not like when we were little," Kenny says.  "They have tennis courts, hiking trails, and a gym now, and we stay in a 'family cabin' with its own bathroom and kitchen."

"No more walking down that terrible snake-strewn path to the toilets, huh?  But it still sounds awful."

"Why don't you come out on Friday, and see for yourself?  The cabin sleeps six, so there will be plenty of room for you."

I am definitely curious --  I haven't been to Manville since high school, over 20 years ago.  Besides, spending the night with Kenny and his sons will be fun, like the sleepovers we used to have as kids.  So on Friday I drive my rental car the three hours out from Indianapolis.

The long, low tabernacle is still there, and the dining hall/ snack bar where we bought hot dogs on innumerable nights after altar call.  There are still rows of damp, airy cabins.   But Ken is right about the new gym, the tennis courts, and the hiking trails that lead through the tall grass of the prairie.

Manville is occupied entirely by cute dads and their teenage sons.  Since there are no women around, they don't have to follow the rules prohibiting short pants or going shirtless.

The beefcake almost makes it worth the trip.

Of course I have to stay closeted, or they would chase me out of the camp with pitchforks, but Kenny still introduces me as his "brother from New York City."  Ulp!  That's one of the wicked "cities of the plain" that God plans to destroy during the upcoming Tribulation.  Labeled a "sinner" in need of salvation just by my residence, I get a lot of witnessing and shy attempts to start soul-winning conversations.

A very muscular high school boy named Kyle approaches me at the gym with the oldest soulwinning opening: "If you were to die tonight, and God asked why He should let you into His heaven, what would you say?"

I have to laugh: I used the same line in Kankakee 25 years ago!

I talk him into going hiking with me and Kenny.  Nothing erotic happens, but Kenny says "You can pick them up anywhere, can't you?"

The family cabin is cramped -- two stacks of bunk beds, a small couch, a table and four chairs, a kitchen area, and a bathroom with a toilet and shower -- but it beats those drafty cabins with the shower room half a mile away.

It has electricity, but no tv, and no heat or air conditioning -- and it's hot and sticky in the central Illinois summer.

But Kenny comes up with an interesting solution: we all go naked!

At first I balk, just stripping down to my underwear, but Joel says "Come on, Uncle Boomer, don't be a weenie," so I strip down too.

"Not bad," Joel says.  "Could be bigger."

Kenny glares at him. "Don't tease your uncle."

Cooking naked seems like a bad idea, but it's just hot dogs, canned baked beans, and potato chips.  Then we do the dishes, play a game of Bible Monopoly, pray while holding hands, and go to bed.

Ethan, Kenny's oldest son, will have psychiatric problems and an aggravated assault conviction in a few years, but at age 18, he's stiill a Johnny Nazarene, scrupulously following all the Nazarene rules, looking forward to his freshman year at Olivet (our college on the prairie). 

 He's a slow, soft, big-boned kid with a little belly, some hair on his chest, and long thick arms.

He sits with his legs spread, so you can get a good sausage sighting: a short, thick penis with a prominent head, like his father's.

Frank and Joel are naked too, of course, but they are 16 and 14 years old, so I don't count them as sausage sightings.  I'll have to wait until they turn 18.

We Teach My Nephew the Gay Facts of Life

I always wonder if I have any gay relatives, or if I am alone on my family tree.

One doesn't discuss such things among conservative fundamentalists, and God forbid you ask!  But by checking carefully for hints and signals, or by catching them "in the act," I have determined that among my 8 pairs of uncles and aunts and 18 cousins, one is gay, and another straight but "open to suggestions."

And I've been watching my nieces and nephews throughout their lives, looking for signs of gayness.

But Josh took me by surprise.

Rock Island, December 2000

Yuri and I flew out to Rock Island to spend a week with my brother Ken.  On Christmas Eve we would all drive out to my parents' house in Indiana, and stay there until January 3rd.

Ken lived in a huge, rambling house downtown Rock Island, really two houses crammed together, with two living rooms, two kitchens, four bathrooms, and eight bedrooms.  Which he needed: he had seven kids, ranging in age from 18 to 2, plus a seemingly endless array of dogs, cats, parakeets, and hamsters.

While visiting, Yuri and I played it cool -- that is, we stayed closeted.  Ken knew, but he was a conservative fundamentalist, and didn't like talking about it.

And since neither of us was dating anyone special at the time, there really wasn't much to talk about.

At bedtime, we got a small bedroom in an isolated corridor on the second floor, with two twin beds.  Of course, we only used one of them.

 At 6:00 am on the morning of our third day in Rock Island, I was awakened by an elated voice. "Aha, I knew you were gay!"

I opened my eyes.  It was Ken's son Joel, age 14!

"Don't you knock before coming in someone's room?"

"It's my house -- I can go where I want."  He grinned. "Don't worry, I won't tell my Dad."

"He's known since before you were born.  Now do you mind if we get dressed?"  I was painfully aware that we were both naked under the covers.

"Why do you care if we are gay?" Yuri asked.

"I don't -- not much, anyway.  I mean, it's pretty weird, but as long as I don't have to watch, it's ok."  He sat on the foot of the bed.  "Did you bring any porn?"

"No!  And anyway, it would be gay porn, right?"

"I guess."

Wait -- he wasn't letting us get dressed, and he wanted to see gay porn?

I'd been keeping close tabs on Ken's kids, looking for evidence of gayness, but I hadn't figured on Joel.  He was always talking to girls on the telephone, and rushing off to dates with girls.  Or was that a screen?

"Joel," I said, "Are you gay?"

"Me?  No way!" he exclaimed, offended.  "I like girls!"  He paused.  "So...have you had gay sex?"

"Yes, sure, why?" Yuri asked.

"Well, see..."  He paused again.  "My friend Max..he's not gay, either.  But we were wondering what it's like.  Could you...you know, let us watch?"

I thought for a moment.  "Tell you what -- meet us for lunch today, and we'll show you how gay guys lose their virginity."

While Joel happily ran off to tell his friend about their upcoming orgy, Yuri punched me on the arm.  "Ti choknutiy!  You are crazy! We can't do sex with kids!"

"Don't worry, we won't.  I said how gay guys lose their virginity.  Remember what I told you about that?"

He grinned.  "You are a genius!"

That afternoon we met for lunch at Mulkey's, up the street from Augustana College.  Max was a cute football jock, wide-eyed at meeting two gay guys, one of them from Russia!  We talked about growing up in a world where same-sex desire was never mentioned, where "what girl do you like" was a constant mantra.  We told our coming out stories.

Max was more interested in gay culture.  "So you were both dating Jaan?"  he asked. "Didn't it make you jealous?"

"Not really. Straight guys want exclusive relationships, because they want to make sure that if the woman gets pregnant, the baby is theirs.  But gay guys don't have that concern."

But Joel was anxious to get started.  "When will we get to see you...you know, do it?

We went to Lincoln Park and walked along the snow-covered trails.  I asked: "What are the steps you straight guys have to go through before going all the way?"

Reddening with embarrassment, Max listed the same steps that I heard as a kid, from #1 (Kissing) to #6 (Putting your penis into her).

"Do you know why Step #6 is last for straight guys?"

They shook their heads.

"Because the girl might get pregnant, so she has to be very careful, and reserve it for only very special relationships.  But gay guys don't get pregnant, so they don't care."

"It's not special at all," Yuri added.  "We don't even say that it is sex.  It's playing around."

"Then what is special?" Joel asked, perplexed.

"This is Step #6 for us."  I looked around to see if anyone was nearby, then drew Yuri into my arms and kissed him.

It took a few moments to disentangle myself and face them again.  They were both staring.

"Kissing?" Max asked.

"Right.  That's how gay guys lose their virginity.  It's the most intimate thing you can do.  Everything else is just foreplay."

"But...you can kiss anybody.  You can kiss your grandmother."

"Not like this.  Try it and see."

Joel and Max faced each other, leaned in -- and started to giggle.  They leaned in again -- and Josh pushed Max away.  Max kissed him on the cheek.

"I guess you're not ready for the advanced step yet," Yuri said.  "Give it time."

We never talked about "gay sex" again, though sometimes when I visited at Christmastime, Joel would ask, with a knowing grin, "Are you...kissing anyone special?"

Joel is 28 years old now, a punk rocker with several ex-girlfriends and an eight-year old son.  I'm not sure if he's bisexual, straight "but open to suggestions," or just plain straight, but I found Max among his Facebook friends.  Max is gay.

See also: Is My Nephew Gay?

Bob Hooks Up with Five Guys at the Lake House

Upstate, July 2017

Bob's version of what happened during our three nights with my ex-boyfriend Troy and his current boyfriend Charles:

I've never had a boyfriend before -- I only was with one guy before meeting Boomer -- so when he asked me to come along on his visit to his ex-boyfriend and his current boyfriend, I didn't know what to think!

But it was a chance to see mountains, and Cooperstown -- the Baseball Hall of Fame! -- and spend 12 nights in bed with a guy.  If you've never slept -- just slept -- with a guy before, try it out.  I'd rather do that than get a blow job!

Friday

We have dinner in Cooperstown with Troy and Charles. Troy, Boomer's ex, is your standard twink, about 30, short, hairy chest, big cock.  But Charles is amazing, exactly my type: about 50, tall, broad-shouldered, thick slabs of muscle!

After dinner we go to the lake house, where they invite us for a midnight boat ride.  Boomer doesn't want to go, but I do.  We take this 8-seater motorboat out around the lake, Charles driving while Troy and I grope and make out (Boomer said I could go with other guys).  Then we stop, and Charles drops his pants -- biggest, thickest Mortadella+ I've ever seen!

Troy and I team up to suck him and lick his balls, and then Troy and Charles go down on me at th same time.  It's intense, in the dark, with the boat bobbing up and down.  Afterwards we go skinny-dipping to wash off -- the water's cold, but we don't care!

I'm so revved up that I can't wait to get back to the house and make out with Boomer.  He lets me go down on him, as long as I'm quiet.

Saturday

In the morning we drive into town to go to the gym, and then find a coffee house loaded with wall-to-wall college guys.  Then back to the lake house.  In the early afternoon, guests start to arrive, until there are over 40 people crammed into the small house and on the decks and in the boats.

Score!  Charles' relatives are incredible.  I figure most of them are straight, but who cares?  I'm around straight people all the time.

I go swimming with Charles' cousin, a chubby bear with a big basket and trunks that keep riding down his butt.

Pontooning with his nephew Trace, a little older than me, smooth and very muscular, with a tattoo of a bull smelling flowers on his chest.

And I go kayaking with Aram, who is a real musician!  

Later Trace and Aram invite us to meet up with their girlfriends and some other people in town.  Boomer stays home.  We go to this coffee house that has live music, and Trace introduces me to Rick, a very cute black guy in his 30s who used to sing backup for Rihanna!

We end up at Trace's apartment, making out, and Rick and I go into the bedroom.  He has a smooth, hard chest and a 8" uncut cock. He goes down on me for awhile, and then he pushes me onto the bed and thrusts between my legs while we're kissing.  It's called interfemoral -- Boomer likes it, too.  It's intense!

Suddenly Trace is knocking at the door.  "You guys about ready to go back to the house? Janine left already, and it's after midnight."

"Hold your horses," Rick yells.  "Or come in here, and I'll hold them for you."

Trace comes in, takes off his shirt and pants, and straddles me, pushing his cock into my mouth while Rick is still doing interfemoral.  He's not very big, but he's hard as a rock!  Then we switch positions, and Rick tops Trace while he's going down on me.

Trace is bi, in case you didn't notice.

Back at the lake house, I try interfemoral with Boomer, my first time on top of him.  It's great!  You're feeling his whole body, not just his cock.

Sunday

Aram invites us to breakfast at his house.  Then we go into Oneonta to church and to meet a couple of Boomer's friends for lunch.

In the afternoon, we go to the Baseball Hall of Fame -- incredible!  I could spend all day there.  I start up a conversation with a high school boy named Jesus (Hay-Zoos), from Mexico, but he doesn't look Hispanic.  I mean, he has light skin and light brown hair.  I didn't know they played baseball in Mexico!

He's staying with his family at the Otesaga Resort, and he invites us to go swimming.  Boomer doesn't want to go, so we go by ourselves.

Except we never make it to the swimming!  The minute we get inside his room, we start kissing and groping.  Jesus goes down on me, and then I push him on the bed for interfemoral -- he's never done that before.  When I finish, I beat him off while kissing him.

He's on snapchat.

In the evening Boomer and I have dinner with Troy and Charles, then return to the lake house.  We watch tv for awhile, and then Charles and his grandparents go out onto the deck. Boomer goes to bed.

"I haven't been with Boomer yet," Troy says, "And tomorrow you guys are leaving."

"He's nervous about doing anything with Charles' grandparents in the next room," I tell him.

"Well, they're not in the next room now.  Let's go surprise him!"

We go into the bedroom, and I start kissing Boomer while Troy goes down on him. But he takes a long time, so Troy and I start working on him together.  Finally he turns over and goes down on me, then Troy.  Then Troy leaves, and Boomer and I cuddle.


Monday

Charles and Troy have to get up very early to go to work, so we get up early, too.  We're on the road before the sun rises.

"Sorry you had to go through that ordeal," Boomer says. "Charles' family was nice and all, but so darn heterosexual!  I can't wait to get to the Flex Club in Cleveland, and get some action."

"What are you talking about? It was nonstop action.  I can't even remember all the guys who went down on me. Five or six guys, not counting you!  I had a blast!"

Unfortunately, I was too tired to go to the Flex Club later.

See also: Boomer's Version; and 13 Guys in One Night in Cleveland.

Jerzy Has 24 Hours to Pick Up a Twink

West Hollywood, August 2017

I'm back in California for a week to visit my old friends and old haunts, staying in West Hollywood with Infinite Chazz.  We're having dinner at Sammy's Thai restaurant on Santa Monica: Chazz, Will the Bondage Boy, Lane, and their partners, plus two other guys.  Most of us are over 50.  Lane and Ben's friend Jerzy is the youngest one there: he just turned 40 a couple of days ago.

Jerzy immigrated from Poland with his parents and baby sister when he was eight years old, went to Cal State Los Angeles and now works in an office down in Lakewood .  He's tall and big-boned, with a rugged face and a severe military haircut, his muscular physique going to fat.  I haven't seen his penis.

We start talking about the problems of being a twink magnet, being approached by young guys constantly, having every hookup turn into a romantic date, being forced into the role of anal top whether you'd much rather be an oral bottom.

"I call b.s.!" Jerzy exclaims.  "Gay culture values youth -- when you turn 40, you're over the hill.  Certainly the twinks don't start lining up to get into your bed!"

"How do you explain my dating a 19-year old college student?" I ask.

"You're a professor, around college students all the time, so what else are you going to meet?"

"I met him at the dentist's office."


 "Expectations.  You think young guys are going to be interested, so you remember the one exception, and forget about the 99% that don't cruise you back."

"Ok, but...I picked up young guys at a restaurant, at the comic book store, at the grocery store, at Lane and Ben's wedding...."

"Well...you live on the Plains, where everybody is El Tubbo.  In L.A. the competition is fierce."

"I get cruised by twinks all the time, too," Chazz says.  "You can't get away from them."

"That doesn't prove anything.  You're Infinite Chazz.  Everybody is interested in you."

"Me, too," Will adds.  "I'm a bondage bottom, but they keep saying 'f** me, Daddy.'"

"You just haven't tried," I say.  "I guarantee that if you went to a twink bar or gym, or LGBT youth center, you'd be getting a phone number a minute."

"Yeah, right," Jerzy says.  "And I guarantee that if you went to a twink bar or gym, you'd die of frostbite from all the shade they'd be throwing."

"That sounds like a challenge."

Chazz smiles.  "How about this: I'll bet that Jerzy can find a guy under age 25  --- no, under 21 -- in the next 24 hours.  At the gym, at the Rage, on Grindr, whatever.  All you have to do is get his phone number."

"What do i get if I succeed?"

"I know you're the world's biggest oral bottom.  We'll meet at my apartment tomorrow night, and if you can prove that you got the phone number of a guy under 21, you can go down on each of us, one at a time -- and let me tell you, there are some massive cocks in this group.  But if you fail, you have to top one of us, whichever asks.  Ok, guys?"

Lane and Ben bow out, but the other guys agree.

Jerzy grins.  "Six cocks just for getting a twink's phone number.  How can I say no?"



Wednesday Night

Chazz offers to let Jerzy spend the night, so he won't have to drive all the way back to Lakewood.  After dinner the three of us hit the Rage, the biggest twink bar in West Hollywood.  Naturally, two guys in their 40s and one who's 56 are ignored by the munchkins buzzing about on the dance floor.

Next we go to the Faultline, the leather/bear bar where Lane and I used to spend many Sunday afternoons.  Not very crowded on a Wednesday night, and the guys there are mostly aging, seasoned leathermen.  I do manage to get cruised by an 20-ish otter, a young, thin guy with a hairy chest.  We make out for awhile, and he gives me his number.  But that's my pickup; Jerzy is mostly ignored.

When we get back to Chazz's apartment, we have a three-way.  Jerzy is good at kissing and very well hung, with a thick uncut Kielbasa.  Chazz and I both go down him, but we won't let him go down on us.

"That's for tomorrow night," Chazz says.  "If you can overcome your aging guilt enough to cruise a twink."

"What you need is a place to show off your muscles," I tell him.  We'll get up at 6:00 and hit the gay gym."


Thursday

Unfortunately, the gay gym is a little short on twinks at 6:30 am.

"Well, where do you go to meet the young guys?" Jerzy asks.

"Everywhere.  Today I was going to go to the Getty Museum, UCLA, and the Santa Monica Pier.  I'm bound to get cruised by a few guys there."

"Ok...I'll take off work today, and go with you.  We'll get the phone numbers of ten Cute Young Things before lunch."

At the Getty Museum, I am cruised by a high school boy on a field trip, but I don't get his phone number.  Jerzy is ignored.

Classes haven't started at UCLA yet, so there aren't many students around, but a cute blond in a UCLA t-shirt strikes up a conversation in the library.  He thinks Jerzy and I are gay dads checking out the campus for their kid.  When he discovers that I'm visiting from the Plains, he offers to take me on an "insider's tour" of Hollywood tomorrow.  Jerzy is ignored.

At lunch, the waiter cruises me.  Jerzy is ignored.

At the Santa Monica Pier, a skateboarding teenager almost runs into us.  In the ensuing conversation, I try to act as Jerzy's wingman, praising him to the hilt.  The skateboarder ignores him.

It's 4:00 pm.  We're suppose to meet at Chazz's apartment in three hours.

"How about a tea-dance at the Toy Tiger?" I suggest.  The bar where every boy is available, for a price.

"No hustlers.  That wouldn't be honest," Jerzy says.  "But I have one more place in mind.  Let me drop you off at Chazz's apartment.  I'l be back at 7:00 pm."

Thursday Night

Six guys gather at Chazz's apartment for snacks and sodas.  Stonewall is playing on tv.   We talk about life on the Plains, how West Hollywood has changed, and the current fascist government, and check the time, waiting for Jerzy to show up.  I tell them about our tour of Los Angeles, and his constantly striking out.  We have no doubt that he will strike out again on his last attempt, and show up empty-handed, and have to act as an anal top instead of an oral bottom.

Then there's a knock on the door.  Jerzy comes in -- with a kid.

A literal kid!  Preteen, maybe ten years old.

Our jaws drop in shock.

"Guys, this is Hunter, my sister's son.  I wanted to stop in and introduce him to all of my friends, and show you the smartphone I bought him.  By the way, I'm the first one he gave his number to."

Hunter politely shakes hands with each of us, and then demonstrates the features of his new phone.

"Ok, we're off for ice cream."  Jerzy grins.  "I'll be back later, after I take Hunter home, to collect my prize."

The deal was: the phone number of a guy under 21.  We never said that it had to be for a date.

See also: How to Attract Twinks

Nephew Sausage Sighting #5: "Do I Measure Up?"

After my parents moved to Indianapolis in 1995, I stayed with my brother on my visits to Rock Island, so I've had ample opportunity to get sausage sightings of his sons (I only count those after they turn 18, of course).  But a sausage sighting of my sister's son, Joseph, was much more difficult to accomplish.  Here's why:

Indianapolis, June 1996

Every summer my parents celebrate Dad's birthday with a barbecue for their family and friends, held the Saturday afternoon closest to June 6th.  My sister and I always try to plan our summer visits to coincide with them.  This year it should be easy for her, since Mom and Dad have moved to a small town south of Indianapolis, less than 10 miles from Tammy's house.

But she doesn't come to the birthday barbecue.

"Oh, they're busy," Mom says.  "[Her husband] Terry is working a lot of hours at the car dealership."

I call to suggest that we get together for lunch during my visit.  I get the answering machine.

I try again.  She doesn't return my call.  After I fly back to San Francisco, I try a third time.  No answer.

I ask Mom what the problem is.

"You'll have to work it out between you," she says.  "Don't drag me into it."

No birthday card in November.

I stay in San Francisco for Christmas.  I send Tammy a present, but she doesn't send me one.  I call on Christmas Day, but after a "Hi!  How are you?", she makes an excuse and hangs up.

No more contact.  Tammy and Terry and their son cease to exist.

As far as I can tell, they figured "it" out, and they recoiled in homophobic horror.

My family practices a "don't ask, don't tell" policy.  They never actually use the "g" word, or refer to my boyfriends as boyfriends ("This is Lane, Boomer's...um...friend").   Still, after meeting Viju, Fred, and Lane, and hearing about Alan, Raul, Peter, David, Corbin the Gym Rat, Kevin the Vampire, and Michael J. Fox, you'd think Tammy would get a clue.

Apparently not.

Oddly, my brother, the fundamentalist Nazarene,  always invites me to stay at his house, and has no qualms about putting me in the bedroom next to his teenage nephews.  Not a problem.  It's Tammy, the liberal Methodist, who freaked out, who didn't want me around her kid.

Silence.  I hear about Tammy and her family from my mother's weekly telephone calls, but I have no contact.  

Indianapolis, June 2002

Then, after six years of ostracism, Tammy shows up at the 2002 Birthday Barbecue, bearing gifts, asking if I have met "a special guy," chatting and joking as if nothing has happened.

Approaching 40, she has become plump, almost zaftig.

Her husband Terry is bald and buffed, almost ready to become a leather daddy.

And Joseph, age 12, is slim, fey, and theatrical.  He has done some modeling for magazines, starred in a local tv commercial, and now he is starring in a community theater production of The Little Prince.

"Oh, you have to come!" Tammy exclaims.  "It would mean so much to him!"

I hate The Little Prince, and I doubt that the fey, theatrical blond cares very much about a guy he hasn't seen since he was five years old, but I go.

The next day, Tammy invites me out for pizza.  "You have to tell Joseph all about your life in New York!  Didn't you meet a lot of Broadway stars?  And Andrew Lloyd Weber?"

Edinburgh, Indiana, September 2005

I'm living in Dayton, which is only two hours from Indianapolis, so I can visit whenever I want.  Like when my nephew Joseph is singing at a regional glee club competition in Edinburgh, Indiana.

Joseph (never Joe) is fifteen years old, a kinky-haired blond, very fey, swishy and limp-wristed, with that nasal "gay accent" voice.  He wears bright pastel shirts and tight bulging jeans and plastic bracelets.

In spite of his parents' assurance that he is "girl-crazy," he never mentions a girl, but he has a series of male pals.

Definitely gay.

And his parents are always pushing us together, sending us out for pizzas, asking me to pick him up from school, inviting me to all of his recitals, plays, and concerts.

I suspect that they're looking for me to be a role model, showing him that it's ok to be gay.

Without anyone ever saying the "g" word.



Indianapolis, December 2008

Joseph is eighteen years old, still a fey, swishy blonde.  He's a freshman at Indiana University, planning to major in East Asian Languages and theater.

A few days before Christmas, he calls. "Can you come up to the house this afternoon?  I want to ask you something."

While your Mom and Dad are at work?  What for?

"Well, why can't you ask over the phone?"

"No, it has to be in person.  It's private -- I'm a little nervous about it."

I'm nervous, too.  I don't understand what Joseph is planning. Is he just going to come out?  Or does he expect an uncle-nephew sexual escapade?


When I arrive at Tammy's house, Joseph offers me a handshake -- his hand is damp! -- then sits me down on the couch. next to the Christmas tree.  We're sitting very close together.  I put the cat on my lap and start petting her to get my mind off my crotch.

"I'm kind of nervous," he says.  "It's...well, you know, I've never done it...you know, sex...before."

Uh-oh.  He is planning on sex!  

"You're an expert on this sort of thing, so...um...I need your honest opinion."

Before I can respond, he drops his pants, displaying an average sized cut penis and rather small balls.

I stare, very uncomfortable.  I certainly don't intend to go down on Joseph.  His parents trust me around him!  But...are they pushing us together?  Do they expect something to happen?

"What...um...are you showing me your cock for?"

"I might have a chance to have sex next week, on New Year's Eve, and I was wondering, am I big enough?" Joseph says.  "I mean, you've seen a lot of cocks.  Do I measure up?"

Um...I could judge better if I could see it aroused.

No, I don't say that!

"Don't worry, dude, you're totally hot.  Any guy would be glad to go out with you."

"Or any girl?"

"Huh?"

"My date's with a girl.  We've been going out for a couple of months now, and she said on New Year's Eve she wants to go all the way."

Joseph is straight?  Or maybe bi?

Oh well, at least, I got a sausage sighting.

See also: Is My Nephew Gay?; and The Best Friend of Terry the Homophobe

Is My Nephew Gay?

Indianapolis, September 2016

My sister and her husband moved to Indianapolis shortly after they married.  Terry worked as a car salesman, then ran a car detailing service, while Tammy worked as a secretary, office manager, and finally Assistant Director of Sports Information at a small Methodist college.

It soon became obvious that their son Joseph, born in 1990, had no interest in either cars or sports.  He liked acting, singing, dancing, and modeling.  When he was eight years old, he appeared in some local tv commercials.  When he was twelve, he starred in a community theater production of The Little Prince.

He was also interested was cooking.  He won a chili cookoff at age thirteen, baked homemade bread and pasta, and insisted that the family try every ethnic restaurant in Indianapolis, from Ethiopian to Indonesian.

He started taking Japanese in junior high and went on a study tour of China in high school.

As a teenager, Joseph was tall and slim, with curly blond hair and striking brown eyes, very handsome, and very fey, swishing and limp-wristed, with that nasal "gay accent" voice.  He wore bright pastel shirts and tight bulging jeans and plastic bracelets.

Definitely gay, I thought.

His parents didn't think so.


At age 12:  "He's got a girlfriend at school he hangs out with!"
At age 13:  "He joined the community theater to meet girls!"
At age 14:  "He'll be discovering girls soon, and then, watch out!"
At age 15:  "He's so handsome, all the girls will be lining up to date him."
At age 16:  "He's shy around girls, but he'll come around...."
At age 17:  "He's much too busy to date...."
At age 18:  "There are so many girls he likes, he can't settle on one, so he's going to the senior prom in a group of friends."

I tried my best to let Joseph know that it was ok to be gay, without actually saying that I thought he was:

I gave him a box of books, including several young adult novels on gay topics.

We had conversations about gay writers Yukio Mishima, Oscar Wilde, and Tennessee Williams.

I invited him to visit "me and Yuri" in Florida (he didn't come).

I invited him and "whatever friend you want" to see Angels in America (he came alone).

In 2008, Joseph enrolled at Indiana University, planning a dual major in East Asian Languages and theater.  He wanted to study the "Noh Theater" of Japan.


And he got a girlfriend!

Jan, a fellow theater major from a small town in southern Indiana.

In 2010, my boyfriend Troy and I drove to Indianapolis for Christmas, and met her at Christmas Eve Dinner.

Or at least we met the back of her head.  The rest of her was attached to Joseph.  Every moment they weren't eating or unwrapping a present, they were exploring each other's tonsils.

Her conversation was: "I'm planning [kiss] to concentrate  [kiss] in children's [kiss] theater [kiss]."

Tammy and Terry beamed.  I imagine they were feeling anxious about the possibility of Joseph being gay through his whole life, and now they were validated!  He was straight after all!

I was devastated.  I had spent the last ten years mentoring a gay kid...but he wasn't!

When they graduated in 2012, Joseph enrolled in the doctoral program in Central Asian Languages in Bloomington, and Jan got a job at the Children's Museum in Indianapolis.  They moved into an apartment together in Franklin, Indiana, about halfway between.

Straight -- but...

I found a profile on a gay dating app of a guy who looked like Joseph and was the right age.

Joseph belonged to a couple of gay groups on Facebook, including a Queer News Service.

Half of his Facebook friends were men.

In 2016, he borrowed his father's 1969 Chevy Camero to drive in the Indianapolis Gay Pride Parade (because 1969 was the year of the Stonewall Riots, the beginning of the modern Gay Rights Movement).

Straight ally?  Bisexual?  Genderqueer?

Last September, back in Indianapolis for a funeral, I determined to find out.

I couldn't ask, or -- God forbid -- cruise him, but I could use the age old "eye-widening" technique.



There were a lot of pictures on my phone from my trip to Mexico, including the standard sights, some random friends, and some swimsuit pictures of hot men.  I showed them to Joseph, checking to see which he spent time on and which he flipped through quickly.

He spent time on the hot men.

See also:Nephew Sausage Sighting #5;  We Teach My Nephew the Gay Facts of Life