Coming Out Story: The Best Friend

***Originally I had this blog married in with the previous blog but I feel like it's "easier to chew" as its own separate entry.

So this is the story of how I came out to my best straight friend, Jake. He and I have known each other since 7th grade... so since about 12 years old. He lived just 2 blocks away and we went to middle school, high school, and college together so we have a long long history. He's known me while dating all those girls and he was my closest confidant throughout all of it. I knew all his girlfriends and he knew all mine. We essentially shared a life, the same life. 

Like I've said a few times in this blog, my spring semester senior year was pretty slow and drawn out and difficult for me. One night I remember we (15 or so of my closest friends, guys and girls) were out bar hopping when a small argument started. I was sort of the ring leader of it, because I was hungry and drunk and really wanted taco bell. I love taco bell when I'm drinking. It's magical. One of our friends wasn't drinking and could drive us but a lot of people didn't want to go to Taco Bell... either way, the details are stupid but I have a lot of Jewish friends in college. For some reason, Jewish people and Asian people have a MUCH harder time digesting dairy. It's a thing. Pretty much 75% of my friends were lactose intolerant and I was super intolerant of it. 

4th meal is my jam

Anyway the argument escalated and I was yelling and said some pretty stupid things, of course Jake was on my side since he is neither Jewish nor Asian so he looooved dairy and Taco Bell.... so it was pretty much just Jake and myself against everyone else. We were always on the same side. Our brains are pretty much the same (except mine is gayer).

Anyway, I don't even remember how we got home, or where we went instead of Taco Bell, but at one point Jake and I were alone in our apartment. We were in the kitchen and I was yelling, "I fucking hate it here, I hate these people.... they can't even fucking digest MILK..."

Then it started getting serious...

 "...they're ruining me, they're stifling me..."

Then I started to cry, "I just feel so fucking stifled... and... and..."

Then I ran off to my bathroom and sat on the toilet and cried.

Jake was stunned. How did a simple argument about something as benign as Taco Bell... turn into such a shit show?

He knows me well enough to know that following me into the bathroom to console me was not going to be a good idea. I'm not an emotional person and I'm definitely not a crier, so Jake knew this was serious but at the same time knew I wouldn't want to be seen that way... so he stayed away. I appreciated that.

So you might be thinking, when did you come out then? 

I didn't.

I didn't come out to Jake for another whole year--but the point of that story is... that was the night that Jake knew!

It wasn't until August of 2010 that I ended up telling Jake, and that too was on a whim, you really can't plan these kinds of conversations. Anyway, one of our mutual college friends was getting married-- very young. We were only 23 then but they were both fairly Christian and the guy was in the Navy so it was one of those perfect storms for an early send off into adulthood. 

All my college friends had been separated for a a little over a year at this point, some kids were in Boston, others in NYC, I was in DC with some other friends... some were out in California... so it was a really awesome fun little reunion (funny how you miss people once they're away, but when you're with them, they drive you crazy). We all got hotels together in this fancy place that was reserved for the wedding guests. We had a ball and hung out drinking the nights leading up to the wedding and then after the wedding--just an amazing beautiful time.

Anyway, the first night we got there everyone was on such a high after not seeing each other for so long, whenever a friend would arrive we'd be in an uproar of excitement! We were in and out of the hotel pool, drinking at the bar, just taking advantage of everything around us and especially the company. At one point people were a little dispersed and I looked at Jake and made an eye motion to go have a cigarette. He agreed excitedly. 

We were out in the front of the hotel, sitting on a garden ledge in the middle of the rotary where cars would drop off for the valet. We started talking about nonesense initially, maybe even my friend Matt as an easy transition, and then without even thinking I said, "Yo, so...did Matt ever tell you that I was gay?"

He did a double take and was like "Huh, no... never why?"

I laughed a little and said, "Well because I am..."

He was so unbelievably cool about it. He was like, "That's awesome I'm so glad you're telling me!"

Moments after coming out

He said, "You know, I wasn't completely sure, but I had my suspicions... you know after Sarah, and then you being so close with Matt... I know you well enough to at least... assume..."

I rolled my eyes at the mention of Matt because I don't like the fact that people get all suspicious simply due to the fact that someone has a gay friend.... granted in my case, the suspicion was warranted, I get that, but in the future, I like to think it's OK for straight people to feel comfortable having a close gay friend... after all, now Jake is a straight person with a gay best friend so... there you go!

Anyway I joked, "Well, don't get me wrong, it's just something I want to get out of my system until I get married."

He paused and I could see the gears in his head turning, "... but... wait... you... so you're...?"

"Yeah, I mean, I'm never gonna be that kinda gay person who marries a man and adopts kids! Come on, I'll probably get married and have kids and have like a secret boy I see on the side..."

"...."

Then I started laughing because I could tell he was having inner turmoil about trying to be supportive but also wanting to tell me that that behavior is completely backwards and horrible.

Once he realized I was kidding he was like, "Dude, go fuck yourself..."

I occasionally still make that joke today... randomly I'll say, "I wonder what my wife will be like... " or "Once this gay phase is over, the Mrs. and I gotta move to the suburbs..."

Anyway, he said, "Well, to be perfectly honest I've known for a year now."

I was a little taken aback and asked what he meant.

Then he reminded me of that night in college. I completely forgot it even happened. It was something I'd since brushed under the rug and at the time I was drunk and didn't even think about the implications of what "I feel so stifled" could mean. I guess it really stuck in Jake's mind. I was impressed by his perceptiveness. 

Anyway, he was obviously interested and wanted to know more so we went for a walk around the block and had another cigarette. We eventually walked back to my car and sat in it for a bit because it started raining. I told him about how I felt, why spring semester was so terrible for me... and I told him about Sean. At that point in time I'd been seeing Sean for just 2 months or so and I obviously had no idea how serious it would become, I told him that I was sort of seeing this guy and things were really good, but who knows, it could be over in a week, 2 weeks, who knew... I'm still seeing Sean to this day so it's been over 2 years. Crazy.

*Side note: So Jake and I were always a famous duo in school... always together always laughing and hanging out, it was natural for people to joke around and say we were gay. No one ever meant it, especially since we always had girlfriends and we were obviously just very close friends--although people always joked, "Yeahh.... they're gay... well... maybe just Jake!"

So I'll never forget this reaction, "Of the two of us, I can't believe YOU'RE the gay one! How are you gay, and I'm not?!"

Jake is very... very straight but he is goofy and fun and a little flamboyant about it. He's very open and honest so he says things that most straight people would be afraid to say, for example, given the chance he always offers up the fact that he wishes he were bisexual. He has this idea that bis have the most fun and are the most free-spirited and nondiscriminatory. Basically, he always gave off this vibe of not being 100% straight--- but he is, I know it.

Anyway, Jake has been so awesome about everything to this day. Nothing changed about our relationship-- to be honest that was never something I was afraid of. We've known each other for so long, nothing could make it weird. It wasn't something I was afraid of doing, and it wasn't a matter of 'if' but rather 'when'. 

I've told very few people since then.. I did recently just tell Sarah which was pretty difficult and sad. I'll spare those details but she cried and said despite being broken up, she still always hoped that I'd father her children. Then she made out with me. Then she cried more. Then she tried to sleep with me that night. Took her a few days to fully understand it. We're still friends.

Then another girl found out, Matt had leaked that one to her after we stopped being friends. Not sure why, if it was in anger or maybe he was venting but he told a mutual girl friend. One night she and I were hanging out at a party and texting each other for some reason, she wrote, "Can we stop pretending that we both don't know that I know you're gay."

I looked up at her from across the room, smiled at her, and shook my head yes.

Anyway, that's about it. There are probably some other people who know that I don't know about... who knows... who cares. As long as I feel like it's on my terms, I am fine with it. If I think someone should know, then I will tell them no qualms about it. If I don't want them to know... then I won't tell. It's my business and a part of me likes having a secret. It makes the whole thing a little more fun and crazy. My head is stable and content with everything, it's just not ready to scream it from the roof tops and that's OK.

C'est la vie mother fuckers.

Coming Out Story: The First Person

It's mandatory that I talk about my coming out.

"We're here, we're queer, get used to it!"

I've met gay people who've called themselves "Golden Gays"-- which I've learned is a person who's never slept with or done anything sexual with a girl. Now, I know each person's story is different-- but a classic "Golden Gay" might be someone who came out of the womb singing songs from the hit Broadway musical Rent so they never had to pretend to be straight. Those were the kids who were out in high school and all their friends knew and their parents have always known because, well, to be honest, how can a parent explain their son to others when he's practicing self-taught tap dancing moves in the outfield at little league practice? Often times, if they're lucky, these gays' parents come to terms with it at age 5--- "OK, cool. This one's gay, we've got 2 other boys so let's roll with this... voice lessons, tap dancing, drama classes, figure skating!!"

That being said, I've always heard that moms just know. When I come out to my parents I'll ask them and I'm suuuuure my mom will be like, "Mehh, yeah it's not a huge surprise, you did like arts and crafts as a kid..."

I must say--- I did like arts and crafts but not nearly as excessively as everyone thought. I remember getting a "build-your-own-clock" thing for Christmas from my Grandma. It came with a wooden backboard to paint with crappy colors and a little motor to make it tick. 

"You're supposed to decorate it and assemble the whole thing and then you can hang it up in your room so you'll always know what time it is!" Grandma tried selling me the concept like she was Don Draper trying to pitch this crap toy to a business executive. 

I was probably 12 years old or so and I remember my brothers' gifts were much cooler. I was bitter, "Dammit, why does everyone think I like arts and crafts?... This is gay." 

So, maybe by age 12 I had developed enough self-awareness to know that artsy stuff was for girls? Or maybe I truly stopped being interested in that stuff? Not sure, probably both, but I was definitely aware enough to be pissed about that gift. To this day I am not artsy at all. I think this issue arose because at age 7 or 8 I probably drew at a 12 year old level, so everyone thought I was a good drawer, but then all the other kids caught up and I stayed the same, so by age 12, I was an average drawer. Then other kids got even better and I still draw like a 12 year old so... whatever. I'm getting off topic. 

Anyway, I am not a "Golden Gay". I had girlfriends starting in like 5th grade or something and in middle school we would meet outside the school and make out. My best friend and I would take our girlfriends to the beach and make out on the rocks-- typical kid stuff. I wasn't even pretending at that point because I wasn't having sexual thoughts period. I had no idea what I was supposed to be feeling, so it didn't even feel wrong. I definitely wasn't thinking about having sex with the girls, it was just something fun to do and it made me popular because it was cool. Girls always had crushes on me growing up. I don't know why. I look at pictures of myself in middle school and it's terrible. TERRIBLE. 

In high school having a girlfriend meant something more serious. It pretty much meant sex would be involved, and not really knowing any better, I just went with the flow. Boys like girls. I am a boy. Therefore I like girls. Simple modus ponens: 

  

Who can argue with that logic? I liked girls and that was that. 

I followed the normal progression of things: I got handjobs in my girlfriend's bed with the door cracked open and her mother just downstairs watching TV.

Then I would get blow jobs and that was probably the most amazing thing that has still ever happened to me: the blow job. 

I started having sex at 16. A lot of sex. In cars, in parking lots, in my bed, in her bed, in her grandmas bed, in her mom's bed (the first time was actually in her mom's bed and she found the condom wrapper in the sheets and we got in trouble). Hell, we just had sex any place we could think of. Even on a piano. I don't know why... maybe it was my idea? Maybe my friends instilled the idea in me? I don't even remember but I had this notion engrained in me, "It's cool to have sex in places where you're not supposed to have sex." A piano fit that description. I thought I was a porn star or something. I wasn't. I was a homo.

Anyway, the point of this blog is to share my coming out story but I thought this background was helpful.

Despite knowing for a while, I didn't act on any gay feelings until I was 21. It was during the winter break between fall and spring semester. At that point, I still didn't tell anyone for another 3 months. I had a very close friend named Matt who was gay. He and I became very close and had an awesome relationship. I would tell him about girls and he would share stories about dudes he was into and it was just a normal friendship, except he was gay and I was straight. Read that saga in a different blog. 

Anyway, he was the best person to tell. He was respectful, smart, open, reasonable and most importantly: gay. 

The story:

I went to school in NY but I had a job interview in the state where my family lived. Matt also lived and went to college there. I stayed with my parents for the weekend and interviewed on the scheduled day. I think the interview was Friday so the plan was to hang out at home with my family on Saturday, and then drive back to NY on Sunday. So I was laying in bed that Saturday morning and I was just feeling really down. I didn't feel happy to be home like I usually did and I wasn't excited to go back to school where I was feeling stifled and sort of alone. I remember laying in bed with my laptop and without really expecting anything helpful or reassuring I typed in the words "gay + depressed". Again, I don't know what my intentions were but I ended up reading this story about a dude coming out. I would be lying if I said it was particularly eye-opening or enlightening--it wasn't... but at the same time it obviously planted a seed. 

I remember my dad busted into my room and was like "Oook kiddo! Get yo' shoes on, I'm gonna need help replacing the shingles on the roof!"

My dad is such a do-it-yourself kind of guy. He built a huge extension onto our house and pretty much does all the home maintenance stuff by himself. It's really impressive... but every time I was home from college he'd make me help, which was fine. I just wasn't in the mood that day-- but of course I agreed.

I remember being on the roof with him and being completely distracted. Barely paying attention to him and just thinking... "I should tell Matt."

I was handing my dad shingles and nails but only passively listening to whatever conversation we were having, providing just enough feedback to not appear like I was stoned. 

*Note: at this point it sounds like I'm going to come out to my dad. I don't, that thought hadn't even crossed my mind. I still haven't come out to my parents.

Not sure how long we were up there or how many shingles we replaced, but once we were done, on a whim, I hopped in the car and drove about an hour and a half to Matt's college. 

He was obviously really excited to see me and host me around. We joined up with a bunch of his friends who I'd met a few times before and we just goofed around all day and into the evening. I almost forgot why I drove up there and even had second thoughts about telling him considering my mood was very much elevated after being around friends.

Anyway, at the end of the day I was getting ready to drop Matt off at his dorm. I parked the car and said, "I think I'll come up for a bit."

So we walked up to his room and were just hanging out, talking, shooting the shit. Then I said, "So, yeah, I guess Sarah has a new boyfriend..."

Sarah was a girl I dated for 4 years.

He said, "Oh yeah, hmm that sorta sucks, are you upset about it?"

I said, "Well, actually, no. Not at all. And I think the reason is because... I'm gay."

His face showed pure shock--almost terror. Without even thinking he said, "No! No, you're not!" followed by an uncomfortable laugh.

I was smiling but not laughing. He could tell I was serious, "Yes... yes I am". 

Matt has told me the first time he came out many times. His story is a little more dramatic, which for him, is consistent with the rest of his personality. He said as the words "I'm gay" tumbled out of his mouth he felt a sensation of dizziness and separation from the world around him, like it was some surreal experience that he wasn't living, but rather watching as a spectator.

So once he could get sensible words out, he asked if I felt the same way. I said, "No, I'm not as dramatic as you are, it's barely a big deal". Then he proceeded to tell me how proud he was and how honored he felt to be the first person. He told me that he would surely never tell a soul because the first code of being gay is you never out someone. Outing someone is the worst thing you could do to a gay person who isn't ready to be exposed. (Funny because in present day time, he's outed me to a few people).

So then he proceeded to ask me questions that I wasn't immediately comfortable answering, like if I'd ever hooked up with a dude, how long I've known, why did I decide to come out now, and who, of the mutual friends we had, did I think was hot... 

I was awkward in answering these questions and even lied to spare myself some pride. I didn't want to tell him about the first dude I'd hooked up with just yet. I'd just confided a lot in him: he can know the gay exists but doesn't need to know the details of it just yet.

So it was Saturday night and we were in college so naturally there was a party going on at a nearby dorm. He asked me to spend the night and come with him but I wanted to get home and pack so I could head back to NY the following day. I told him I'd drop him off at the party on my way off campus. He then took six.... SIX shots of vodka before hopping in my car. By the time we got to the dorm, which was not even 10 minutes later, he was already starting to act goofy. I told him to have fun, he told me he was proud of me and then he hopped out to join his friends at the party.

I would be lying if I said I felt like a weight had been lifted off my shoulders or that I now saw the world with new clarity... nope. Things were the same-- reason being is because I'd already accepted the fact that I was gay. My head was already clear. I wasn't in self-denial and I wasn't going to try to pretend otherwise. The only difference was that now I had a friend who knew so that did help.

I still felt stifled at college. People were always up in my business, wanting me to hook up with girls, asking why I wasn't dating again... same old people, same old thing. I was just terribly bored. 

Matt was a good outlet... before and after I told him.

It wasn't until much later I found out that, after dropping Matt off at that party, he continued to take more shots. He ran into another gay kid that he thought was cute, proceeded to make out with him, made a fool of himself and was stuck puking in the bathroom for hours--he managed to walk back to his dorm by himself where he said he was down on his knees yelling, bawling, sobbing for hours. 

ALL NIGHT.

Apparently, inside... he was not dealing with my coming out as well as he did on the outside. 

My Matt saga was a messy one... you can read that in another blog.

Gay Porn Intro? No, that's my Life

Sometimes gay things just happen to me.

I don't bring it upon myself and I'm definitely not trying to brag here. I'm not asking for it. I swear.

Just as a girl can only view the world as a girl, and a black person can only view the world as a black person---a gay person can obviously only view the world as a gay person. Therefore they know what it's like to be closeted, they know how they acted, they know how they felt, so maybe they can also spot it in others? (I know I should say 'we' because I'm not trying to distinguish myself from them, but I don't think I've acquired this skill... yet) They must therefore be more keen at noticing even the slightest nuances that are just not quite 'straight'--even if they're not textbook gay stuff like high voices, weak wrists, or dildos hanging from your belt loops. 

Despite not fully mastering it, I do sometimes get a little "beep, beep, beep, homo, homo, homo, waaaaarning, waaaaarning, homo, homo, homo, beep, beep, beep" feeling (but note: not the kind where every gay person thinks every straight person is actually gay and wants to sleep with them, I hate that).

Example, when I first moved to DC I joined a pretty low budget gym. Despite its overall crappiness, it did have a pool, so even though it meant potentially increasing my odds of contracting an STD, I swam in it every Friday. Anyway, like many gay pornos/fantasies begin, picture me undressing in the locker room... well don't picture me doing it, but just set the stage in your mind. I'm sure all straight people have thought, "Being gay in a locker room must be the same as getting changed in a women's locker room, I would just stare at tits the whole time...does that mean they're staring at my dick the whole time..."

In reality, yeah... probably. But for me, honestly, nahh. I'm modest and shy and prefer to find my own little corner to undress in. I don't like being naked in front of strangers. Call me crazy (call me maybe).

Anyway, I remember this because it's classically me: I was bent over, pulling down my bathing suit. It was wet and sticking to my legs and of course it got all bunched up at my foot and I couldn't get it off. I was fumbling and losing my balance, my balls dangling, ass hole exposed, just straight up struggling. I finally free my stupid foot from the wet suit and as I stand up straight I see this broad mother fucker looking at me. He was definitely strong, but not necessarily "fit". He was also older, maybe in his 40's and hairy--full on beard. If he were wearing clothes  (yes, he was naked too) he might wear like motorcycle gear or something-- Harley Davidson type stuff.

Anyway, I'd been bent over for a good few seconds so I'm sure my face was beat red and filled with blood with my temples pulsating... I was thinking, "Uhh so how long has this dude been standing there? Shit." So he looks at me and says, "Man, I saw you swimming out there... you swim in college?"

The blood hopefully has rushed out of my face and I say, "Nah, never, I just like it."

You'd think that would be enough, right? Since we were both standing there naked? Since we're two dudes in a public locker room? Nope.

Not finished yet he says, "Well, there's no way you can get such an amazing chest by just swimming, right?"

I don't even know what he means at this point, "Uhh [fake laugh] nahh, I mean I lift most days, I just try to swim on Friday's is all... so mixing it up... I guess."

"You look good, guy, keep it up!"

"Th-...." 

And he was gone. Thank god. I have to admit, despite it being awkward, there is that element of excitement as it's happening, "Holy shit, I've seen pornos like this.... is he gonna get on his knees and just go to town? What should I do? We're gonna need some stage direction, better lighting... cameras? Any cameras?"

But I know what I'd do. I'd pretend I didn't like it, I would suppress all excitement and pretend to be offended because... well, I'm a coward and a bad gay person.

Anyway... that's just one story... this next one is even weirder. 

One late Sunday evening I was home alone in my apartment,  probably bored, probably depressed (I hate Sunday evenings more than anything in the world, more than Monday mornings even... at least on Mondays you're already looking your shit week in the face, ready to defeat it.  On Sundays it's just a few sad hours of tossing and turning between you and the shitty week ahead, nothing to do but anticipate it, can't fight it yet...just wait for it.)

So anyway, I decided to go down and have a cigarette outside my building. I'm not a huge smoker, just occasionally when I'm drinking or on long drives or terribly bored and depressed... like this Sunday for example. I remember it was chilly, but not freezing, maybe March, so aside from throwing on a fleece, I went down wearing my... gym clothes? pajamas? Basically those are one and the same to me so just keep in mind it wasn't 'cute looking'. I didn't go out trying to impress anyone. Now that I think about it, I was probably wearing socks with flip flops. 

I live on a fairly quiet street where cars can park so it was not at all alarming to see a guy sitting in the front seat of a red Honda civic just yards away from me. I really didn't think much of it as I casually inhaled my cigarette. That being said, I do seriously remember thinking as I stomped out my cigarette, "Hmm, it would be weird if that guy talked to me..." Maybe I could feel him watching me or I could sense his anxiety in the air, either way, I turned around to walk back inside. 

I take no more than two steps when I hear a faint voice coming from his car, "Hey... Hey, guy!"

I pull out my earbuds and turn around. I see he has his passenger side window rolled down and he is leaning over the center console to yell to me.

My first thought was that he had been watching me smoke and wanted a cigarette. In fact, I was 99.9% sure that's what he wanted. Upon walking over to him, I already started digging into my fleece pocket to grab him one. When I finally got to his car I immediately noticed how anxious he was. He was almost shaking. He was probably my age, maybe a little older, late twenties or something, latino guy. I can't recall if he had an accent or not, probably not. Either way I remember his words, "Hey man, I'm really sorry. I'm really sorry but... I hate to be so forward and all but..."

Ohhh. He is trying to sell me coke. People always think I do coke. I've never done coke in my life. I was thinking, "Jeez, what an insecure coke dealer, there's no need to apologize, just spit it out so I can tell you I'm not interested."

Then he finally finished his sentence....

"... I just moved to the area and well, do you want a blow job?"

This obviously not the dude.

Pffffffrrttt. I remember I responded with such grace, as if I get asked that all the time-- as if a random dude pulled over on the side of the road asking to blow me is a normal occurrence--I turned it down as if he had just offered me life insurance.

"Nahh, man. No thanks." I think I even tapped the car door twice before turning around to go back inside-- I would liken this "double tap" to platonically patting a bud on the shoulder-- as if he were a good friend who I just made plans to see again tomorrow.

"OK, so tomorrow at... I don't know, six? Is six good?"

"Yeah man!"

"Cool, see ya then!"

* Tap, tap*

Then I walked away.

I could hear his car speed away seconds after the "double tap".

I ridiculed myself the whole rest of the way up to my apartment. 

"Did you handle that appropriately?"

"Why did you act so calm?"

"Maybe you should have invited him up to just talk, maybe offer him some tea?"

"No, he would definitely interpret that as a 'yes'..."

"Plus, you don't even drink tea... especially on Sunday, last thing you need on Sunday is caffeine..."

"Oh right good point!"

"Duh."

"Right, but that dude who just asked to blow you..."

"Weird."

Ok, both those stories... WHAT DID I DO? Even if I were that gay guy from Queer Eye for the Straight Guy or... I don't know Ricky Martin?... or God, I can't think of famous gay people... Lance Bass? Uhh.... Neil Patrick Harris...? Danell Leyva? Ok, fine, he isn't gay but the Olympics have been on and I can dream.

Danell Leyva: I'm sure after the Olympics are over,
 no one will know who this is so
... a visual.

Anyway, my point is, even if I were flaunting my gay, who does that? It strikes me as odd, but at the same time, I respect that.... maybe not the Latino car dude because that is some shady shit to give anonymous blow jobs... but the pool dude? I mean he's putting himself out there, and you never know, you might hit the jack pot... and worst case scenario you experience a hate crime, maybe get punched in the jaw: a good life experience. Who knows, all I know is that I'm not even bold enough to ask for a spotter at the gym so hell if I'm gonna hit on a dude who I suspect might be a homo. 

More power to you... unless you're trying to perform anonymous sex acts, in that case, shame on you.

Je ne veux qu'un gay confidant: Part I

The worst thing about being gay wasn’t coming out (which, for me has only been to a handful of people) but rather it’s the fact that, in so doing, and unbeknownst to me, it meant losing my FIRST and BEST gay confidant: My best friend.

So I want to share this relationship, which started where every perfect one wishes it had.

In Paris.

Just to give you an idea about where I was mentally: I had been broken up with my girlfriend for a year at this point. She and I dated for 4 years. I was definitely in the closet but deep down (or maybe not so deep down) I knew I was gay. It was still easy to dismiss/ignore/suppress because I’d been hooking up with girls and upon meeting me, I was not outwardly all that gay.

That being said, I must admit that if you were at all observant, and knew what to look for, some gay would slip out. Maybe it was how I rolled my eyes, or the fact that I thought Chris Crocker was funny, or that I decided to study abroad in Paris, whatever it was, it’s safe to say that my close friends had their suspicions. Oh, and as with many young gay people, the biggest and most obvious red flag was that I showed very little interest in getting back on the horse after breaking up with this long term girlfriend.

Either way, this is all beside the point. Paris is where I made my first real gay friend. He was out and gay and proud and hilarious.

He didn’t act very gay but he wasn’t in any way, shape, or form hiding it. In fact, before I even met him, I was told there were 3 other dudes in the program, each one getting a ‘token’ description. There was the hippie one, the fat one, and the gay one. Matt was that gay one.

I remember meeting Matt for the first time at a bar called “Le Violon Dingue” which was located in the 5^th arrondissement in the Latin Quarter—a bar we frequented often in the months to come.

Matt was standoffish and almost rude at first. I was the new kid in the program and I needed to be assessed and understood. I got that, whatever. No problem.

I very quickly became friends with a girl named Kate who was the ultimate hipster. She too was new to the program, so naturally we became close. She was beautiful and smoked cigarettes and wore sexy, black boots that made her look so Parisian. She loved Polaroids and smoked Lucky Strikes. French men would literally write her love letters. I didn’t know people still wrote love letters but it was Paris so I guess if it were to happen anywhere, it would be there. The best thing about Kate was that she didn’t speak a goddamn word of French and barely tried. She didn’t need to-- she was that perfect. Of course Matt was drawn to Kate as well but probably for different reasons. I was still so repressed I remember wanting to make her my girlfriend, where as Matt thought she made the PERFECT accessory.

Anyway, Kate is really the reason why Matt and I got so close. We would all hang out together and romp around the city. It must’ve been the first day or so because I remember upon hearing Matt order something in French, my jaw dropped. I’d never heard an American speak with such poise and such confidence and such fluency. Side note, something I notice about myself, and I don’t know why: I rarely offer compliments, even when they are well deserved, but I remember the words literally pouring out of my mouth, “Jesus, Matt, your French is amazing.”

At this point, Matt had little-to-no trust in me and even less interest, not to mention, I’m sure he’d heard the compliment a thousand times. I forget what his exact response was, so this could be way off, but the way I remember it is as follows:

He has his back to me. Upon hearing the compliment he offers just a head turn in my direction. He stares me right in the eyes and with his head stationary and his lips pursed, he looks me over from head to toe. He starts to tuck a pretend piece of hair behind his ear while simultaneously shaking his head and says “Um, I know” with a tone so condescending it would make you cringe. Then he turns his head back around and walks away giggling with Kate…. MY KATE under his arm.

In reality, since Matt isn’t a character from Mean Girls, he probably just smiled and said “Oh, thanks” but for some reason it came across like he was a giant bitch.

Eventually, I think Matt realized I was not a threat and that I was pretty funny and nice and interesting to talk to. Essentially the 3 of us: Kate, Matt and myself would get really, really high in Kate’s room and laugh and laugh and laugh until 3am every night. Eventually Kate would try to kick us out but we would just ignore her (not so subtle) hints for us to leave— In the beginning it was a little awkward because Matt and I had no established relationship independent of Kate but we would have to walk to our respective homes together. Despite having just laughed it up for like 5 hours and pretty much ignoring Kate in her room, as soon as we weren’t with her, we felt weird. As if her presence made it OK for us to be hanging out, even if she wasn’t paying attention to us, it made us both feel more comfortable. Remove her and we were like, “… so… yeah man. What’s up? Yeah.”

But maybe it was because we were so stoned? Who knows. Point is, that didn’t last long, and in fact it’s funny to think about a time when things were awkward because in the years to come, nothing was awkward between us except at the end of course.

I remember the first time we started to hang out without Kate, our first transition into a real, independent friendship. I was alone in my apartment and Matt came knocking on the door. I was like, “Oh hey… uhh Kates not here, but come on in”.

We started drinking wine. Note: I fucking hated wine but we had no money and we could each down our own bottle in one night and it was the PERFECT amount to keep us fucked up and it cost 1.85 euro. We became experts at searching for the cheapest wine with the highest alcohol content. Pretty sickening actually, but we both turned 21 that semester so it was fun and affordable.

I remember being up on the mezzanine level of my apartment, which overlooked the lower level where Matt was. I don’t remember why or how or who initiated it but I was playing 2 (terrible) songs over and over: Jo Jo’s “Baby it’s You” and Kelly Roland’s “Stole”. I’m embarrassed putting this down on paper now but at the same time I am remembering these moments fondly. 

I was on the mezzanine belting out the lyrics and Matt was down on the ground level dancing like a mad woman… (gayer moments of my life, I do admit). I can still see Matt gyrating his hips ever so ethnically to JoJo’s drum beat intro, getting heavier and raunchier as the rhythmic clapping marries in with the beat. This is an (embarrassing) snap shot in time that will forever be etched in my memory as the (proud) beginning of our friendship.

From there on out we were inseparable. We did everything together and we had a ball doing it. He would come over everyday and we’d hang out, listen to music, go on escapades throughout the city, get high, get drunk and then do it all over again. It’s funny that we were both “studying” abroad because I barely remember classes or studying or even learning for that matter. I do know that I got straight A’s that semester but Matt ended up graduating late for the time wasted in Paris.

At the end of the semester we returned back to the States where our friendship remained as strong as ever. We both lived in the same state so we saw each other often and things just continued as if we were still in Paris.

At that point the dynamic of our relationship was that I was the straight one and he was the gay one. He would tell me stories about the guys he was interested in and I would give him advice as if he were talking about a girl. It just felt normal. I think a part of Matt was proud to have a straight friend. When college started again that next semester we went to different schools but made a point to visit each other and meet each other’s friends and everyone just got along so well.

At this point the timing is pretty important. The first time I’d ever hooked up with a dude happened over winter break of my senior year in college. It was a little tough to get through that last semester and my friends all say I was “off”.  My best friend (who I am out to) has told me, “Yeah, man, I could tell you were struggling with something” but to be perfectly honest, I didn’t feel like I was struggling or coming to terms with being gay, that struggle was longer and more drawn out, and therefore less intense. It wasn’t concentrated all in that final semester by any means—so I still get defensive when he mentions this because he makes me sound crazy. Anyway, I just felt stifled and bored. I knew what I had in store for myself and what kind of life I wanted to live and being in college with those same people just did not fit that vision. Anyway, not the blog for that…

Point is, this is where it starts to get juicy. I was about to write the details of my coming out here but that is in another blog –so if you want to read that melodrama, go for it. Point is, Matt was the first soul on earth that I ever told. I would be lying if I said I felt like a weight was lifted off my shoulders or that things magically got better. It was just normal after that. Who better to tell than Matt-- a gay friend who I really respected and admired and to whom I felt very close. Since we were so close anyway, things just remained the same. He just knew a new fact about me. That’s all—or so I thought.

Anyway, in my mind things were just fine. I had a confidant and I felt I could be honest and use him as an outlet to vent, or get things off my chest. I told him about that first dude I hooked up with and how it went and how I felt etc. It all seemed pretty healthy despite occasionally getting some weird reactions that I would just dismiss and attribute to him just being a little judgy--whatevs. No biggie.

I have never been so wrong about something in my life. To see what happens with Matt and me, read: Je ne veux qu'un gay confidant: Part Deux... dun dun dunnnnnn.

***Note: I've cut this entry in half because it's just so loooong and so wooooordy and the detail is exhaaaaausting--I'm sorry, it's just off-putting.