As I got older, my mom hoped I’d learn how to conceal my pleasure with the opposite gender more readily, but to her dismay, it only got worse. At six years old I had my first girlfriend, but unlike most childhood romances, mine had passion. My mom always tells people about the night the family was driving to Uncle Bud’s—a seafood joint in the South that I remember fondly—and about the 167 kisses that took place in the back seat of the minivan while we drove. Timmy and Kimmy, we were a match made in heaven.
Several months later we were on a summer vacation with my “girlfriend’s” family, and Kimmy’s parents told us we had to break up because we were getting too old to date and kiss…But I wasn’t going to let her parents salt my game. Five minutes later I went over to Kimmy’s older sister, Bethany—who happened to be my brother’s “girlfriend” at the time—and I asked her out. She said yes, and my brother was devastated, but Bethany was a foxy nine-year-old, and I wasn’t going back to the single life, no matter what.
Because of this project and because I’m in the closet as a straight man, I can’t be who I’ve been since I was a kid. But being cut off from women this year isn’t yet as much a problem as I had thought it might be. I’m too distracted and off balance to even notice, really—but tonight that will change. Tonight I’m asking Shawn to go out with me, and I’m going to ask him to be my boyfriend. I’ve also got to tell him about my project and see if he is willing to help me on this journey.
It has been two days since my first club experience, and I am nervous about venturing into another gay bar. I don’t like being nervous. I don’t like being afraid of where I’m going and who I might meet along the way, but I don’t have the option of turning back. Shawn has graciously agreed to meet me at Tribe to talk, and I try not to fixate on the purpose of our meeting. This is my first time asking a man to be my boyfriend, and if he agrees, it will also be the last. Oddly enough, my nerves have less to do with Shawn and more to do with the environment I’m meeting him in. After my first experience the other night, I feel as though my homophobia has gotten worse, and I am not sure why. I was the one at fault there, but I can’t stop thinking about how violated I felt being touched the way I had been on the dance floor. But Shawn is different, and his style of interaction has always been respectable. I have always seen him as just as another friend. Springwater karaoke will do that to you, or at least it did that to me. It is a place where labels don’t survive very long.
The more I think about Shawn since that night, the more I know he will be the perfect boyfriend for me. I’ve known Shawn for a little over a year and always enjoy our talks. But even more than our talks, I enjoy listening to Shawn sing. He has a beautiful voice, the type that grabs you and places you in the very lyrics of whichever song he’s chosen to sing. His voice sounds like velvet feels. It is smooth, soulful, and deeply moving. Growing up in Nashville, I am not a stranger to listening to undiscovered talent, but Shawn isn’t just talented. He sings with every fiber of his being, with every cell in his body. It is magic. I have never been more impressed by an artist than I was the first time I heard him, and that was how our friendship began.
Shawn is adored by everyone who frequents karaoke. He has a personality that puts anyone at ease—and he’s the first openly gay man that I’ve ever felt such a connection with. I remember the first time we talked. He was walking off the stage, barely a step above the ground, and I grabbed his hand and told him how impressed I was by his voice. He hugged me. He hugged me like a lifelong friend would hug, deep and meaningfully, and he thanked me for the encouragement. His vulnerable nature and appreciation for a simple compliment was very moving, and I was suddenly faced with a gay man I was incapable of disliking or writing off. And now I can only hope that he won’t be offended by my project or write me off for asking him to help.
Club Play and Tribe, the gay bar where I’m meeting Shawn, are attached. Also attached to Tribe is a restaurant called Red. I don’t know how a restaurant can be gay, exactly, but it is. Everything from the food and the drinks to the employees are gay or gay-themed; the result is a line of three gay establishments, encompassing a small city block.
I walk into Tribe and marvel at the bar most straight people wouldn’t dare enter. The bar doesn’t fit my preconceived stereotypes. It’s classy, well-lit, and clean—an upscale place to grab a drink after work. I’ve been told all gay bars were dens of iniquity, places where men gathered by the hundreds to pair up and have the fleeting one night stands indicative of those that are sexually promiscuous. At first glance, a few of the men seem to have those stereotypical motives or are at least dressed that way, but most aren’t. This isn’t Play. Most of the crowd gathered tonight look like normal people, business men meeting friends for a beer after work, wearing suits or business casual. Even the drinks look more traditional. If I were to attempt to paint a visual, I’d say that Tribe looks like a cross between an Applebee’s and a P.F. Chang’s, with better lighting. I am much more comfortable here and feel less pressure from the environment itself. I could get used to this place.
I make my way to the bar and order a pint, and the bartender is very friendly. Unlike Play, he’s not shirtless. He’s wearing a nice collared button-up shirt and dark pants. His hair is spiked and he has several piercings in each ear, but for all intents and purposes he looks like a normal bartender.
Inside Tribe one finds two separate rooms, both with bars, and a third in the adjoining restaurant. After taking a sip of beer I walk into the second room and see Shawn waiting for me at a table. He’s wearing a black, vertically striped button-up and nice jeans. When he sees me, he smiles. Shawn is a handsome African-American man, bigger but well built. I know it is going to be an interesting dynamic. Black, gay, and we live in the South. Might as well kill two birds with one stone, I think. Shawn is also several inches taller than me, and as he stands up and hugs me, I feel like I’d imagine a girl would feel hugging me. There’s a sense of safety in his embrace, a sense of comfort that says everything is and will be okay…and I hope that proves to be true. Shawn’s demeanor is calm as I explain my experiment to him. He appears to be waiting to react. I wait for his response the way I waited for my brother’s when I came out. This is the first time I’m telling a gay man about what I’m doing, and I nervously hope he won’t be offended. Shawn takes a few deep breaths, and I take a few deep gulps of my beer.
“Wow…I don’t really know what to say.” His words are slow and deliberate: “First, I want to say that I think it’s an incredible idea and I’m happy you are doing it.” I exhale a sigh of relief and wait for him to finish. “And I’m really happy you told me.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re in it deep right now and I’m glad I know, so I can be here for you.” Shawn puts his hand on mine and his expression is reassuring.
“Well, it’s funny you should say that,” I laugh nervously.
“Why?”
“Because I need to ask you a huge favor.”
“Uh huh…” he says.
“I was in the club a few days ago, and I don’t exactly know what happened, but I was pretty aggressively forced into an uncomfortable situation by a guy. I didn’t know how to react, and I think I was as offensive as I felt offended. I don’t know how to act in gay bars and clubs, and I need to learn,” I say in a rush. Shawn looks at me thoughtfully but doesn’t say anything. “I guess what I’m trying to say is that I really need someone to teach me. Shawn, I want you to be my boyfriend.” I down the rest of my beer.
Shawn waves to the bartender and he comes over. “I’d like to buy my friend another beer,” he says.
“Sure, babe. What kind?” the bartender asks.
“Blue Moon, please,” I answer.
“I think that is a really good idea, Tim,” Shawn says to me. “It’ll at least give you an excuse to turn down the guys who will ask you out, which minimizes the damage you could potentially do to their feelings. You need to make sure you don’t take advantage of them. Just observe
and interact, and pay attention to what you see.”
“I would never want to hurt anyone or take advantage of their feelings. Besides, no guy is going to ask me out!” I laugh.
“Sure they will! I would, if you were really gay,” he says.
“So you’ll be my boyfriend?” I ask again.
“Let me get this straight. You aren’t gay so you want me to be your boyfriend?”
“That’s pretty much the gist of it.”
“Okay. I’ll do it.” Shawn half giggles to himself and takes a sip of his drink.
“Really? Are you sure?” I ask.
“Of course I’m sure,” he says. “This is going to be an interesting year!”
“It already is.”
“I can’t begin to imagine.”
The bartender brings my Blue Moon and I drop the orange slice into the beer.
Shawn and I make small talk, letting the gravity of our new relationship sink in. His tone is reassuring. I tell him about what it was like coming out, and that I’ve emailed and texted a few people but haven’t heard anything back. I feel rejected, like I have a disease or something, and they won’t come near me. I am in the South, so I guess I do have a disease, albeit a social one. I would probably be ignoring me, too, and that fact shames me. But Shawn understands, and it is nice to talk with someone who understands. I tell him more about my first time at the club and how uncomfortable I was. Like Josh and Sandra, he laughs at me and agrees that I acted like a big piece of meat, and for the first time during my year, I actually forget where I am and what I’m doing. For the first time, I’m just another guy in a bar, sitting with a friend and enjoying a beer.
“Okay, boyfriend, teach me,” I say.
“First things first,” he says. “See that guy over there at the bar? He’s been eyeing you since I got here.”
“What? Gross!” My reaction is subconscious and instantly I see that I’ve offended my friend.
“Gross? Tim, it’s not gross. It’s not even remotely a bad thing.” Shawn thinks for a minute. “It’s as natural as you being attracted to any woman you see.”
“He’s probably not even looking at me. He’s probably looking at you!” I feel like an idiot.
“Seriously, he is! You’re going to need to learn that men and women look for different things. And you’re hot.”
I don’t know if I should take Shawn’s words as a compliment or an insult.
“You’re going to get a lot of attention, and the attention you’re going to get is a lot different from the kind you’re used to. You can’t act put off by it, or even uncomfortable. You have to learn how to embrace it. Just think about it this way: If a guy gives you attention, even if it’s unwanted, it’s a compliment. He’s saying he thinks you’re attractive and worth his putting himself out there, just for the chance of getting your number. If you think of it that way, you won’t feel nearly as uncomfortable.”
“So how do I turn them down without giving myself away?”
“Use your common sense. If a guy has just put himself out there, realize and appreciate that fact. Be gentle and gracious and tell him you have a boyfriend, but thank him and flirt a little bit.”
“Flirt?”
“Yes, Tim, flirt. If you think you’ll be able to last an entire year, night after night at places like this, without pinching a butt or two, you’re not going to make it!”
“Me pinch a guy’s butt?” I feel sick at the thought. It’s hard enough for me to be touched by a gay man, much less flirt with one.
“The rules of flirting are virtually the same here as they are at a straight bar. Be suggestive without being too aggressive, and be playful. Flirting between gay men is almost more about validating that other person than it is about hooking up with them. Think of flirting as the ultimate encouragement.”
“But what happens if they are too encouraged by it…?” I ask.
“Tim, you aren’t going to get raped! Is this really what you think about gay men?”
“No, but you’ve gotta try to understand how hard this is for me.”
“Stop thinking about everything in terms of you, and think about it in terms of others. You aren’t in church. You’re on different turf, and it’s not your place to be put off by an advance, no matter how unwanted it is. When a guy comes up to you, realize that he’s doing so because he sees something in you that he likes, and that’s never a bad thing. Take it as a damn compliment!”
“Okay, I’ll try. And I do understand.” An awkward pause follows and I can’t help but stare at two men a few tables away making out. The sight turns my stomach.
Shawn sighs, seeing my discomfort. “And if you’re worried about it going too far, don’t be. Just remember that no means no. It’s a genderless word. If you’re courteous about it, you’ll most likely get a free drink, even if you say no.”
“So what do I do about that guy at the bar? Is he still staring?”
“Not for long.” Shawn smirks. “If I’m your boyfriend, then let me do my thing.”
Shawn looks intently at the man staring at me. It’s not a mean look, but it’s possessive, and it’s not long before the stranger turns away, apparently having gotten the hint.
“Now he knows we’re together.” Shawn seems happy with himself, confident and playful.
“You really are a gay Yoda!” I’m amazed at how subtle Shawn’s body language was. “Have I mentioned how much I love you?” Shawn laughs and I know I’ve made the right decision. Not only do I get at least a small measure of protection and an awesome excuse to avoid potential suitors; I also get to spend time with someone who defies my Pharisee, someone I actually trust.
“So how’s this relationship going to work?” Shawn’s voice brings me back to the moment, and I’m at a loss.
“I don’t really know…” I say. “I won’t be dating anyone else.” The no-women rule of my year weighs heavily on me as I speak.
“You know, the only thing you really need to understand is that the people you’re going to meet and have relationships with this year aren’t any different from you.”
“But we believe so differently.” I can’t help but argue internally over the semantics.
“You’ll figure it out, sooner or later.” Shawn speaks from experience. His coming out was a radical one, though not of his own volition.
Shawn was raised in a single-parent household, and his mother was all he had. Much like me, he had been very active in church growing up, but when a close friend who attended the same church “repented” of a physical relationship they’d had on a few occasions, Shawn couldn’t hide his orientation any longer. He was outed in the worst possible way: by a former lover, confessing to a group of leaders in the church—a group that included Shawn’s own mother. At the time of his friend’s confession, Shawn was walking past the quad to practice for a theater production, and his cell phone rang. It was his mother, calling to confront him about what she had just been told. And Shawn told her the truth and bore the overwhelming stress with grace. He even forgave the friend who outed him and remained in the church, taking a stand that I would not have had the courage to take. Shawn inspires me.
Not only does he inspire me, Shawn makes me question myself. Why do I believe I’m any different, any better, than anyone else? Why do my beliefs give me a sense of entitlement? Everyone is human, fallible, and flawed, and it is not my job to determine who’s better or worse. It is my job to be myself and to learn as much as I can from anyone I meet. This year is about that, and Shawn is showing me that I need to experience the discomfort, especially since I’ve put myself into this position.
“Just remember, be kind but be unavailable.” Shawn’s tone is serious, and I know he is trying to spare me future awkwardness. “And if you ever need me, just call my cell. If I can make it, I’ll be here to help out!”
I feel like I may have bitten off more than I can chew. Adopting the label of gay isn’t enough to understand gay. I have to know how to interact and what not to
do. The other day, I probably sent all the wrong signals, probably made an ass of myself by being the me I’m hoping to change. I feel remorse for letting down everyone, even if they don’t know it.
Have you ever wondered what it’d be like to wear another person’s shoes? It’s not easy. The setting of my life’s story is changing at a pace I can barely keep up with, and I know this is just the beginning. Going from homophobe to boyfriend is a huge leap, but it feels right. I feel like I am finally understanding life, and my time with Shawn is a huge step forward.
Tribe’s crowd dwindles as we talk. It’s a weeknight, and people have to work, including Shawn. We settle the bill and make our way to the patio while we finish our drinks. It has been a different kind of night than I anticipated: I was faced with the fact that I’m the weird one, and that my beliefs make me the alien. Going from the majority to the minority isn’t what most people would consider doing, but I know I have to learn that life really isn’t about me. Even the thought of this is refreshing, and I am excited to see how this plays out.
My boyfriend (boyfriend!) hugs me as we separate, and I cannot thank him enough. He has spared me the possibility of falling on my face while I’m getting used to the LGBTQ nightlife, and he has increased my chances of changing my life for the better.
Will
There is a fine line between tolerance and rejection. Waking up to that fact has cost me dearly. In the past three weeks, I’ve received emails and text messages from people whom I always believed loved and valued me. But now I know the truth. Instead of speaking with me in a personal way to understand my decision, many of these people took the easy path of judgment, and they did so using the impersonal and soulless tools of social networks and email to do the dirty work.
Upon hearing the news of my coming out, multiple friends voiced their concern over my “evil” decision; but instead of speaking to me in person or even on the phone, they resorted to black letters on a white page—and not the kind I can touch and feel, and fold up to put in my pocket. They manifest their worldviews so impersonally that I am left wondering if they ever really loved me to begin with. On the other hand, I also feel relieved. I don’t know how much more I could handle right now.
The Cross in the Closet Page 5