Where Is the Owner's Manual?

Well, that's a funny title, so I guess I ought to say a little more.... What I want to do is explore some of the things that being gay means to me. I probably won't be saying totally unique things here. At least they won't be unique to other gay folks out there. I might be musing, I might be venting, and maybe I might be giving first voice to some ideas that have been running around my head somewhere.

I was your typical clueless kid. I don't recall sex being much of an issue for me when I was younger. Except for masturbation, of course. Women never showed up at all in my fantasies. Men didn't either, for that matter. When other beings showed up, they tended to be dark, unrecognizable figures.

Around 14 or 15, I remember I was sneaking glances at the crotches of other male classmates. It was always a furtive thing—"I'm not supposed to be doing it/I gotta look" kind of thing. I got caught at it once by the guy I was staring at. Talk about embarassing. Still. I was spending all of my spare time learning how to play the guitar and wishing I could be a mountain man. Grizzly Adams was on TV then and Jeremiah Johnson was at the movies. Them's were shining times for wild furry critters.

Ah yes. I did say clueless, didn't I? Of course the main reason why I liked Grizzly Adams wasn't particularly for the plot lines. But anyway...

At 19 I started a conversation with one of my best friends at college that went something like "Did you ever wonder...I mean...about guys...." (It wasn't that I wanted to start something with him, though he's a fine catch--just ask his wife.) Well, that's as far as the conversation got for seven years. But I continued to notice how attractive some guys were, just as I had been since I was 14 or 15. I didn't have the words to explain it to myself, and if you had asked me I'd have denied the interest—it wasn't within the realm of my possibility that I might be "that."

I had a couple of girl friends in college. No great romances though. I managed to graduate and come home single and, um, "inexperienced" in the ways of love. I guess it was all still percolating.

I don't know exactly what triggered it. All I remember is, I was in my bedroom at my folks' house, where I still lived, and I just knew and I finally had the words. Saying the words, "I am gay," lifted a big black veil and actually made me happy—I finally knew what my deal was. It was one month past my 26th birthday, April 1988.

Well, when the ice finally broke, it was a relief. Uncharacteristically (for me at least) I didn't worry about being hated or bashed or anything bad. But it was still a long road to move from the theoretical construct of being gay. I still lived with my folks, so the extent of gay life was going to a mostly straight adult bookstore for a couple of magazines once in a while. I'd buy The Advocate in addition to a purely erotic mag—I always figured that was a good thing, because The Advocate had news and features that weren't purely sex-related. I'd smuggle the mags up to my room in my daypack, which I carried to work every day anyway. I believe no evidence was ever found, since no one went into my room as far as I knew.

About two years later, after I got my first apartment, I finally went to my first bar. By then I had found Chosen Books, Detroit's gay and lesbian bookstore, and I was going there biweekly for The Advocate and other mags. One Saturday I had picked up Drummer—the theme that issue was bears. John, the owner who was working the register, had gotten to know me a little from my visits. He asked me if I'd ever been to the Detroit Eagle. I had to admit (since I'm very good at being self-effacing) that I had driven by there in daylight, but never at night and never to go in. He invited me to meet him there that night.

So, nervous as I was about going to a leather bar, I got there around 10:30. I went to very few bars of any stripe, except as part of a band, and almost never alone. But the Eagle was cool even despite my uneasyness. I eventually did run into John and his lover, I also ended up meeting someone and tricking for the first time. I'll skip the details of that, but I will say that driving home the next day I was exhilarated over the new break through. And I became a fairly regular customer of the Eagle after that.

I'm amazed by the folks who report knowing that they were attracted to people of their own gender in their preteen years. Equally amazing are high school kids who have the guts to stand up for the love and attractions they have. In my case, gayness was almost not an issue—in the small town high school I attended, there were no queer pioneers (though there was a teacher who drew whispered accusations from budding macho students). And it wasn't mentioned in my family, not often at least.

I said "almost" and "not often." Yet there were fellow students who'd call me queer or faggot. Now, at that age in those days, perhaps it was just a synonym for freak or weirdo, without the sexual innuendo. On the other hand, I've been nonplussed occasionally to think that they might have known about me a decade or more before I did. (I hate that sort of thing.) But I bet they didn't really know—they probably would be just as surprised or more if I told them today as I was when I found out ten years ago.

So Where Is the Owner's Manual for This Sexuality?