Drag show

I live in a place where an entire team of heterosexual men cross-dresses for its softball games. Men in dresses consistently win awards and throng our many town parades. My guess is, not one of these cross-dressers is gay or even particularly kinky, although who knows what goes on between their sheets?

I have observed little kids when first they see a man dressed as a woman. It is so far outside their experience, such a non-sequitur in the lexicon of their perception, that they stare unabashedly, unable to take their eyes off the fashion statement. They just don’t get it.

Transvestites or cross-dresser men are not necessarily gay; they simply like to wear women’s clothes. Cross-dressers are not minimalist players. In my experience, their breasts are too big, they wear entirely too much makeup, and they all have too much “big” hair. Maybe all that is the badge of entry; maybe it’s part of the fun of cross-dressing. I don’t know.

I have never experienced any great compulsion toward cross-dressing, if for no other reason than because I look like hell in women’s clothing. I don’t have a body that looks attractive in tight-fitting anything. I have no hourglass waist, no bosom, no flaring hips and my legs are not those of an attractive woman. I can’t imagine wearing high heels; I have injured my ankle falling off cowboy boots.

Furthermore, I have seen a lot of transvestites who simply didn’t cut the mustard in their wannabe garb. I have only seen one or two men dressed in drag that I thought made for an attractive woman; one of those looked damned good. Maybe I’ve just been looking in the wrong places…which begs the question: Which are the right places?

The right place to see men in drag—no surprise—is a drag show. I witnessed my first drag show a couple of months ago in Dallas, where we happened into a restaurant called Hung Dinger’s. At a show like this, there is no doubt that performers are, or once were, gay men. No simple cross-dressers and no pretense: They were gay.

Hung Dinger’s features a good Italian feed followed by a floor show with female impersonators, transvestites, transsexuals…whatever. I never did fully determine the sexual disposition of the performers; I think several were in transition between genders.

Regardless, although I didn’t deem my first drag show highly erotic, I fully enjoyed myself. The women were titillating and sexy, they flirted effectively enough to wrangle paper money from my pocket, and they had their act down. Most of the time, I couldn’t even tell they were lip-synching. That is, until they lowered the microphone enough to say, “Thank you, sweetie,” while the music voice-over continued unabated.

The show was good enough at Hung Dinger’s that it made me wonder how good a really high production drag show must be. In either case, high-rent or low, I do wonder something else: Why do gay men pay money to watch other gay men dress up as women? Entertainment value? Rite of passage? Good clean fun. Ah, that must be it.

The other woman, er…man

Maybe it’s the age thing instead of the fidelity thing. More likely, the fidelity thing is pervasive across the age continuum. When young, we play the field and tickle the ivories of promiscuity. As we age, we find a partner and settle into a single committed relationship. Young or old, homo or hetero, committed relationships usually imply and demand fidelity.

My own attempts at fidelity have been dismal failures. As a mature man who has danced both sides of the sexual orientation fence, it is safe for me to assert that fidelity is not part of the way I am put together. With apologies to everyone whom I have failed, I admit that fidelity goes against my nature. Therefore, a committed relationship is probably—never say never—beyond my ken.

Here’s the age thing: No matter what our sexual orientation and for whatever reasons, in the fullness of maturity we seek the security and comfort of a long-term committed relationship. We want to be “married” to one person who will succor us through better and worse. It’s time to settle in for the duration.

This makes social and sexual life difficult for newly-single mature gay men, fresh out of the closet and the security of heterosexual marriages. Young and single men aren’t interested in the old dude, who may himself desire young men, but who probably relates better to men his own age.

There are more and more men in this situation; life isn’t necessarily easy after the closet door slams shut behind us. Having changed the program, we must begin anew, seeking friends of like mind and sexual partners with whom we are compatible. The field is limited, and many of us are long out of practice or completely unfamiliar with the new social milieu.

For my part, I am not entirely out of practice and I thoroughly enjoy my new social milieu…rarified as it is. I am attracted to men around my age who share a life experience and lifetime agenda that years past demonstrate. No surprise: many of those guys are married.

Here’s the fidelity part: Married men—homo or hetero—are involved in one of those long-term committed relationships…with someone else. Having myself so recently been down the long and painful road of infidelity and divorce, I tell myself not to help put other men on that path.

This is lots easier said than done. While still in a heterosexual marriage, I interacted with married men; it seemed safer that way and less damning. Mutual guilt is somehow less guilt. I still share those relationships, although I now try to maintain them as friendships so sex doesn’t jeopardize a marriage.

Gay relationships and a few heterosexual relationships are sometimes more open. A wife, for example, may demonstrate love and understanding for her gay spouse and consent to his homosexual perambulations…as long as he’s careful. Gay relationships are sometimes non-monogamous enough to sustain one partner enjoying sex outside the primary relationship.

The upshot? Be kind, be careful, what goes around comes around. It’s complicated, but who would expect it otherwise?

Sexual dynamic

“How come guys are so weird?” asked my friend. “You’re a guy and you used to go with women. Why do guys always act so weird around women?”

Women confide in gay men because we are non-threatening. They open up to us because they know they can tell us stuff in candor. While I will never use such confidences to my own inter-personal advantage, the information is consummately interesting because it provides insight into about fifty-percent of humanity.

“Men are weird with women because men think what they say and how they act will be misinterpreted,” I answered.

Men often don’t understand women; women often don’t understand men. Hence: Men talk to women so they can sleep with them--women sleep with men so they can talk to them. Billy Crystal said: "Women need a reason to have sex. Men just need a place." Caveat: Any insight I proffer about heterosexual matters is suspect. It didn’t work for me--track record--not for lack of trying, but because I am homosexual. Duh.

Men fear they will appear needy or too forward. While their greatest desire might be to jump into the sack with their date, they are loathe to demonstrate their desire for fear of rejection. Women, by contrast, want to experience a connection, to be wooed for who they are and not as sexual objects.

In my limited experience, I believe the dynamic is different between gay men. I read somewhere in fiction, “Men like us just happen to like other men like us, to like the way a man kisses, or the feel of him in our hands…” It is straightforward. Two men attracted to one another don’t necessarily have to indulge some kind of mating dance; they understand each other from the get-go.

For example, I am a very sexual person and very forward. When I am with a guy I want to pleasure, I simply ask if he will let me. Generally, he understands my impulse and is grateful for no innuendo and no pretense. My cards are on the table. The man understands “forward” and is often turned on by it. If the man doesn’t want me messin’ with him, he merely declines my offer. I don’t feel rejected and we can proceed with being friends…or whatever.

Can anyone imagine such a dynamic between a man and woman?

Light in the heart of darkness

Dallas? Like in Dallas, Texas? That’s the place where a misbegotten soul assassinated one American president, and where another president—misbegotten himself—finds refuge in the heart of darkness.

Yet deep in the heart of Dallas there is a neighborhood called Oaklawn, which shines a bright light in the midst of an otherwise bible-belt, mega-church congregation. Maybe I’m being too harsh; to be honest, I did not wander far or sample amenities such a large and diverse community must have to offer.

Oaklawn is an active and mature gay enclave. I recently visited the Oaklawn “gayborhood” with a group of men I joined when my marriage went south because I am gay. Men in our group have lots in common: being gay and having travelled similar paths. To me, the gay part is special; being part—even temporarily—of a larger gay community is liberating and enabling.

As I define my out of the closet path, I experience a gestalt so much more fulfilling than quickie, hook-up sex I sought when in the closet. I enjoy walking down the street holding hands or sharing a kiss in public. I can enjoy being with a bunch of gay men or my boyfriend. I can be with another man with whom I feel an attachment, with whom I am bonded, and I don’t have to hide it.

Among a community of gay men, no one stares, no one makes rude comments and everyone understands. Like-minded souls embrace my feelings and my passions. These are rewards for coming out of the closet and living an honest and authentic life. This is practically unique in my experience, because no matter how far out of the closet I travel, I cannot experience that freedom at home where I live.

That is absolutely not to say I would move from my home here at the head of the draw to an urban neighborhood where I could more openly celebrate my sexuality. In all this coming-out-sexuality talk, it is easy to lose sight of the fact that sexuality is only one part—albeit sometimes all-consuming—of the whole that is me. I ski…and I am gay. I frequent rarified ridges…and I do so as a gay man. I annoy my horses, and they don’t give a damn one way or another whether I am gay or not…but of course, I am.

Back home now, far from the heart of darkness, I am in another enclave. My place is by no means gay, but instead is a recreation archipelago that celebrates mountains and nature, clean air and water, solitude, prospect and refuge. I have left my gay community behind for the time being, and no question: I miss it. But I am happy in my chosen place. I am content as a gay man because no matter where I go, there I am.

Glass slipper

Having labored so long under the cruel stepsisters of heterosexual relationships, my prince finally fitted me with a glass slipper of love and companionship. My transformation involves an epiphany of truly life-changing proportions. Although I expected my coming out would change things, I wasn’t entirely prepared for the depth of feeling I am experiencing.

He told me I would begin to experience feelings, recognize nuances and notice differences in the way I perceive other men and the way they perceive me. My feelings have transitioned from yearning for clandestine, transitory and often somewhat insalubrious experience, to deeper sexual understanding created by friendship and companionship. Although there remains certain appeal, I no longer seek strictly one-night stands, quickies and hook-ups. I have discovered more complex and satisfying feelings, and find myself quite taken with them.

Ah, nuance: tricky stuff. We un-reconstructed hippies call it a vibe. As an out, gay man I find myself more keenly attuned to different vibes. Certainly there is the question, when I meet an acquaintance on the street, of whether or not they know I am gay. Sometimes that vibe is easy to discern. If I sense, for example, a tentativeness or outright stand-offishness, I know they know and either don’t approve or don’t understand how to deal with it. I find myself highly sensitive to homophobia. In other people I sense approval and happiness for me. Yet others simply don’t want to know about my sexuality—too much information—a penchant I completely understand.

Finally, there are differences in the way I perceive other men and they way they perceive me. Some call this “gaydar.” In the microcosm of my small community, I find all too few blips on the gaydar screen. Even so, I celebrate my growing awareness of other men, but am careful, knowing most of them don’t share my predilections. It is my hope that as my gaydar becomes more sensitive, I can more easily distinguish those who are comfortable with me and my gayness.

I am on a new and exciting learning curve, surrounded by fresh feelings and harbingers of a wonderful new way of being me. Yes, I am still the old me, but now there is so much more. Born again like Cinderella on the half-shell, the glass slipper fits really well. However, I will have to fit it with waffle-stomper soles in order to negotiate the rocks and ice.

Enthusiasm of inexperience

I haven’t been there as much as I’d like to have been, and I haven’t done that, at least not enough to call myself comprehensively experienced. More than one forever-gay friend has told me my enthusiasm would easily outstrip my experience and they were correct. I was forewarned…but I haven’t let that slow me down.

Instead, I’m like that kid in a candy store where I want to sample every sweet-tasting candy stick in those tall glass jars behind the counter. The clerk warns me all that candy will damage my teeth and even wiser counsel suggests I will spoil my dinner. I don’t give a tinker’s damn about dinner in the short run; there is no question that I am a total slut for immediate gratification. I almost always fill up on appetizers…or candy, as the case may be.

I approach my quest for experience with an enthusiasm seldom even remembered by those who long ago allowed wonder and novelty to fade. My newfound sexual liberation and empowerment manifest as freedom to meet and enjoy the company of men on a level I never previously imagined…and I’m diggin’ it. Does this make me overly promiscuous? Well, perhaps not overly; maybe just a little bit.

Promiscuity carries with it numerical requirements better realized in a bigger pond. Thus, my enthusiasm is constrained by geography, which I believe is keeping me out of trouble. Given my inexperience and apparently boundless enthusiasm, I undoubtedly would land myself in less than savory circumstances. Regardless, I’m always looking for ways to increase my travel budget because the best candy stores are some distance away.

If all these metaphors are confusing, I’ll try to be clear. Compared to many, I am a relatively inexperienced, newly out, gay man. Yet my enthusiasm is that of an adolescent. In seeking to broaden my experience, if I didn’t live at the head of the draw I would be considerably more sexually active.

As it is, I travel to meet male friends. Therefore, I have plenty of windshield time to ponder and fantasize my actions, and my carbon footprint sucks. But I am one enthusiastic lover after the rubber leaves the road and the engine is ticking as it cools. There I go with the metaphors again.

Thousand-pound gorilla-Part I

Monogamy, my failure to sustain it, has caused me nothing but trouble throughout my life...think track record. I have attempted heterosexual monogamy since puberty and failed miserably. That is very possibly because I was attempting heterosexual anything. My failure caused pain for both my erstwhile partners and for me. Self-imposed pain is mine to deal with, but I cannot so easily dismiss pain I caused others…think bad karma.

Entering the seventh decade of my life, my impulse is to eschew monogamy altogether. That impulse flies in the face of conventional wisdom which dictates that as we age, we must have a partner to take care of us. I am luckier than most in that I believe I have a safety net. They say it takes a village to nurture a child; I hope it also takes a village to nurture an old dude.

That said, I must identify characteristics of a relationship that I do want. Internet hook-up sites abound with relationship descriptions and acronyms: no strings attached (NSA), long-term relationship (LTR), closed-loop relationships (CLR) for married men, fuck-buddies, friends with benefits and the rest. Since monogamy doesn’t blow my skirt up, which of these suits me?

Furthermore, since I started writing this, events outpaced me. That is to say, I started about monogamy--or not--but before I finished writing, I expanded my understanding of what gay relationships can be. Now I must apply new considerations; with new understanding, should I, would I, could I be monogamous?

I think down the road, maybe so. But admittedly monogamy is not who I am right now, nor is it consistent with my progression out of the closet. It would be self-defeating to jump into monogamy before I learn more about who I am as a gay man.

Conversely, being a gay boyfriend with someone whom I care about could be the most fulfilling relationship a gay man could experience. I would be foolish to deny the wonderful potential such a relationship represents. It would depend on a lot of stuff I don't as yet understand.

I have no doubt that things will proceed apace, but I know the thousand-pound gorilla won’t long remain, sitting out there in the middle of the room.

Go figure

Given my enthusiastic progression from bisexual to homosexual and the ever-insistent nature of my sexuality, I shouldn’t be surprised at my single-minded pursuit of life and lifestyle. Given no choice in being gay, I am not immune to unbidden eagerness in suiting action to genetics. Katie, bar the door.

At some level, coming out of the closet is its own motivation. I was surprised at one point, that in order to legitimately claim my homosexuality I felt I had to indulge my same-sex attraction as often and as expansively as possible. In other words, if I am to say I am gay, I damned well better get out there and do gay.

That in itself is a challenge and demonstrates a frustration with which I have long been familiar. Partners with the same enthusiasm don’t exactly flock to my door. In that light, I continually feel over-sexed. My father told me that when I reached this age, rampant sexuality would fade. But he was wrong. I am one of those people who always think about sex, and continue to enjoy it with substantial physical passion.

The more I act out, the more I want to act out. Such gusto is forgivable, unless of course, I carry it to extremes. Intellectually, I recognize extreme as a slippery slope. In every other respect, especially carnal, I like sliding down hills. My sexual appetites are strong and, uh…eclectic. Given my penchant for what feels good, moderation is a challenge.

I tried to explain this to my friend Joe: the more I get the more I want. He laughed and told me I would mellow out. Damn, I thought, I don’t want to mellow out. I spent 20 years in a closet trying to be mellow. What I have learned in my accumulation of years, is that time flies. I want to get it on.

Being and acting…out

There is a big difference between being gay and acting gay. In Coming Out: An Act of Love by Rob Eichberg, one correspondent said, “I can choose to act gay, I cannot choose to be gay.”

Being gay is something we come to terms with in our own heads. Most gay men know of their same sex attraction early in life. They acknowledge they are gay, and recognize they will be gay during their lifetimes. The first step in coming out as gay involves admitting one’s homosexuality to one’s own self. This step was easier for me because I recognized myself as bisexual and loved it. Homosexual was a refinement that has increased and decreased over time.

Acting gay—acting out—isn’t necessarily about assuming effeminate mannerisms and speech, or dressing and otherwise carrying on flamboyantly. Acting gay is the act of enjoying sex with other men, the proof in the pudding. It is the physical, intellectual and perhaps spiritual attraction. It is the actual carnal act of enjoying sexual relations with another man.

Acting gay is a choice. As many gay men do, we can suppress our urge to act gay and stay in the closet. Even admitting to ourselves and others that we are gay, for whatever reasons, we may choose not to indulge our same-sex attraction. Alternatively, we can make the choice to act on our attractions, to seek and enjoy sex with men.

For me, acting gay was obvious, exciting and by no means difficult. At first, during my second coming out, I felt guilty about having sex with another man. Then I said to myself, “It’s okay; this is what gay men do. I am gay so I can accept and enjoy this pleasure.”

The dichotomy between being and acting is perhaps more poignant to a married man coming out to his wife. For example, after anguish and soul-searching, he can finally admit his orientation to his wife. The wife can accept that her husband is gay as long as he remains faithful and doesn’t act on his inclinations. He can be gay, but he can’t act gay. Depending on the individuals, the nature of their relationship, and boundaries and logistics they define, this can be tortuous or liberating.

One friend advised me on coming out, that once the door was cracked open I would come out with…uh, enthusiasm. That advice has proven correct in being and acting, out and sometimes loud. Actions speak.

A matter of scale

Lots of folks, both homo and hetero, believe bisexual doesn’t exist. Homosexuals believe bisexuality is a phase on the path to realization and enlightenment as homosexual. Heterosexuals believe same sex attraction at any level is homosexual. If a man maintains a relationship with a woman while experiencing—resisting or enjoying—attraction to his own gender, he is deeply in the closet, hiding his orientation behind her skirts.

Bisexuality therefore, is bête noir to both camps, claimed by neither, accepted by none. Yet bisexuality seems a more natural manifestation of human sexuality than either exclusive extreme. It opens the field, doubling the number of prospective partners and greatly expanding potential pleasure.

Two sex researchers recognize a sexual continuum with heterosexuality at one end and homosexuality on the other. Alfred Kinsey wrote, “Males do not represent two discrete populations, heterosexual and homosexual. The world is not to be divided into sheep and goats. It is a fundamental of taxonomy that nature rarely deals with discrete categories…The living world is a continuum in each and every one of its aspects.”

The Klein Sexual Orientation Grid developed subsequently by Fritz Klein takes into account that many people change their orientation over time. He believed the concept of sexual orientation is an ongoing dynamic process, an experience to which I can thoroughly attest.

My most recent evolution from bisexual to gay might be seen to support the gay idea that bisexuality is a transitory phase. Instead, I hold with Dr. Klein that my process changes over time. Although I never have been and never will be exclusively heterosexual, I know damned well bisexual is as much a part of me as homosexual. My dreams tell me so.

Just as I was getting ready to post this, I found a great documentary on bisexuality. The entire movie is over an hour long, but worth a look if you have the time: http://www.logoonline.com/video/bi-the-way/1616890/playlist.jhtml.

First time out

By the time I was eighteen, I was easily aware of my attraction to both genders. My same sex attraction never bothered me because I never self-identified as homosexual. My attraction to girls—my bisexuality—somehow eliminated guilt and discomfort I might have felt about being attracted to boys. I was so comfortable in my bisexual skin.

At any rate, I spent my teen years enjoying more male sexual contact than female because I was not very successful at attracting and dating girls. Furthermore, I attended an all-boys school where contact with girls was limited. Other boys undoubtedly developed strategies for attracting girls; I developed a game plan of sorts for initiating encounters with other boys. At that level, I liked boys more, but at the time I’d have enjoyed more heterosexual encounters.

Before I was eighteen, I had already experienced “adolescent” contact with several different boys, but recognized that I would have to lose my virginity to a girl. Naturally, this prospect excited me, and in my sixteenth year I pursued my goal with single-minded enthusiasm. Now attending a small co-educational boarding school, I established a relationship with a female student, and eventually consummated the act.

I remember my first heterosexual “lovemaking” as unpracticed and hurried fumbling in the dark. It was probably little different from anyone else’s first-time adolescent fumbling. The deal, however, was done, and I wore my new status with pride among my peers.

No question: I liked the sex and wanted more. The short story is that my girlfriend and I continued our trysts until we got caught and expelled from school. I finished high school at a public school where I enjoyed the cachet of mystery and rumor that surrounded me. The irony is that I got in more heterosexual trouble throughout my early life than I ever did homosexual trouble.

At eighteen I entered college at a time when the Vietnam War was sucking up young American men like a bellicose vacuum. A couple of years later I succumbed to a lifestyle that had little to do with academia and lots to do with skiing and partying. I dropped out of college which put me directly in the crosshairs of conscription and a potentially one way ticket to Vietnam.

I avoided the draft by being gay, which was my first trip out of the closet. I told my father, equivocating that I wasn’t really homosexual, and that I was only claiming the orientation to avoid the army. Still, I said the words out loud; the army psychiatrist believed me and wrote HOMOSEXUAL large across my paperwork. And I wasn’t even ashamed as I walked to the door past the drill sergeants and the poor saps headed for basic training and Vietnam.

I suppose it’s also ironic that calling myself homosexual led to my first overt and complete sexual congress with another man. I was always bisexual, never exclusively heterosexual, but now utterly and absolutely homosexual. It’s been a long, strange and I think unique trip. I wouldn’t change a bit of it.

Gay pride

I reconnoitered. I like knowing the ground before I enter a situation, especially one involving thousands of people. Denver’s PrideFest 2009 anticipated attendance by upwards of a hundred thousand people at Civic Center Park. Before I become part of a crowd like that, I want to know where stuff is located before it gets difficult to find.

I attended PrideFest on advice from my friend Brian, who recommended it as an essential component of my coming out. At first I didn’t understand why gay pride is so important, and thought it enough just to say I was gay. Now I enjoy greater understanding; enjoy is the active word. Being gay means helping other gay people come out of the closet, to accept themselves and expand that acceptance to family, friends and community.

My first impression on walking into Civic Center Park was of homeless people inhabiting whatever shady and comfortable places they could find. They contrasted sharply with more well-heeled vendors and gawkers like me. My thought was that homeless people don’t have the luxury of celebrating their sexuality; they’d be happy celebrating something to eat.

When I returned to the park the following morning, homeless folks were not in evidence. They were replaced by a full throng of gay and gay-friendly people browsing booths now stocked with all manner of services and merchandise. There were petitions to sign, causes to join, message tables, animal care and adoption offerings, psychic prognosticators, music and hundreds of mostly yummy food booths. Gay pride was paramount; diversity was the name of the day.

But the most striking thing to me was that here there weren’t—didn’t need to be—any closets. Everyone, from gawkers and tourists to vendors and practitioners, were either gay or gay-friendly. They assumed I was gay or that I accepted gay as viable identification and lifestyle. Freedom and authenticity were liberating. I could be who I am and meet with not just acceptance, but approval. I wandered among my tribe.

Although I had fun almost beyond description, my experience of “outness” and continuity taught me being homosexual is my personal orientation. Being gay, however, brought me together with a community of like-minded people. It was inclusive, enclosing and accepting; it was all okay, it was all good.

We gays have come a long way in terms of public acceptance of homosexuality. A hundred thousand gay people and allies walking openly and blatantly through Denver streets, demonstrates that times have changed. Yes, as a community of gay souls we still have much to do. We may not have it all, but as community we have it all together. Boy did it feel wonderful.

Round and round...

I am saddened on this day. While much of my process creates a liberated lightness of being, today my baggage is going round and round on my carousel. Last week my former wife and my daughter left our home for a new life in California. I received my final divorce papers in the mail a day after they left.

While there is relief at closure, I also can't help going round and round with the pain and trouble caused by my being closeted and obviously not handling any of that well. I never married to hide my gayness because at the time I was enjoying life hetero. The homo part crept out, however, and although I didn't know it, I must have been unhappy. Can you really be unhappy if you don't know you're unhappy? Denial and hindsight.

So now I will climb back on the horse of my own life and process. This will undoubtedly be a good thing once the baggage spins off the carousel, especially since I figure there are only about twenty years left to enjoy honesty, liberation, freedom, and pleasure.

I cannot deny today's melancholy though, because that would short-circuit my process. I will indulge it for as short a while as I can manage. I'll get over it.

Matters of degree

During my life so far, gay—my degree of gayness—has varied over time. As an adolescent, I was aware of my attraction to girls and boys, and was not ashamed to call myself bisexual. I figured the field was open to more opportunities than as if I self-identified as exclusively gay or straight. There never was any such thing as a closet.

During my twenties, I enjoyed relations with both genders; those with women fit well with societal expectations. During the latter half of that decade, and although I still identified as bisexual, I transited more consistently to the gay end of the continuum. Those were heady and promiscuous days without threat of disease, and I thoroughly enjoyed them.

I reveled in my preference, but with the advent of AIDS in the early 1980s, was grateful for my isolated home in the mountains. There, homosexual contact was minimal. I consciously put gay behind me, and unknowingly built the closet in which I was to reside heterosexually for twenty years.

Then in 2001—I was fifty-two—my orientation shifted again and although deeply closeted, I travelled the curve toward gay. Still professing bisexuality, it required serious mental trauma—the breakup of my marriage—to make me recognize that I wasn’t just bisexual and that I was a gay man living deep in the closet. Admitting that to myself and others has proven liberating and authenticating, as if a weight is lifting off my shoulders.

In the process of coming out of the closet I didn’t know I inhabited, some days I feel more or less gay than I did, for example, the day before. By no means does that mean I feel more heterosexual, it’s just that my sexuality isn’t at the front of the desk. To enjoy the authenticity, though, every morning I say to myself, “Oh yeah, I’m gay, homosexual, queer as the day is long.” And it feels good to say it.

Accidental out

I've been wanting to somehow get out on Facebook because that would save a lot of one-on-one talking. Yet I couldn't completely bring myself to do it, because it's a big, wide and public world out there and more than a little scary.

But a minute ago I wrote something to a friend that it won't take much reading between the lines to figure out what I'm really saying. I didn't totally say it, though, so maybe this was a good way to break the news...subtly. Whatever: it's done. I wish I could take the saying closer to heart: Those that matter don't mind, and those that mind don't matter. Big world indeed!

Indulgence

I spend a lot of time inside my own head. I hash stuff around, fantasize, indulge then eschew guilt; I ponder how to arrange the rest of my life and generally bounce around inside my cranium. All this time spent wool gathering puts me in a pretty self-centered, self-indulgent head space. While this perhaps isn’t always healthy, my fallback excuse is that the unexamined life isn’t worth living. So I examine…and the rest of it.

The greatest danger with self-indulgence is in its interaction with other people. In the first place, if I don’t carefully monitor how I act and what I say, my actions can turn selfish fast. Self-indulgence is one thing; self-centered and selfish are entirely different kettles of fish.

Pressing my process—coming out—on other people is not necessarily selfish or self-centered, but it is by every metric self-indulgent. Honestly: who wants to hear about someone else’s sex life all the time? Understandably, people don’t go around constantly talking about sex; it would lose its mystery and become unbearably mundane. People may think about sex a lot—I do—but we aren’t always particularly self-disclosing about it.

One school of thought is that gay people should voice their preferences and orientation. Theory behind this strategy holds that straight people can thereby learn there is nothing weird or scary about gay people. That enlightenment reduces prejudice and frees closeted gays to more honestly enjoy their own lives and enhanced sexuality.

So on the one hand, it is considerate not to belabor others with my sex life. On the other hand, I am not fulfilling my responsibility as a gay man if I don’t tell others: hey, I’m just a regular guy. I’m gay, but I’m the same guy I always was. Nothing to be scared of in that, is there?

Of course, I’m not the same guy I always was. There is more to me now. But enough about me. Yeah, right!

Community

Apparently, there is a distinction between being homosexual and being gay. Homosexual, perhaps more clinically, is predominantly or exclusively, sexually and emotionally, a preference for members of one’s own gender. Gay, on the other hand, is more than simply homosexual, and implies membership in a community of similarly oriented people.

Which begs the question: Can you be homosexual without being gay? Perhaps I am either not understanding this or not sensitive enough to the issues. These are, after all, the ravings of a newbie.

I have no problem with community; I like community. I established my home in the Colorado Mountains to enjoy mountains and skiing, and stayed all these years to enjoy the natural and human community. I participate in community at many levels.

So in my process, I am consciously and unconsciously seeking like-minded individuals—gay community, although I’m not exactly sure what that is or where to find it. I am a member of two communities: that of which I have so long been a part, and something new and untested. Since the latter may not even exist in my geography, the two are difficult to integrate. Furthermore, it takes years to establish community, and a long time to become part of one.

If I am unable to find “brick-and-mortar” gay community, I will call myself gay but with the caveat that really, I’m just homosexual. Does that sound right? Naw, I’m gay.

In the greater scheme of my process, this perceived distinction probably matters not one whit. Still, if exploration poses such questions, I would be remiss not to worry the answers. That’s what process is all about.

Always becoming

Like most humans, I developed an identity sometime during puberty. I’m not sure I’d call what happened an epiphany because epiphanies happen fast. My nascent identity evolved over time and with conscious thought and intent. I set about to figure out who I was, what I would do, and how I would relate to other people.

Despite consistent sexual contact with other boys, I never thought of myself as queer or homosexual. That came later; in the meantime I lusted after girls. Identity crystallized as bisexual when I needed a label, and bisexual was just fine. It opened the field and during the 1960s sexual revolution, evinced no shame.

I proudly wore the bisexual label for decades, through a bunch of heterosexual relationships that always failed. In retrospect, I recognize they failed because I was not a heterosexual partner. My mostly unrealized bisexual inclinations kept getting in the way. Call it denial—everybody does—but I still didn’t figure myself for gay.

Now I self-identify as gay. This involves the process of coming out both to friends and to myself. I am gay, I do gay; how do I be gay within the context of my life and who I am? I think about that a lot.

I can be no different a person than the one I’ve been all these years. Yet now there is a new component of identity requiring conscious thought and intent about who I am, what I do and how I relate to other people. Although not my first big rodeo, I expect a few saddle sores.

Only ten years?

I lost ten years somewhere, maybe more. Of greater concern perhaps is that I’m not even sure which decade is missing. I think I kept pretty good track of the last twenty years, but before that it perhaps isn’t too surprising that things are a little, uh…blurry.

Back then I was a drinking man, and although I don’t remember the particulars, I remember I got thirsty every day around three in the afternoon. Knowing that, it is fairly easy to piece together what I don’t remember: I sat in a gin mill swilling whatever pleased my palate, Springsteen played, the television above the bar blared and cigarette smoke from my drinking buddies filled the air. Hangovers were a feature of the situation.

But that was almost twenty years ago. Since then I have kept the jug plugged and enjoyed a sober life. That life has provided all the good stuff: passion for mountains, a family that lasted the best part of those children’s lives, and my own complement of self-indulgent fun in the place I have chosen as home. Believe me: I’m not complaining.

Yet I am confused. I feel like I missed something; more likely forgot it. Looking back, I wonder how I got from there to here. Any logical progression is confounded by what life affords: waking up, living the day, and falling asleep. The day, of course, is the crux and determines falling asleep.

Every once in a while I reacquaint myself with one or more of the skeletons I left back in the closet. Almost everyone has skeletons in their closet; mine stand tall and periodically kick the door open to come out and play. I left a lot of skeletons in that closet, and why not? Some of those old bones: I can’t think of a better place to keep them.

It is unsettling to get eyeball to eye socket with some of those specters, albeit unavoidable. I expect to better acquaint myself with those bones as my life progresses. After all, I doubt I can avoid reviewing my life as I approach its end. You pays your money; you takes your chances.

I am looking back at the first two-thirds of life and anticipating the final third. I figure the first third is for acquiring stuff—wherewithal, knowledge, experience—the second third is for enjoying what you’ve accrued, and the final third is for divesting it. Slim it down; there is no point in acquiring any more. One thing I haven’t forgotten: you can’t take it with you. Time winds; seize the day.

Some things never change...

Most gay men tell how they knew their sexual inclinations early in life. I certainly knew mine. I was attracted to girls, but intrigued by boys and their parts so much like my own. Oh, I knew alright. I learned the word that best described me was "bisexual," and I reveled in its simplicity and the sexual freedom afforded to me.


Embellishing my obvious departure from the norm, I figured at least half of "bi" was "homo" and used that appellation to avoid getting shot to hell in Vietnam. In order to convince anyone else I was queer, though, I first had to convince myself...which was not at all difficult. Besides, I knew I really was queer, and who wants a queer in the army? I was doing them a favor.


Having previously enjoyed only schoolboy sex, though, I knew I had to experience the whole gamut of gay sex, and set out to accomplish just that. And of course, it worked. I now knew I had it in me to not only experience homosexual sex, I also knew I enjoyed it ever so much more than I expected. I was hooked and getting queerer by the day. I had no trouble convincing the army shrink I was too queer for cannon fodder.


Some years later, still clinging firmly to bisexuality but always slipping to an extreme on the scale, I more completely immersed myself in being gay. It was a time before AIDS when gay contact could be promiscuous, anonymous and so hot as to transport and transcend. It was also a time when homophobia was the paradigm and resided as well in my own head.


And so for some time I kind of forgot about all that hot male sex and committed to embrace by the opposite gender. But that wasn't to last. Oh no, because deep down, I knew...

Truth behind the windshield...

Coming out can be no easy task for anyone; I am no exception. Difficult as the process is, my newfound freedom is liberating. I figure the process must take place slowly; telling only a few close friends identifies who my closest friends really are.

I've learned not to spread the news too far too fast. It is self-indulgent to dominate conversation with my own stuff. I told one old friend and asked him not to tell his wife, even if she threatened to break his fingers. He told her, though, because he knew if she discovered it in a roundabout way, she would break his knees too.

The first thing his wife did was run to the phone to tell folks I’d just as soon hadn’t heard the news like that. But that's part of the deal with coming out. It is easy to lose control of information. My friend explained that although coming out liberates me, it also places responsibility for the information on whomever I tell. I can only hope in the long run truth enhances his understanding.

I've found it's a lot easier to tell women than men because it pushes men's buttons and I never know which way they are going to jump. I told one woman, an old friend I knew was lesbian. I figured she would commiserate and could give me advice.

"Well, I guess you'll be coming down to the Front Range pretty often," she observed. "There aren't a whole lot of gay people up here in the mountains."


At first I thought I could meet men of similar persuasions without travelling, but that hasn't proven to be the case. It takes 8-10 hours round-trip to get to the city, depending on weather over the Continental Divide. A quick hookup doesn't seem appropriate, which among other things, argues for a longer-term, more lasting relationship...wherever.


Well, I guess it's time to go gas up the car.

The age thing...

It is difficult to get a handle on gay and old, because both are hard to come to terms with individually. Aging is as hardwired as sexuality. When I was young, I was confident my adventures were the sole province of young men. If I thought about it at all, I labored under the misconception that when I grew old, sexuality would not be an issue. Sieze the day, I figured, and get it on...which I did.

Some men know they are exclusively gay all their lives. Some recognize their capacity for bisexuality; my sexuality fluctuated over years between bisexual and gay. Over the past few years, though, gay pegged the meter and now I self-identify as exclusively gay. That recognition landed in my life with both feet; it's not all bad, just a little overwhelming.

In the old days, an older gay man was a pariah, a troll, an old dude looking to get off with young guys. Had we but stopped to consider, old dudes aren't doing anything different than young dudes. We liked young dudes when we were young; why the hell shouldn't we like young dudes now? While some have an exclusive preference for young guys, I enjoy being with someone who shares my interests and is aroused by the sex. Old or young, for me arousal is key.

The bottom line is karmic. Young guys should realize they too, will someday be old queers trying to hook up. Chances are they won't all suddenly become heterosexual. Although difficult to accept when young, elderhood is common ground for all of us.

We gay baby-boomers are about to impact the American demographic; the groundswell for gay marriage is an example. It will be another couple of decades before we fade. As gay men gray, perhaps age discrimination will subsume in diversity and arousal will out. Arousal isn't everything, but...

Who, what and why...

I articulate this first effort with care. Yes, it will be a bit edgy, as might be expected from a gay man coming out of the closet for the second--presumably last--time in almost sixty years of life. Coming out is a real process this time; journaling is part of that process and blogging is part of the journal.

How do you come out of the closet twice? First time around, I didn't know I was in a closet and so never made a conscious effort to come out. Back then life was simple and I always took my, uh...diverse sexuality for granted. I was what I was. But then time and life changed, and without knowing it, I stepped into the closet and closed the door.

Every gay guy who has spent time in the closet lives with the duplicity of his action. Whether or not he acknowledges his own homosexuality, he knows something is different. Homophobia is pervasive, worst of all in his own head. If he chooses to come out or otherwise gets kicked out of the closet, it is difficult but liberating.

I suppose it is my karma that gay as I am, and since I didn't have to sweat it the first time, it is appropriate that I come out now. This time it isn't simple; I enjoy--if that is the right word--thirty years of added perspective. There is a lot to think about and although I am mostly loving the honesty and liberation, it isn't all smooth sailing. I don't take any of it for granted. Some of all that will cross these pages.