The Life and Times of Boyfriend #2, Part 4

“Do You Think You’re Happy?”

The sounds
Of fiber against fiber
Of purpose and
Of pieces pulled
Together
In Divine construct
Stand solid

“So how was your weekend, GMB?” my friend Savannah chimed as I took my usual seat next to her in US-Latin American Relations. 

“Great,” I responded with glowing face and uncontrolled smile. 

“You had a good date, didn’t you?”

“Yeah.  Finally got around to seeing Slumdog Millionaire.  It was amazing.”

“That is my favorite movie of all time!  A gameshow, a fairytale, and Bollywood—the perfect combination!” she declared. 

With that enthusiasm, I saw an opportunity to fill up the rest of the few minutes before class with a discussion of the movie rather than my sexuality.  Savannah wasn’t one of my closest friends.  We’d had several classes together and even exchanged numbers so that we knew when to take more intensive notes on those days which the other wasn’t going to show up.  Her husband was also a friend of mine, and because I knew both of them relatively well, I had no fear of getting close to her with possible repercussions of jealousy.  Genuinely friendly, Mormon and in love with each other. 

“So who did you take to the movie?” she asked, breaking through my first closeted defense just as the professor called for the classes attention.  “If you’ll take a seat, I’ll pass back your last quiz.”

To close the matter, I quickly blurted, “Well, I’m dating a manager of Radio Shack in Salt Lake…”

It was a weak, unprepared response.  Not quite good enough.  I had to cover with something more without lying. 

“…Andre,” I said following an imperceptible pause and just enough of an uncertain intonation to sound like “Andrea” were someone expecting that answer.

I was safe.  The matter seemed closed  along with the closet door, when suddenly a buzz came from the phone I’d forgotten to turn off.  Although I normally didn’t check my phone in such instances, I glanced and noticed the message was from Savannah. 

“I just thought you should know that I am your friend no matter what.”

I looked over to the most casual and sincere of smiles.  And as a single salty tear trickled down my cheek, I replied, “You are a true friend.”

Over the course of that week, we became a lot closer.  After class, I confided in her and she assured me, “Some people in the Church don’t judge you for being you,” and our conversations turned to how she had people in her life who’d undergone similar experiences to my own and how I’d felt comfortable enough to make out with Andre during the movie in a small Utah theater.   

“Are you excited for tomorrow,” she asked.  “Introducing the boyfriend to the best friend is a pretty important step.  I could tell you stories.”

“Well, they have been talking for a little while now.  I’m not too worried.   It’ll be Cole’s first time in the club and I’m just as interested in that aspect of the night.”

*** 

The weekend became an extensive experiment of sorts.  Not only would Andre meet Cole.  He’d also meet Lila (my best fruit fly) and Ianto (the one who got away” but remained friends nonetheless).   I also decided I felt comfortable staying the weekend at his place. 

It all began at the Babylon, one of many SLC gay club nights to come and go.  Although I wouldn’t consider myself a veteran of the club scene, I’d become an active participant on the dance floor and stopped being an observer, except in the case of Cole who was visibly out of place in our dancing circle.

“Let me show you how it’s done,” Ianto said, gyrating to the beat then placing his right arm around Lila’s waist moments later. 

Cole was exasperated, but quickly learning the finer points of club dancing.  The art of not caring, and looking confident would only come with time, though.  As Lila and I smirked over this exasperation, I felt a warmth embrace me from behind. 

“How have you been, babe?” Andre asked before pecking me on the cheek. 

“Fabulously.  I don’t have a  worry in the world tonight.”

I turned around, gave him a hug, and introduced him to everyone.  Although he was more accustomed to the clubbing scene and the Salt Lake crowd, he seemed oddly out of place. 

“Nice to meet you,” he said softly (in terms of club volume).  His demeanor was cautious.  He wasn’t sure what to make of meeting my friends.  Conversation pretty much stifled at that point for Andre, although I tried to engage with everyone. 

After a few minutes of awkwardness, I decided it would be best to relieve some of Andre’s stress by putting some distance between us and my other friends.  “I need to go to the bathroom.  Why don’t you go ahead and grab something to drink and we’ll dance some more when I get out.”

Visibly calmer, I commented, “Feeling better, eh?  Did you get something to settle your nerves?” 

“No, I just don’t think I’d be comfortable drinking around you,”  he said.  It was flattering that he was so worried about the impression he would make that night, but it still concerned me that he was under so much stress.

I looked him in the face and smiled. 

“What?” he asked nervously. 

“Nothing.  I’m just happy.”

The rest of the night was spent intermittently dancing together and chatting on a couch somewhat removed from the noise of the dance floor.  Hours later, we found ourselves completely removed from the rest of the world, cuddling and chatting on his bed.

“So, any regrets about tonight?” Andre asked in a more serious tone than I’d anticipated from him.

I’d thought long and hard about the boundaries I’d set for myself.  Nothing I could regret could or would happen that night, so I sighed and responded with a grin, “Absolutely no regrets here.”

An expression of doubt filled his face as I grinned.  “Do you think you’re happy?” he asked.

I signed and grinned again, “Of course.  I’ve been over this with Cole several times.  "I’m just not the best about being totally vocal with my emotions, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Don’t worry about it.  I’m doing better lately.  You’re helping me become a better person,” I assured him as I looked him sternly and sincerely in the eyes.  We kissed and turned out the lights.

This is perfect, I thought to myself as I held his back to my chest and took in the static smell of his black hair.

End, Part 4.

I’m Not That Boy, Part 9

A conclusion is finally here.

Warning: This post contains some adult content.

Calando

“I really wanted that one to work out!” Cole said, turning to me as he drove us home from an evening at the symphony.

It was months after the whole thing had played out with Ianto and Derek, and I was finally getting his take on the story. Although we share a lot, Cole made an effort to distance himself emotionally from the possibilities there. After things had played out, though, he felt more comfortable sharing his feelings about what had happened.

“I suppose it was nothing more than wanting to see two good friends happy and it seemed like a good fit to me,” he continued.

“I know what you mean. I really wanted it to work out.”

***

If there was one lesson I needed to learn at that moment, it’s very possible that lesson might have been letting someone off gently. In a sort of cosmic way, Ianto did for me that night what I couldn’t do for Anderson the month prior. Rather than avoiding the situation somehow hoping it would disappear, he was completely honest with me on that final date.

Following our last, awkward kiss, he cleared his throat and it was apparent something was up.

“Um… we’ve got to talk.”

Every part of me knew what was coming, though I put on a brave face hoping to at least come off a little surprised.

“Guys like you don’t come along very often, but as you know, I’ve been seeing this other guy, and well…, I just feel like I need to see where things go with him right now.”

It was as if I’d cut my finger with a knife. I’d opened myself up for hurt, but when I thought about it, when I examined the supposed wound, I found no blood, no mark, no scar. “Just this once, everybody lives!” Nobody gets hurt! I thought.

Sure, I was disappointed, but I coped (in the lightest sense of the word) with the disappointment as I always had: by focusing on the positive. I didn’t really have to make a decision between Derek and Ianto because Ianto had done that for me.

***

In speaking about Ianto with Cole, the inevitable comparison returned to mind. They were so different from one another. Ianto was stable and intelligent while Derek was more adventurous and dramatic.

After a bit of silence, he finally brought it up after several months of wondering. “Derek?! Really, GMB? Why were you ever interested in Derek?”

“He was just fun. He was something different,” I rationalized with a bitter-sweetness in my voice.

Knowing exactly what was going through my head, Cole asserted, “He is something different alright….”

***

Following that last date with Ianto, all of those dreams for the future were simply displaced. Like water swelling up from the ground, they naturally had to flow somewhere.

I didn’t have a care in the world. Anxiety and fear were the last things on my mind as I met Derek for dinner that night. I didn’t really have any choices to make. Nothing to hide or be uncomfortable about.

We simply went out to dinner and then I showed him around campus. With everyone on break, the place was practically empty. We started in my office.

“Yes, this is where I work.”

“And that’s your desk,” he said, walking towards the desk I’d gestured towards.

“Right. This one’s mine,” I said as I cut him off on his way.

“So…” he paused. “What if I were to do this?” He pushed a stack of papers on the floor. “Or this?” he asked, pushing me up against the desk and sitting me atop it.

My heart raced as he entertained my forbidden workplace fantasies. Minutes had slipped by and I realized it was really happening.

“No. I’d get fired. If my boss [a brilliantly liberal, open-minded woman] came in right now, she might cheer, but I’d also get canned.”

“Okay,” he said removing his hands from the back of my jeans and turning away to button the top half of his shirt

***

“You know exactly what was so appealing about Derek, Cole.”

He looked over and smirked in that I-could-have-told-you-so kind of way.

“He was nothing like anybody I’d ever dated before.”

“That’s right, GMB. We were always in the same page on that sense….And poor Anderson.”

“Everybody has to date a rebel of sorts. He was my James Dean, my Danny Zuko.”

“I don’t need to call you on how gay that reference was. Do I?”

“Alright, I do regret what happened, but I still learned something. There’s no sense in being bitter about the past when we can’t change it.”

As much as that was true, we knew that what had happened was significant because he didn’t find out from me.

***

That night with Derek quickly evolved into a series of subversively adventurous make out sessions. In the course of a few hours that warm January night, we moved from my office to the bushes outside.

The thrill that somebody might catch us heightened every sense. Each sound we made was carefully muffled as we paid attention to the world around us and each sound we heard was followed by a breathless pause.

We migrated our way between buildings, ducking into darkened bathrooms or classrooms whenever we heard the sound of footsteps.

“In here,” he said, holding the door of a tiny room open for me. “I hear someone.”

The faint smell of foreign chemicals thickened the air. He placed his forehead against mine then we paused for a moment to listen for the sound of footsteps, but there was silence. Our eyes adjusting to the darkness once again, I realized we were in a darkroom surrounded by hanging photos developing around us.

He pushed me against the counter next to the sink. My heart raced as quickly as it ever had as he moved his 6’3” frame against me. He lifted me up with his firm hands without breaking the seal of our kiss and sat me upon the counter. His left arm moved farther around my waist as he pulled me towards him. Slowly, he pulled his right arm around in perfect symmetry, until suddenly the motion broke and his hand migrated down and rubbed. Then, in a singular motion, he unbuckled my belt and released the top button of my pants.

I exhaled.

For the first time, the impulse to say “Wait” or “No” or “Stop” did not win out. The rhythm was entrancing and gratifying—more so as he peeled through each layer until I felt the sensation of skin against skin. Guiding my hand, he invited me to do the same.

I was speechless and lost in the moment.

My left arm extended and on his shoulder, I sensed him motioning to stoop down when I finally said, “Okay. We need to stop.”

***

After Cole dropped me off at my car, I considered the situation a bit more. Derek was never right for me. He was shallow and wanted in my pants. After that victory, he quickly shared the story of his conquest with everyone he knew (including Cole and a very deceived Anderson) and found an excuse to move on.

Cole knew exactly why I would keep something like this from him. In my eight months of dating, I’d found the perfect balance. I could be gay and Mormon. I could date and be happy so long as it never went beyond kissing. So long as that moment in the darkroom never happened with Derek, that tenuous balance still existed, or, at the very least, I had time to re-conceive that balance in my existential crisis.

Did I really want the celibate life I’d consigned myself to? Or was there something to those feelings I’d finally let myself experience? Was I never meant to experience the range of emotions and sensations I’d been bestowed with simply because those feelings could never be inspired in me by a woman?

I couldn’t bring myself to tell Cole mostly because, as my fears later confirmed, he was right. Despite my excellent planning skills, my ambition, and my emotional composure, I could not have everything I wanted from life. I began to understand why he was so angry following his broken engagement two years earlier—although the trauma of his situation was enhanced by the fact that in his situation he could not please himself or his fiancé in the manner he’d been taught his entire life.

Now that he’d found out about that one night, we connected on a much deeper level even though it we’ve never discussed that night or the spiritual repercussions in the detail presented here. As I considered these consequences and lessons Derek had taught me, I had an ally on my side who not only understood my feelings, but would support whatever decisions lay ahead for me.

End of Series.

I’m Not That Boy, Part 8

Volti Subito

Ianto was really everything you could hope for in a guy—caring, talented, intelligent—and I really appreciated it. In a matter of weeks of forging a pattern for ourselves—a dependable, stress-free approach to dating. We were both dating other people, but interested in finding something serious and this led to regular conversations regarding the development of our relationship.

A staggered series of nights over those weeks was spent eating and watching TV. The wonder of the situation was that it didn’t really matter what we were eating or watching. We could be sharing an order of Wendy’s French fries and watching a movie starring Paris Hilton and Sarah Brightman, but the quality of the night would not be discounted a single smile or witty comment.

“This may be weird to say, Ianto, but it’s going to be weird to have you out of town for the holidays… and my birthday,” I said holding him in my arms as the credits to 30 Rock trumpeted in the background one evening.

“It will be different and I assure you we’ll celebrate when I get back,” he said, turning around for a quick kiss. “You be thinking of where you want dinner and what you’d like to do. Make sure it’s something special.”

And so, as he went on his trip, I did some thinking. He was the best guy to come along in months. Without a doubt in contention with Mark (my ex-boyfriend) for a very special place in my heart. Ironically, as he’d left to serve a full-time mission, I’d locked my heart much in the way that he was directed in his preparation to leave.

I could feel a change within me. A greater capacity to trust and care was resurfacing and I was growing confident in myself. I am desirable. I am a good person. I don’t need to change. It was at this time that I had stopped seeing Anderson and Derek entered the picture.

It became inevitable to compare Ianto and Derek, to examine just how different they viewed me and how I viewed them. Ianto was cautious and stable while Derek was adventurous and provoking. I knew that I couldn’t start dating anyone else because they both seemingly presented opportunities at a relationship. I stopped checking on my Connexion (gay Facebook) profile and stepped up communication with both of them.

As I awaited Ianto’s return, I considered the adventures I’d had with Derek—the experiences at the club, going to geeky movies, and getting busted by mall security towards the end of an unplanned make-out session. Part of me felt as if I had to choose while I also cautioned myself about rushing things.

After Ianto returned, we immediately celebrated my birthday before school could dominate our lives once again. We weren’t on anything as we planned the night, but all of the decisions were made on impulse. The night started out auspiciously enough at a great Chinese place with a karaoke bar.

“C’mon. The birthday boy’s got to sing,” he teased.

“No way. Never.”

“You’ve got to make this night memorable somehow. What are we going to do? It’s got to be the most random thing you’ve always wanted to try.”

“I do have an idea…” I said timidly.

“Spit it out. I’m probably going to laugh, but that’s a good thing.”

“I’ve always wondered what it would be like to wax.”

“What? Your eyebrows?”

“Um… my shirt area.”

He did laugh for a few minutes. “This is going to be memorable alright!” He didn’t have much hair to his name to be self-conscious about, but he did have experience waxing his arms.

We made our way back to his place and it seemed like the kind of date I’d longed for since before I even thought about these things. Whatever we were to do at that moment would be somehow special and done with care for each other. I trusted him in that moment unlike I’d trusted anyone but my best friend Cole in months.

I didn’t care about the stretch marks and scars I bore to him. I knew that didn’t matter in his eyes. At every step of the process—pouring and spreading the hot wax across my back, placing the strips, tearing away the hair—he showed concern for my comfort. “Is this too hot?” “Was that too hard?” “Are you okay?”

It was obvious comparing him and Derek that he was the type of man I could only dream to end up with not just in this moment, but also in my life. We settled on his bed for a cuddle after he applied some lotion to my back and I put my shirt back on.

“That feels so nice,” I said, laying on top of him. “I know I won’t forget tonight.”

We grinned at the reference to our earlier concern. His hands on my shoulders and mine on his, we pulled each other for a kiss. Our heads and lips turning in synchrony, our embrace tightened and we turned to each other on our sides. Taking his right hand in my left, I instinctively guided it down my side. As I let go, it went up my shirt, blazing a trail across my waist.

I didn’t want him to stop, but in that moment, all the passion was diffused:

“What are you doing?” I asked. “I’ve never really done anything.”

He respected me and stopped, but we were both intimidated by the awkwardness born out of the moment and the certainty that I felt about him being the right guy at that moment in my life was thrown by the wayside. The same thing may have gone through his head.

Although we returned to our rhythm of dinners and movies, something was off. Our next kiss revealed it all:

Hesitantly, I turned and kissed him. Our eyes locked and closed, but the magnetic impulses were absent. I pulled away somewhat surprised.

“GMB, we need to talk,” he said.

End, Part 8.

I’m Not That Boy, Part 7

Ostinato

Underneath all of the busyness of my life—composing my thesis, a twenty hours of work a week, eighteen credits, church activities, and volunteer work as an English teacher—a steady and understated rhythm was beginning to surface in my life. As the drama of dating Derek and not dating Anderson panned out (more details in a future installment), my time with Ianto remained constant.

It seemed it was all I really wanted. But being new to dating, I wondered if it was really all that I wanted.

Two or three times a week, we had a standard date. Always dinner and a movie at his place. I found this in no way unimaginative because every time managed to be somehow different and special.

“You’re telling me you’ve never seen Latter Days and you were once a gay Mormon missionary?! We are watching it tonight, then,” he announced over dinner.

“Okay. You’ll have to twist my arm, though.”

In conversation, I’d heard it spoken of in the same terms as God’s Army for pushing the line and seriously addressing questions of faith. This is why I was interested in seeing both films and also why I’d avoided them. Deep down, I didn’t want to be a ‘bad Mormon’ and challenge my faith like that. However, this time the yes side won out.

As we lay on his bed watching the movie in his tiny room, I would occasionally notice him glancing over at my reaction and thinking, That’s what I do. He really cares what I’m thinking and feeling.

Although both of us were almost silent the entire movie, I felt as if he understood exactly what was going on in my head. As the “greenie” missionary arrived in the field, my mind went back to my mission days to meeting my trainer and my other roommates and thinking What have I gotten myself into?

He seemed to show concern when we watched the scenes of anonymous sex. He understood my shock as those things I’d only heard about had suddenly become a visual reality. I was disgusted, but also curious and as the plot unfolded, I began to understand some of the reasons that was a reality.

It wasn’t long before Ianto and I were as close as we could be laying next to each other on his bed. He held me from behind watching the movie practically through my hair or perhaps not watching the movie at all, but feeling my heart beat with his arms wrapped around my chest.

I tend to think it was the latter. He wasn’t Mormon, but he seemed to understand just how I’d processed the movie without talking about it or simply by listening to my heart. In a romantic way, I liked to think that as a musician he could read and interpret rhythms and variations to a degree of intimacy I hadn’t imagined.

“You weren’t prepared for it to get all cosmic like that, were you? Or when his mother slapped him. You didn’t breath for like half a minute,” he posited as he turned me around to face him on his bed.

“All true. The movie’s definitely not perfect. I don’t think it’s totally fair to either side, but I definitely came out of that understanding a lot of what I’ve been through better.”

“What do you mean?”

“I share a lot of my worries about my family and the Church with… what’s the missionary’s name?”

“Aaron.”

“Yeah. I worry that my parents will react the same way. And the sex… they were evil. I don’t know what to think about it. They were really in love and to express that love is sinful? Ianto,” I paused. “I haven’t even discussed this with Cole, but that’s what seems wrong with the Church. Telling each other how or who to love and passing laws to that effect is the one thing that could make it all true or all false for me. It seems almost hypocritical when 150 years ago there were places it was illegal to be Mormon. Being gay is as much a reality as being Mormon.”

“You’re not the only guy I’ve dated who’s been through this. I don’t think any of them have been quite so thoughtful or articulate about it, though, ” he said. In a way, he seemed to think of it as an elegy for the Church’s lost boys. Ianto was never Mormon, but as some of his best friends were, he made a sincere effort to understand and respect their beliefs.

“I don’t know if that makes things easier or harder for you, but I’m here. As much as I’d like to help you, I can’t. Watching the movie and thinking about it will only help you think through this, I think. That’s what art does.”

He looked me in the eyes communicating just how serious he was about what he’d just said before pulling me towards him for a tender kiss.

End, Part 7.

I’m Not That Boy, Part 4

FYI—Missionary Monday looks like it will soon become a reality. Due to high demand for the current series (and the fact that I haven’t contributed to it in a couple of days), however, I see that happening next week.

Unresolved Cadence

I went home very unsure of what I should do. I enjoyed Anderson’s company a lot, but I couldn’t get past some of the details that limited the relationship. I tended to focus on the fact that he was always so busy pursuing his acting dreams because that was easier than focusing on the other limitations to a relationship with him. I puzzled over this for a while. Was it okay to just have fun when I felt like he wanted to go somewhere more serious or had the time come to stop whatever was going on between us?

I am not proud of what followed.

Two days later on Connexion (the gay Facebook), I received a message:

We met the other night at Gracie’s. I just thought I’d say hi and tell you you’re hot.

~Derek

I considered the possibilities. There’s nothing wrong with a polite response. Said polite response (something along the lines of: “Thanks. It was a fun night.”) quickly escalated into flirting and then some thought-provoking chats. He forced me to think even more about why I wasn’t satisfied with Anderson and vocalize what I wasn’t necessarily prepared to vocalize otherwise.

My birthday was approaching and I wasn’t happy. Everyone was demanding some time to celebrate and I was just not used to that much attention especially in a romantic sense. Friends and family wanted to throw parties. My co-workers surprised me with a card and a party. Anderson wanted to take me to a nice dinner. Ianto wanted a night in watching a movie of my choice. And Derek, too, had something planned—“You’ll never forget your 24^th,” he said.

The eve of my birthday, Anderson and I went on what would be our final date. He had planned something simple because I told him it would be a hectic night. It would be, but it was also because I didn’t want it to complicate things as the end seemed near. Following this date, I had a reception and another date.

We went to dinner at a little Italian place, La Ferrovia. It was the kind of place out of a romantic movie. Local and under the guidance of a matriarch who served us that night. However, the whole experience seemed like an ordeal. It was a conflict of being out of place as I put on my best face. We were surrounded by happy couples and families, but that’s not where I projected us in a few weeks or a few decades. He belonged there. He deserved that ideal. I couldn’t give that to him, though. The conversation blurred together that night—mostly small and superficial talk unrelated to what was going on in my head—and the only sensation that remains completely engraved in my memory is one of sinking. I was becoming too heavy for the situation welling up around me.

After dinner, we stopped by the mall for a moment. He introduced me to his sister and we continued our now-forgotten conversation. Finally, we ended up back at my car. He pulled a surprise out of his messenger bag.

“I got you something, too,” I said, “for Christmas.”

I knew exactly what it was. I’d seen it in his eyes on our last date. They were the shoes I refused to buy for myself. Cheap red leather, pointy-toed, shiny, perfect angles… it was the type of shoe unique enough to fit into my collection and be used regularly. My gift of two measly CDs (Ingrid Michaelson and Kristin Chenoweth) just didn’t seem to cut it and I felt worse. We sat in the car listening to his new CDs for a while, then I turned off the radio and took a deep breath.

Then and there I knew I wouldn’t have the courage to say it would probably be our last date. I just thanked him and gave him a quick, unimpassioned kiss, and said goodbye as he left for his own car.

I took another deep breath, deeply unsatisfied with what had happened and turned the key in my car. Nothing happened. I tried again, but to no avail.

The battery was dead.

End, Part 4.

I’m Not That Boy, Part 2

Extraordinary Reprise

It had been a long week, so I treated myself to a session of retail therapy. I’d spent my first two weeks after finals enjoying the break by going on a series of first dates that didn’t really go anywhere. In the first week of break, I managed to go on as many first dates with guys as I’d managed in my entire life with girls (and although I learned a bit from each of them, for the most part I’ll be skipping over those adventures for the moment).

Then, for the first time in about four years, I saw him. He was working in the mall in the cookie shop. A mental image of the lace-up jeans jumped immediately into my head. Oh. Ohhhhh….

I walked through the mall for a few minutes trying to decide what to do. Should I talk to him? Play it cool? Flirt it up? Ignore him completely?

Finally, I gathered the courage to say something to the confident, handsome, smart, talented boy across the way.

“Hi, do you have any hot chocolate?”

It was a safe segue into the conversation. Nothing too obvious, though it was completely uncharacteristic of me to buy hot chocolate at the mall.

“Um, would you like that with or without coffee?”

“Tempting, but I’ll go with the regular.”

He put the cup under the machine and pushed the button. Speaking over the static sound of the machine, I went for it. “You’re Cole’s friend, right?”

“Cole who?”

“Funny laugh, kind of loud, plays the piano…”

“Oh Cole. Of course I know Cole.” He smirked a bit and went back to my drink.

I grinned.

“So how do you know him?” he asked turning his shoulder as he put the lid on the cup.

“He’s my best friend. We’ve known each other for nine years now. I’d trust him with my very life… and do on occasion,” I joked.

He shook his head in amusement. He sat down the steaming cup of cocoa and rang me up.

“When I saw you here, I wondered if you remembered going to the ‘Emperor’ Concerto years back.”

“Wait, wait a second… That was you?” His eyes got big and he laughed a bit.

I pulled out my driver’s license to prove it.

“Wow. You changed a lot.”

Looking up, I noticed there was another customer. “I should let you go, Ianto, but I’m glad I ran into you,” I said with intonation calculated to reveal my interest.

And with that I left satisfied, but an analytical mess. Should I have asked for his number? Was I not forward enough? Did he get the message? Did I chicken out? Did I seem fake?

A few days later, Cole gave me a call. “So… guess who I heard from for the first time in a few months.”

“Who?”

“Ianto. Oh, you’re a sly one,” he said. “Ianto is very picky, but you sparked some curiosity. Of course, I confirmed his suspicions that you were gay and single. Why didn’t you tell me you ran into him? It’s not like I live for gossip, but really two of my best gay friends into each other?!”

“Well, I wasn’t exactly sure about the situation,” I said hesitating what exactly to tell him. “And I’m still not. He does have really cute eyes and those pianists forearms, though!”

“I suggest you find him on Facebook and see what happens. He may be a hard one to please, but he’s definitely not a floozy or a flake.”

That’s just what I did. I found him, sent him a cute message. “Hey, I just had a little talk with Cole. I just thought I’d say hi again.”

Within a couple of days, we’d exchanged numbers and figured out a first date. He took me to a local sushi place.

“The menu is movie-themed. Pick any one you want. There are Top Gun, , and Princess Bride rolls.”

After examining and musing over the menu and other warm-up topics, we decided upon Joe vs. the Volcano and Arachnophobia rolls.

“You can’t be serious. You’ve never been here? It’s the best place in town for sushi.”

“I’ve only recently gotten into food of the world. Cole and my friend Stacia introduced me to sushi a while back. We were the only ones there, so he could tell his inappropriate jokes.”

“He used to be such a prude. I guess getting engaged to a woman and then coming out can do that.”

“There was a lot boiling under the surface, and he’s healed a lot since then….”

It was nice to be able to start a conversation over our mutual concern for a friend, over his quirks, and over his talents. We also talked about the horrendous Excel assignments from the class we had together and then reliving that night at the symphony.

“I remember you and Cole flipping through the pages of the score. That was really endearing. Really,” he said smiling and looking me in the eye.

I blushed. “Well, I know that you and Cole and sit back and understand it just by listening, but it’s harder for me.”

“Then that woman shushed you! Some people! It’s not like you weren’t trying to enjoy it as much as her. You know, Becky and I giggled a little at that point.”

I put my head down, smiling, to hide the fact that I was turning even redder. “Well, at least I didn’t show up in lace-up jeans!” I teased.

“You remember those?! I still have those!”

Ianto had managed to break through all of my barriers in a single night. He was attractive and funny. Cole had already voiced his approval. And he was intelligent and challenged me.

End, Part 2.

I’m Not That Boy

Gay Prelude

It has always a real honor when Cole has invited to big concerts with his music friends. From our earliest experiences in college, when everyone went their separate ways, we always managed to stay connected by attending performances together.

I was very nerdy about the whole thing. I made a little effort to educate myself in the ways of music and the like so as to gain some footing in the conversations despite my extremely shy nature.

When Cole invited me to Leon Fleischer’s performance of the “Emperor” Concerto in Salt Lake with the rest of his music friends, I was excited. My affinity for the social experience probably outweighed that for the cultural one, so I was eager to impress his newest friends.

Cole, Becky and Ianto all entered their program around the same time. There was a certain element of camaraderie and competition between the three of them as a result, but Cole spoke of (and speaks of) them often and frequently. Becky was a pretty blond girl that everybody liked, and Ianto was a little intense. He was half-Japanese, super-intelligent, witty, ambitious, and gay.

In knew going into the night that I’d see him and I wasn’t sure what to think. We’d had a class together the previous semester and we never really interacted. I sat with the people I knew from high school, but found myself observing him throughout the semester.

At that point in my life, homophobia was a reality. I just wasn’t sure what to make of it. Ianto was a little flamboyant—as evidenced by his lace-up pants. I tend to think now that what I viewed as cockiness and flashiness were no more than confidence and style (which I admittedly lacked at that moment in my life). He was so different from me.

Going to the symphony with him was a somewhat eye-opening experience. I realized that he had a lot in common with the very man I considered my best friend (who had not fully accepted his sexuality either). They were artists. They were opinionated (as I learned from the arguments over the canon of piano literature in the car). Their laughter drowned out everyone else’s in the room.

At dinner, a perceivable smirk came upon each waiter’s face as they passed our area. In those days before my mission, I remember feeling slightly embarrassed at the thought of others looking at us that way. Now that it happens on a regular basis, though, I find my opinion of Ianto as well as my unbearable shyness amusing.

That night he ordered some fried calamari as an appetizer, sharing it with Cole, Becky, and me. It was one of those gestures he didn’t have to perform. He didn’t care if we became friends or not. He just did it to be nice. Those moments in class and in the car that he burned people with a “You can’t be serious” didn’t really mean much in the context of his offering. He wasn’t trying to impress anyone. He was being himself and that’s what I found puzzling. There was nothing wrong with him except for the fact that he was gay.

At the symphony, he teased me a little for bringing the score to follow along. I glanced over at him a few seats down every once in a while and I wasn’t quite sure why. Maybe because I wanted to see his reaction to the music? Maybe I was still puzzling over the stereotypes that were not matching up in my head?

Or maybe—as I would discover, running into him four years later—my fascination with Ianto ran deeper than I could fathom at that point?

End, Part 1.