March 25, 2002

FROM A RECENTLY PLACED PERSONAL AD:

While I do have a vision of a physical ideal (who doesn't?) I'm realistic enough to know that finding his probably isn't going to happen. I've learned to look beyond the quest for physical perfection and concentrate on what's inside.

Outside of having a brain, car and job and being able to play well with others, my husband-to-be should be able to adapt to a variety of social situations from casual night-out-with-the-gang to a dressed-to-the-nines cocktail hors d'ouvres reception at The Mansion. Financial and emotional stability are always pluses. You don't have to be wealthy, but having a career and solid financial footing is as important to me as not being a total flake.

I'm looking for someone who can appreciate the ups and downs that create the building blocks of a good, solid relationship. I'm done with the head games and first-date sexual expectations. Old fashioned romance, wooing, sunset picnics and a kiss goodnight are what I'm craving.

Like Mother Mucca said in "Further Tales of the City": "It's not the sex you miss, darlin'. It's the sunsets."

 _____________________________

 A long time ago in a city not too far from Dallas, I was learning what it was to be young, queer and living in Texas. My initial introduction was from a well-worn copy of the original edition of The Joy of Gay Sex. I say that because I kept going back to it time and time again in the same bookstore and would flip though it, teenage hormones raging. One time, a much older man stopped in front of me, crouched down to apparantly look at books on a lower shelf. I was caught! I put Joy down, complete with my magazine camoflauge and quickly picked up something more suitable. He glanced up at me (as it turns out, just to get his bearings) and then proceeded to rub his elbow against the already stuffed crotch of my jeans. In a fit of nervous panic, I ran.

Of course, having finally found someone "like me", I returned to that bookstore for a couple of weeks before I finally got the nerve to actually read something of the text from Joy - it was all about cruising and how men picked up each other. The telltale signs, the gestures, how to have anal sex for the first time. Here I was getting turned on by the illustrations and the whole time there was a manual on how I was supposed to behave! I picked it up one last time from the shelf, stuffed it into my jeans, zipped up my jacket and slowly walked out of the scene of my crime.

That book became my Bible, of sorts. The Book taught me how to have tender, loving encounters, rough trade episodes and give blow jobs. I would stop by this now-defunct bookstore in a now-defunct mall and swipe glances at gay porn rags like "Torso" and "Blueboy" with the hopes of running into someone "like me". Someone who might catch me looking at the magazines and do the elbow trick or, if I was lucky, something more. I had read all about how gay men had lots of sex with multiple partners, sometimes in groups at orgy parties.

Lots of work went into this treasure trove of sexuality. The author, Dr. Charles Silverstein, a psychologist noted for his work with gay men, wrote the first edition back in 1977. While reflective of the attitude of the times (promiscuity was everywhere, queens just raised it to an art form), it seem now that this one man, this one book, could have changed the way we view ourselves today. There is still a misconception of how gay men live and love in the real world. For every out and loud sex-starved Jack, there are a dozen Wills existing quietly in the day to day humdrum of American existence. I should know. I'm one of them.

While the good doctor did revise his classic tome to fit in with life in the late 20^th Century filled with dealing with AIDS, safe sex, and (gasp) long-term relationships, I grew up thinking I had to go from bar to bar, party to party, constantly seeking out that night's trick (or tricks, as your taste and mood warranted). Sometime in the early 90's, it dawned on me that there really were other men like me out there: more concerned with finding Mr. Right and settling down with the 2.5 adopted kids, the white picket fence and a fabulous portfolio of stocks.

By the time I had my gaydar properly aligned, gay guys in Long Term Relationships were everywhere and I had to catch up - grab a hold of my real vision of what homosexuality was all about.

So now, in 2002, I try again. Or to quote the great Maya Angelou, "Just like hopes springing high / Still I'll rise". We all need to rise up to banish the sterotypes. I'm not saying there's anything wrong with those who like to live night to night, bed to bed. But there's a lot more out there to live for than the next quick stop at the Stud-O-Rama.

Screw the f*ckbuddies. I want romance and flowers.

And jewelry, of course.