Straight Jeff

After my little gay experiment I focused on work. Work, work and more work. I needed the money. I needed to stay busy, too.

Microwave ovens had arrived in stores, including McAlpin's. Giant Amanas flew off the shelf at $1200 each. Since I was the only 40-hour person in the department, most the sales were mine.

Thinking I was good at selling high ticket items, they moved me to Electronics. I didn't know squat about the finer points of televisions and sound systems. The black and white television and 8-track stereo I had at home were barely even related to the high-end pieces on the show floor.

Jeff G. also worked in electronics. We used to go out to Smuggler's Inn, the Library Lounge or 2001--that giant club way out Richmond Road--to meet chicks. That's what you do when you're 21, straight and single.

Jeff lived alone. We talked about the high cost of having our own apartments. Since we got along so well, we decided to move into a two bedroom, two bathroom apartment at The Cloisters.

Our third-floor apartment overlooked Tates Creek Golf Course. The balcony was nice, unless the golf course was open. Errant balls hit our sliding glass door at least once or twice a week.

Jeff was not happy when he found out I was going to Johnny Angel's again. He said he could not and would not live with a gay guy. I vowed to do better and insisted I was straight.

Except of course, I wasn't. Jeff started driving around Johnny Angel's to see if my car was there. One night he came all the way upstairs to find me dancing with the Elite Fleet. He walked up, made sure I saw him, then left.

When I got home the deadbolt was locked and I couldn't get in. I pounded on the door for a while. The people across the hall were laughing and making jokes about the fags across the hall having a fight.

Since they were up, I figured what the heck and knocked on the door. A blond woman a few years older than me answered. She said her name was Patricia. I explained about the deadlock and asked to use her phone to call him.

Jeff let me in and told me he would be out by the end of the month. That gave me about a week to find a roommate. Damn!

Fate intervened. Linda was looking for a place to live. We'd worked together at Saint Joseph Hospital and ran around during the Kathy era. To this day she remains the best friend I ever had.

Michael

If you're expecting graphic details about my first night with Michael and all the banging on the wall from Mrs. P, you won't get them here. I'm saving those details for the book. I haven't written it yet, but we all know it's coming.

I'll just say Michael and I fell head over heels. He took me to Johnny Angel's for my first Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas Eve and New Year's Eve. Holidays were always like homecoming because everyone home for the holidays needed to get out and decompress after a stressful day with the family.

Coming out is hard. My world turned upside down. Dizzying highs and gut-wrenching lows came in rapid succession. Trying to keep one leg firmly planted on boats going in different directions was ripping me apart and keeping me from moving forward.

The emotional hurricane was driven by opposing forces. Now in full panic mode, Mom pulled out all the stops to divert me from the path I was on. We fought to the point of tears weekly, if not daily for many, many months.

My new gay friends were an island of support in an otherwise stormy sea. They understood what I was going through and stood by me. Because he liked to feel needed almost as much as he liked to hear himself talk, Jeff was particularly helpful.

Sweet, beautiful Michael was sensitive, compassionate and extremely patient. My hurricane was his hurricane, too. He never complained and was always there.

An attack of appendicitis in January landed me back at Saint Joseph Hospital. I'd quit a few months earlier to work full-time at McAlpin's. After surgery I went to my parent's house to recuperate.

Michael came to see me every day. I can only imagine the looks he got from my family in that big fur coat of his. Aside from the coat, he looked butch enough. But once he opened his mouth the gig was up.

I needed to talk to someone. Mom suggested a priest. My friends told me to do it just to shut her up. The priest told me it was OK to be gay as long as I never acted on it.

So I didn't. Michael often spent the night on the sofa so we could still spend time together. No matter how much I begged and pleaded, he held me to my word.

I couldn't do it. Being gay was just too hard. When I told Michael about my decision, we cried together.

And then he left...

Wednesday

The sound of ringing woke me up early the next day. Thinking Michael wasn't one to waste any time, I grabbed the phone and said hello. It was Mom.

She wanted to know exactly what I'd been doing at "that place" downtown. Someone who worked with my Aunt Mary had seen me at Johnny Angel's the night before. Aunt Mary had to call mother to let her know.

Thinking fast first thing in the morning is not my forte. Nor am I a very good liar. I told her the truth: I'd become friends with some gay guys at McAlpin's and gone out with them after work.

OK, so maybe it wasn't the whole truth. She suspected as much but took me at my word. I'm sure she kept the phone lines hot the rest of the day discussing the issue with my aunts and her friends.

I put a stack of albums on my console stereo and proceeded to straighten things up around the apartment. Apparently, the music was too loud as Mrs. P was banging on the wall. She banged on the wall any time she heard a peep out of me. Bitch.

Michael called as I was getting ready to go to work. He asked how things had gone with Jay. I laughed and said we probably wouldn't be going out again.

We chatted. He told me he worked in construction, carrying bricks to the guys who were teaching him the trade. That explained the tan, the big arms, and the beefy chest. After he finally asked I said going out with him after work would be great.

Michael knocked on my door at exactly 10. He was wearing the biggest fur coat I'd ever seen. It was real, too. He walked me to his late-model, cherry red Corvette convertible with a vanity plate that read: CRUISIN.

We had a blast at Johnny Angel's. Michael was a perfect gentleman. He had my full attention all night. We really hit it off.

Jay acted like nothing had happened the night before. No doubt he was used to reactions like mine. He thought we made a cute couple and was glad to have introduced us.

Jeff's reaction was lukewarm. I later found out he was pissed because Michael got to me first. Paul rolled his eyes and made some comment about me not wasting any time.

I begged to differ. Since Monday I'd been thinking about my life and come to see I had in fact always been gay. I felt like I'd wasted a lot of time.

Michael promised we'd make up for any lost time. His smile and that I was hoping he was right made me blush. We headed for the 'vette to go back to my apartment.

Teeny, Tiny, Little Jay

Johnny Angel's was more popular with straight Lexington in 1979 than at any time before or since. Disco was huge. Everything about Johnny Angel's made it THE place for clubbing among straight and gay trendanistas.

That night the place was packed. People stood four and five deep trying to catch the eye of a bartender to order a drink. As at work, Jay seemed to know everyone.

He introduced me to guys in a clique that came to be known as the Elite Fleet. We'd all attended high schools in Lexington. Lafayette and Henry Clay were very well represented. I was the only Creeker. Another guy went to Bryan Station.

The other big clique came up from Richmond. They had an equally obnoxious name I can no longer remember. The guys in both groups were a very pretty bunch of young men. Michael, from the Richmond group, was especially fine.

The biggest difference between being straight and gay, right off the bat, is that you know it when a guy thinks you're cute. Girls are subtle and coy about these things. They avoid eye contact, smile and look away quickly, or send a friend over to chat you up. Anything more direct and someone might think they're easy.

Guys don't care about being easy. In fact, that's the second big difference between being gay and being straight. If you're straight, she's supposed to say no. Without her, well, there's just nobody to say no.

Didn't take more than five minutes to feel like I was stuck with Jay. Some of the looks I was getting from Michael were enough to make me blush. He was one guy I definitely wanted to get to know better.

Jeff, a talented dancer, spent most of his time on the dance floor. He and several of the guys and girls he danced with had obviously put in some practice time. They were really good and often attracted onlookers.

Paul wasn't really into the disco scene. He was a type, and had a type. He wore skin-tight jeans, a t-shirt that was exactly too small, and boots at the bar. His type rarely appeared at bars like Johnny Angel's.

Other than Jeff and whoever he was twirling around, the rest of the Elite Fleet danced in a big group. Everyone had a cigarette in one hand, a cocktail in the other, and the ability to check themselves out as needed in one of the many mirrors on and around the dance floor. Michael danced next to me for most of the night.

Closing time came all too soon. We said our good-byes and headed back to Lamplighter. I had no idea of what lay ahead, but it was looking like me and Jay were going to make-out.

We did. Might know my first guy had the greatest need for masculine enhancement of any guy I've ever met to this day. It was tragic. I had to laugh which pretty much put an end to our date.

Just as well. Michael had my phone number. From the way he had looked at me, I was pretty sure he'd call.

Tuesday

The guy I saw at Johnny Angel's worked in Fine China & Gifts at McAlpin's. We'd never worked together or run into each other after work. I didn't know his name.

Fine China & Gifts was just across from Housewares. The very next day he was also working. I waited for an opportunity to introduce myself.

He was about my height, but reed thin. He had a dark tan and brown hair with blond highlights. He smiled a lot and seemed to know everyone in the store.

I sidled over to the area of Housewares closest to where he was working. He hadn't noticed me and was paying no attention. Hmmmmmmm...what to do? Rearranging the cookware was clearly the shortest route to my goal. Banging pots and pans around definitely got his attention.

His name was Jay. After introductions I mentioned having seen him out the night before. He asked where that might have been and why I hadn't said hello.

Using what was soon to become a familiar euphemism, I told him it was "downtown." He was obviously having a great time with his friends. I couldn't possibly intrude.

Jay said he was out celebrating with his roommates. They had been classmates at Lafayette and just moved from their parents' houses to a three bedroom apartment. He invited me over to meet them after work.

They lived in the Lamplighter Apartments on Reynolds Road. I was a nervous wreck. Jay opened the door when I knocked, invited me in, and introduced me to his two roommates.

Paul looked like a Greek god. He was at least 6'4" with blond hair, gray-green eyes, and an aristocratic countenance. After a polite hello he withdrew to the dining room to continue what he was doing before my arrival.

Jeff had a great tan, sparkling green eyes, and great hair. He wore tight white terrycloth tennis shorts that barely covered his ass. He wore them to class, too. He wore them when we met for lunch at the student center a few weeks later.

We sat around the dining room table and talked. I explained about the previous night being my first visit to a gay bar and feeling like I was probably gay. Jeff proceeded to pepper me with questions about my family, my interests, and my likes and dislikes.

Jeff explained being gay wasn't really about sex. He could tell me one way or the other based on my responses to his many questions. Turns out, my affection for Broadway show tunes, Barbra Streisand, and white tennis shoes coupled with a period of fatness followed by rapid weight loss and the ability to dance meant I was, beyond any doubt, certifiably homosexual.

Jeff was sure of it. Jay was inclined to agree. Paul snorted in disgust, went to his room and closed the door.

Jay invited me to come with them to Johnny Angel's. Without hesitation I said I'd love to go. He said he'd drive and I could ride with him.

Guess you could call it my first date with a guy. I had no idea what to expect. I was excited and terrified at the same time. Turns out, both the excitement and the fear were totally unwarranted.

That Fateful Night--Revisited

As a ward clerk my shift rotation meant I was off one weekend out of three. Lynne was a nurse assistant on another floor with the same rotation. We'd gone to high school together, had a lot of mutual friends and often got together on our days off.

About a year after Sheila broke me in, Lynne and I were off work. We'd had a rough week and wanted to go dancing. But being a Monday, every club in town was dead.

Lynne suggested we go to the gay bar where the dance floor was always hopping. I absolutely did not want to go. But Lynne begged and pleaded and promised we would leave if I felt the least bit uncomfortable. I finally agreed.

That I might be gay still had not occurred to me. Gay people were either pedophiles (i.e., my scoutmaster or the manager at the movie theater), flaming queens or perverts. I was none of these things, therefore, I was not gay.

Besides, I thoroughly enjoyed sex with women. With a continuous string of girlfriends dating back to the fourth grade, how could I be gay? It just wasn't possible.

Rather than gay or bi or straight, I preferred to think of myself as honest. Surely every man in America sometimes wondered how an attractive male friend or coworker would look naked. I was just honest enough to admit it. Right?

The gay bar in Lexington had been in the same location for decades under many different names. It was Johnny Angel's then, and more popular than any time before or since. The location operates as The Bar Complex today.

We presented our IDs, paid the cover charge and started up the big spiral staircase to the disco. The thump of the base hit your ears long before the music. Through a brick arch at the top of the stairs was a huge marble bar with mirrors behind it. Reflected in the mirrors was the dance floor. My heart was in my throat.

Nothing in my life had prepared me for what I saw on the dance floor. There were a couple of drag queens, and some other straight people, but the overwhelming majority were guys around my age. More than a couple were downright cute! I was shocked, speechless, and absolutely certain I was gay.

I kept my eyes on Lynne, avoiding any possible eye contact with any of the cute boys dancing all around me and danced like I had never danced before. My mind raced as the implications of my new awareness sunk in. I was gay.

Was I ashamed or mortified or suicidal? Not at all. I was excited, curious, and oddly at peace. Everything made sense now. At long last I'd found a label that fit.

I noticed a coworker from McAlpin's across the dance floor. He was dancing in a circle with a group I believed to be the cutest guys in the bar. I didn't know his name, but vowed to meet him the next time we worked together. I did, too.

Sheila

And so, at last, we come to Sheila. Chronologically we were close to the same age. I may even have been a year or two older. But in terms of life experience, Sheila was two or three times my age.

Sheila was divorced and had a kid I never met. She worked as a nurse assistant and lived at home with her mother, a little black cock-a-poo, and her younger brother in a house just off North Broadway. The brother was still in high school--Bryan Station, where Sheila had graduated.

We started going out. Turns out we had absolutely nothing in common and even less to talk about. Sheila lived in the real world with duties and responsibilities. I was footloose and fancy free. But hey, we got along and she thought I was cute.

Mom didn't care for her--at all. Dad thought Sheila was cute. They both thought she was a little trashy. I suspect the divorced thing put them off. Lord knows it couldn't have been her frosted hair, sky blue eye shadow or frosted-pink lipstick.

Dating a divorced woman really ratcheted up expectations. Faking experience would be impossible. She'd done it before...lots of times...even had a kid. I figured honesty was the best policy. I confessed to being a virgin.

She told a friend, who told another friend. Before long everyone at Saint Joseph Hospital knew. I didn't know whether to be proud or embarrassed.

Connie was an African-American nursing assistant who worked on the same floor as Sheila. Connie enjoyed few things more than teasing me about my virginity. She said she'd break me in herself but thought a white girl should do the job since I was too delicate for the likes of her.

One night Sheila invited me inside after our night out. The dog greeted us at the door. Mom and little brother apparently slept elsewhere in the house. The kid was off with baby-daddy.

We were making out on the couch when Sheila said we needed to talk. She explained that as a former married lady, she had certain needs. Our heavy petting was making it harder rather than easier to live with those needs. We needed to do it...now.

Who was I to argue? She slipped out of her clothes, laid down on the living room floor and motioned for me to join her. I heard Mom snoring in the next room.

I slid down onto the floor and into her arms. We started kissing and somehow, she got me out of my clothes. Things were getting hot when I felt the dog licking my butt. Sheila put her hand over my mouth to quieten my scream and kicked the dog away.

Two minutes later it was over. Wouldn't have lasted that long but we got distracted fighting off the dog. Sex was good, and I liked it...a lot. Three minutes later, little brother came out of his bedroom and asked if we wanted to smoke a joint. We passed.

Over the next few weeks we had sex a lot. I remember one particularly wild night in a room so dark I still don't know for sure what happened. A few weeks later Sheila dumped me. She felt like I was only interested in sex.

Duh!