The One that (Thankfully) Got Away

“First love is only a little foolishness and a lot of curiosity”

- George Bernard Shaw

Here’s a little story about two people I know. For the purpose of this post, let’s call them John and Fernando. John is a veteran gay in his 40s (very early 40s, I might add, that he might as well pass for very late 30s). Fernando is a wide-eyed prepster in his early 20s, who is minty out of the closet for the last 7 months. John was his first: first kiss, first sex, first gay lover, first brunch partner and, most importantly - from what I’ve observed and can only assume - first love. 

This morning, as I sat watching them from across the dim sum table - eyes locking, hands holding, I couldn’t help but think about my first gay guy - the first one that got away. 

Of course, I’m making this sound like this was way back when, but truth is I only really came out 2 years ago and right away, I fell into the arms of an older man whom we shall refer to as Marc (is there any other type for your first time?). I’m using the term “fell into the arms” quite literally here because that was precisely what happened. Our courtship was straight (hah!) and swift: a few flirts here and there, more than a few drinks were had, and then my first lover came (and came) and went faster than the creak on the door when he left in the morning. It was strictly a sexual affair. He knew it. I knew it.  

And yet, I couldn’t let go.

I kept reaching out to him, hoping to squeeze out whatever drop left of an already dried up affair.  Looking back, how could I not? Marc opened the Pandora Box and out came the gate to the Kingdom of Gay Neverland. It was a liberating experience and I wanted more. It was not Marc that I was chasing after but the feeling that he introduced me to. Infatuation is a strange creature and sometimes its ambivalent nature can lead you to do the strangest things in the name of something you think is love. 

Surely Fernando is lucky that he has John sticking around to show him the trails of the road to ultimate homosexuality - which, God knows, can be so tricky (who knew foot tapping in the bathroom can lead to blow jobs?). And part of me still wonders what could have become of Mark and me?

But then again, there’s a certain beauty in the ugliness of whole learning process that I wouldn’t have traded for anything else in the world. I’m still taking it one day at a time and strange as this may sound, I’m slowly becoming the gay man that I want to be and not one that tries so hard to be a carbon copy of a gay caricature presented to us on a midnight sitcom rerun. And if traces of such a thing still surface every once in a while, it’s more because I want to act so and less because it’s how Jack does it. I’m pretty sure Fernando has learned more about being gay in the last 7 months than I have in the last 2 years but there’s something about the process of doing it yourself that’s very…liberating. 

For now, I will keep going to brunch every Sunday… with or without people. Not because it’s what gay people do. It’s just fucking delicious!