I don't really remember what was going on in my mind after that night with Zeke. Looking back on it, I call it "my drunken attempt", but the truth is I wasn't very drunk at all that night. Buzzed yes, but not drunk. It was the next time we tried that I was really wasted.
I truthfully didn't even plan on a next time; I figured Zeke didn't want it, and I wasn't going to beg him again. I don't think I was embarrassed or ashamed, and I don't remember any awkwardness between us the next time we hung out, which probably would have been within a day or two. Zeke might have felt awkward, or afraid that I would say something to someone and get him in trouble, but he never said anything or acted any different that I could tell. We were probably even alone together a few times after that, but just never brought the subject up. I'm not even sure I thought about it that much, except maybe at night when I'd jack off, but my fantasies were varied so who knows.
It was about two weeks later, I think, when I was over at Zeke's and I asked if he wanted to go with me to my cousin Chuck's house. Some of the guys were going to hang out and drink some beers and have what we so proudly told ourselves were intellectual discussions about the world. Zeke didn't have anything better to do that night, so he said yes, and we went. I drove a '72 Volkswagen Beetle back then. It's not important to the story, but I loved that Beetle and thought I'd bring it up.
One of the guys, Greg, said he'd heard something funny that day, the expression "He was as happy as a queer in Boy's Town." We all chuckled (oh, come on, it's kind of funny) but I glanced over at Zeke to see what his reaction was. He was grinning, but I could tell it was a bit forced. Ten or fifteen minutes later we headed on out, as it was getting a bit late and I wanted to get out before more gay jokes were brought up. To be fair to Greg, he was, and is, one of the more tolerant people I know, and he wasn't intentionally gay bashing with the joke.
Anyway, Zeke asked if I could take him to Kroger (a grocery store, for those of you who are unfamiliar with it) to pick up some things, and then from there I took him home. He asked if I wanted to come in but I declined, as I was tired and just wanted to go to bed.
"Ok," he said. "Well, I wanted to tell you... about that thing a couple of weeks ago, you know what I mean?"
I laughed and said "Yes, Zeke, I know what you mean."
"Right," he chuckled. "Well, anyway, I've been thinking about it and well, if you ever want to try again I say go for it." He had a kind of tight grin on his face, maybe feeling the same blood-pounding-in-ears, light-headed feeling I'd had the night I talked to him about it.
And for some reason, all of the embarrassment and shame I hadn't felt before hit me all at once. It was like I was being called out for what we'd done. I didn't want to hurt his feelings, but in my mind I was thinking "there's just no fucking way that's ever happening again." Looking back, I think it was just the years of homophobic training those of us who grew up in the South in the 70s and 80s had kicking in, making the idea at that moment simply revolting to me. I wonder now if this is the reason that, for me, the urge to be with a guy will be real strong for a period, then almost fall off altogether for a long time.
I think Zeke saw something in my face, because his grin fell a little bit and he looked a little sad. "Yea, we'll see Zeke. I don't know, but we'll see, okay?" I didn't want to mislead about the likelihood of anything happening, but I didn't want to just flat out say "no fucking way" either. I felt bad, like I'd done something wrong or mean, and I pretty much avoided being alone with him for the next few days, which made me feel even worse. It wasn't that I was worried about him trying anything, I just didn't want to talk about that anymore.
The next weekend Chuck and some of the guys came over to my house (my parents were away), and I got shit-faced. I was a fat guy who did a lot of drinking, so I hardly ever got drunk enough to miss chunks of the evening, but I did that night. Bits and pieces came back to me later, with my cousin filling in some of the blanks, but basically we drank a lot that night. I'd somehow decided that my cousin was the one who was a danger on the road and I insisted on driving him home. I don't remember that part, and I only vaguely remember him walking from the car saying "bye" in a sing-song voice that he would use when he was drunk to annoy people, namely me.
The next thing I remember is waking up in the Beetle, engine running, in the parking lot at Zeke's apartment building. I don't know how long I'd been passed out, but it must have been a while because my head was clearer than it had been earlier. I was still drunk, but from that point on there aren't anymore blank spots. It's a wonder I didn't run off the road and hit a tree getting there, but I was incredibly lucky (and yes, stupid) about my drinking and driving back in those days.
And there wasn't any question in my mind why I was there. (To be continued.)
I truthfully didn't even plan on a next time; I figured Zeke didn't want it, and I wasn't going to beg him again. I don't think I was embarrassed or ashamed, and I don't remember any awkwardness between us the next time we hung out, which probably would have been within a day or two. Zeke might have felt awkward, or afraid that I would say something to someone and get him in trouble, but he never said anything or acted any different that I could tell. We were probably even alone together a few times after that, but just never brought the subject up. I'm not even sure I thought about it that much, except maybe at night when I'd jack off, but my fantasies were varied so who knows.
It was about two weeks later, I think, when I was over at Zeke's and I asked if he wanted to go with me to my cousin Chuck's house. Some of the guys were going to hang out and drink some beers and have what we so proudly told ourselves were intellectual discussions about the world. Zeke didn't have anything better to do that night, so he said yes, and we went. I drove a '72 Volkswagen Beetle back then. It's not important to the story, but I loved that Beetle and thought I'd bring it up.
One of the guys, Greg, said he'd heard something funny that day, the expression "He was as happy as a queer in Boy's Town." We all chuckled (oh, come on, it's kind of funny) but I glanced over at Zeke to see what his reaction was. He was grinning, but I could tell it was a bit forced. Ten or fifteen minutes later we headed on out, as it was getting a bit late and I wanted to get out before more gay jokes were brought up. To be fair to Greg, he was, and is, one of the more tolerant people I know, and he wasn't intentionally gay bashing with the joke.
Anyway, Zeke asked if I could take him to Kroger (a grocery store, for those of you who are unfamiliar with it) to pick up some things, and then from there I took him home. He asked if I wanted to come in but I declined, as I was tired and just wanted to go to bed.
"Ok," he said. "Well, I wanted to tell you... about that thing a couple of weeks ago, you know what I mean?"
I laughed and said "Yes, Zeke, I know what you mean."
"Right," he chuckled. "Well, anyway, I've been thinking about it and well, if you ever want to try again I say go for it." He had a kind of tight grin on his face, maybe feeling the same blood-pounding-in-ears, light-headed feeling I'd had the night I talked to him about it.
And for some reason, all of the embarrassment and shame I hadn't felt before hit me all at once. It was like I was being called out for what we'd done. I didn't want to hurt his feelings, but in my mind I was thinking "there's just no fucking way that's ever happening again." Looking back, I think it was just the years of homophobic training those of us who grew up in the South in the 70s and 80s had kicking in, making the idea at that moment simply revolting to me. I wonder now if this is the reason that, for me, the urge to be with a guy will be real strong for a period, then almost fall off altogether for a long time.
I think Zeke saw something in my face, because his grin fell a little bit and he looked a little sad. "Yea, we'll see Zeke. I don't know, but we'll see, okay?" I didn't want to mislead about the likelihood of anything happening, but I didn't want to just flat out say "no fucking way" either. I felt bad, like I'd done something wrong or mean, and I pretty much avoided being alone with him for the next few days, which made me feel even worse. It wasn't that I was worried about him trying anything, I just didn't want to talk about that anymore.
The next weekend Chuck and some of the guys came over to my house (my parents were away), and I got shit-faced. I was a fat guy who did a lot of drinking, so I hardly ever got drunk enough to miss chunks of the evening, but I did that night. Bits and pieces came back to me later, with my cousin filling in some of the blanks, but basically we drank a lot that night. I'd somehow decided that my cousin was the one who was a danger on the road and I insisted on driving him home. I don't remember that part, and I only vaguely remember him walking from the car saying "bye" in a sing-song voice that he would use when he was drunk to annoy people, namely me.
The next thing I remember is waking up in the Beetle, engine running, in the parking lot at Zeke's apartment building. I don't know how long I'd been passed out, but it must have been a while because my head was clearer than it had been earlier. I was still drunk, but from that point on there aren't anymore blank spots. It's a wonder I didn't run off the road and hit a tree getting there, but I was incredibly lucky (and yes, stupid) about my drinking and driving back in those days.
And there wasn't any question in my mind why I was there. (To be continued.)
The part about drinking and such. It really was a different time back then. I can only say that it is a miracle that I survived my late teens and early adulthood without being killed or killing someone else. And it seems like everyone I know could say the same thing.
ReplyDeleteI have similar memories of these awkward attempts at sexuality involving the urge to try something with another guy yet being conditioned to outwardly be disgusted by it. If only there was a way to relive my youth without all the homophobia drilled into me by society.
Looking forward to the next part of the story.