Coming Out - Prologue. Prologue

I looked up from my laptop computer to see a familiar smiling face, which brightened my day and also took some of the intensity out of my own expression.

He asked, “How’s the autobiography coming?”

“Well, you read the first installment, what do you think?”

He chuckled, “I have to admit that a lot of it sounded very familiar.”

"In what way?"

"Well, how about this: you were conflicted about your sexuality and afraid you might be gay. You were in love with your best friend. You came out to each other and had wild sex until he broke your heart. You found out your mother knew you were gay all along and loved you anyway. That's all pretty familiar to a lot of us."

“Is that a good thing?”

“Hell, yes. Your story is my story. It’s more or less the story of every gay man of our generation. Oh, sure, the particulars are different, and some of the events are unique to your situation—”

“Meaning?”

“You know what I mean—you were a privileged white boy from a wealthy Denver family. You went to an expensive private school. You had a kick-ass car all your own. Captain of the swim team. State champion. Salutatorian of your graduating class. Et cetera.”

I laughed out loud, “When you say all that shit, it makes me feel like a jerk for ever complaining about anything.”

“Oh, don’t whine. You’ll get no sympathy from me.”

I pouted.

He smiled with love. “You had your fair share of ups and downs. You had that encounter with Gary and Dick—I still shudder at the thought of the man I love being in the clutches of those two assholes.”

“Craig and I really walked into that one with our eyes fucking wide shut.”

“You were young and naïve—and way too goddamn trusting. You assumed that everyone in the world was as good as the two of you, and that their good will would shield you from any bad experiences.”

“We all know how well that shit worked.”

“Sure do. But seriously, your mother was right. Everything that happens to you, everyone you know, everyone you ever love—all that becomes part of who you are.”

“And who am I?”

He came across the room, stood behind me, and snaked his arms down each side of my chest. Kissing me on the top of my bald head, he said softly, “The man I love. The man I married. The man I’ll spend the rest of my life with, of course.”

He leaned down and kissed my cheek, “But don’t go getting a swelled head about it. You can still be one hell of an asshole when you want to!”

I stood up and we embraced.

“I think I can put the writing aside for a while now.”

I helped him down the hall, into our room, and down onto our bed.

As we made love, my mind cleared of all the concerns I had about my book. Something told me it was going to be all right—and that gave me the freedom to tell the second part of my story with confidence and pleasure...so here we go.