Allen’s Zelig . The cinema was packed and we ended up sitting in the front row. I remember it was a warm night and Obo took off his sweater and just sat there in his undershirt. I was sort of proud to have this ‘proper’ man as a friend, just as I had been of Jerry.
Because it was such a beautiful night we decided to walk home after the film. We talked about this and that, about people from the house, people from his past. Then, as we were coming down the hill towards Stardance, he asked me if he could ask me a question. Well, I knew what was coming next. I’d heard that tone of voice before: he was going to ask me if I was gay. I said, ‘Of course you can,’ and geared myself up to give my standard reply about how I wasn’t sure and I thought people fell in love with people not gender and all the other crap that I hear young guys not ready to come to terms with their gayness still spout now. He paused and said, ‘Would you like to spend the night with me?’
If he had literally taken a large wet fish out of his pocket and hit me around the face with it I couldn’t have been more surprised. He had missed out all the conventional stages. This was the first time that someone had not asked any questions but simply presumed I was gay. Just then a car full of lads drove by and out the window one of them shouted ‘Faggot!’ God, the heterosexual bush telegraph was effective. I was only just finding out the news myself, and already they knew. I asked Obo about Jem and how she would feel, but he explained that they had an open relationship and it would be fine. I was unsure. I found Obo sexy but I didn’t want things to be weird in the house, and besidesthis was a big step. We went inside the front door. I told him I’d think about it and we kissed. Somewhere high above us God and Geoph were watching.
Unlike my brush with prostitution, this was an experience I discussed with everyone and anyone who would listen. At the Vie de France I think there were probably customers I told about my quandary in between listing the soupe du jour and our vegetarian special. Obviously most people didn’t care, but one woman at work I was very close to called Elizabeth took it all very seriously. She thought I would be making a big mistake – she thought Obo was too old, there were all the messy complications of the other relationships in the house, and besides, maybe I should give heterosexual sex another chance, she said. In theory I agreed. I wouldn’t have minded sleeping with more women, but frankly they weren’t asking, and as for me approaching them, the situation could be summed up by one of those novelty badges I’d just bought that said, ‘So many women, so little nerve’.
I argued that Obo was a good choice because I did fancy him but felt fairly confident that I wouldn’t fall in love with him, and on top of that he was older so he’d know what he was doing. I decided that Obo was the one for me. It makes me laugh that I thought I was in control or was listening to anyone else’s advice. Obo had shone his light on me and I was thrilled and blinded by it.
We chose an evening and went out for a date. I climbed into Obo’s VW van, which I worked out was the same age as me. The other slightly worrying bit of maths I did was to work out that the age gap between me and Obo was greater than the age gap between me and his toddler daughter. Oh well! I remember we went to a couple of gay bars. I can’t imaginewhat the rest of the clientele made of us – some bright-eyed and bushy-tailed kid dancing with a shaggy ageing hippy. Maybe it was San Francisco, maybe it was Obo, maybe it was being with a man, but despite everything I didn’t feel as awkward or embarrassed as I had done with Esther.
That night I slept with Obo. He had tidied up his room specially and lit candles. He was so sweet to me and, of course, breaking the very first promise I had made to myself, I began to fall in love with him. There was one major
Because it was such a beautiful night we decided to walk home after the film. We talked about this and that, about people from the house, people from his past. Then, as we were coming down the hill towards Stardance, he asked me if he could ask me a question. Well, I knew what was coming next. I’d heard that tone of voice before: he was going to ask me if I was gay. I said, ‘Of course you can,’ and geared myself up to give my standard reply about how I wasn’t sure and I thought people fell in love with people not gender and all the other crap that I hear young guys not ready to come to terms with their gayness still spout now. He paused and said, ‘Would you like to spend the night with me?’
If he had literally taken a large wet fish out of his pocket and hit me around the face with it I couldn’t have been more surprised. He had missed out all the conventional stages. This was the first time that someone had not asked any questions but simply presumed I was gay. Just then a car full of lads drove by and out the window one of them shouted ‘Faggot!’ God, the heterosexual bush telegraph was effective. I was only just finding out the news myself, and already they knew. I asked Obo about Jem and how she would feel, but he explained that they had an open relationship and it would be fine. I was unsure. I found Obo sexy but I didn’t want things to be weird in the house, and besidesthis was a big step. We went inside the front door. I told him I’d think about it and we kissed. Somewhere high above us God and Geoph were watching.
Unlike my brush with prostitution, this was an experience I discussed with everyone and anyone who would listen. At the Vie de France I think there were probably customers I told about my quandary in between listing the soupe du jour and our vegetarian special. Obviously most people didn’t care, but one woman at work I was very close to called Elizabeth took it all very seriously. She thought I would be making a big mistake – she thought Obo was too old, there were all the messy complications of the other relationships in the house, and besides, maybe I should give heterosexual sex another chance, she said. In theory I agreed. I wouldn’t have minded sleeping with more women, but frankly they weren’t asking, and as for me approaching them, the situation could be summed up by one of those novelty badges I’d just bought that said, ‘So many women, so little nerve’.
I argued that Obo was a good choice because I did fancy him but felt fairly confident that I wouldn’t fall in love with him, and on top of that he was older so he’d know what he was doing. I decided that Obo was the one for me. It makes me laugh that I thought I was in control or was listening to anyone else’s advice. Obo had shone his light on me and I was thrilled and blinded by it.
We chose an evening and went out for a date. I climbed into Obo’s VW van, which I worked out was the same age as me. The other slightly worrying bit of maths I did was to work out that the age gap between me and Obo was greater than the age gap between me and his toddler daughter. Oh well! I remember we went to a couple of gay bars. I can’t imaginewhat the rest of the clientele made of us – some bright-eyed and bushy-tailed kid dancing with a shaggy ageing hippy. Maybe it was San Francisco, maybe it was Obo, maybe it was being with a man, but despite everything I didn’t feel as awkward or embarrassed as I had done with Esther.
That night I slept with Obo. He had tidied up his room specially and lit candles. He was so sweet to me and, of course, breaking the very first promise I had made to myself, I began to fall in love with him. There was one major
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