When you dish upon a star

By the age of 20, I'd had only one sexual experience with another man. He was a good friend, younger than I and more experienced, and he initiated me into a realm I'd only previously wondered about. I didn't enjoy the experience, mainly because I was pathologically self-conscious and too insecure about my looks to believe that a guy would find me attractive. In early gayhood I never, ever made the first move, fearing rejection above all else.

In mid-October 1982, shortly after the start of my junior year, I went to a gay and lesbian dance at NYU with my friend Danny. I'd been going to dances for many months. At the first one I went to I was nervous, excited, and hopeful. I loved to dance, and I usually went with my friend Mark, who was sort of the Shirley to my Laverne. We stuck together for the most part, just happy to be in a supportive gay environment. This was, after all, the early 1980s, when Ronald Reagan turned a deaf ear to the AIDS crisis and New York City was a scene out of Mad Max, and being in an all-gay environment was still sort of a novelty. But that night Mark didn't show up until later.

Danny brought his friend Fred with him to the dance. I'd met Fred a few times before. I thought he was kind of cute--tall, lanky, with wavy reddish hair and piercing eyes that could either melt your heart or burn a hole in it. That duality just made him sexier to me. Whenever I saw him at one of these dances he was usually attached to some nondescript-looking guy.

Danny and Fred were best girlfriends, in a Dominique and Alexis way. They didn't need to watch Dynasty; they lived it. They both liked to drink and get high. The bitchfights that ensued were entertaining but made me more afraid than ever that being gay meant I'd have to eventually wear a dress.

Before the dance that night I hung out with Fred in his dorm room. His spacy fag hag friend Regina was over, and we danced to the Miracles' "I Second That Emotion." I was the only one in the room who wasn't high or drunk. I knew from Danny that Fred was interested in me, but I was too new to gaydom to know what that meant. Fred was cute, and I couldn't imagine that he wanted to sleep with me. I was secretly hoping, however, that he did.

At about 10:30 Danny, Fred, and I went to the dance at the NYU student center. It was chilly out, and the DJ was just warming up with Gang of Four's "I Love A Man In A Uniform." Fred and I went out onto the patio. We were alone, and I felt really nervous. I was still a good little Catholic boy, and in my mind I was going to meet the man of my dreams and settle down, just like Britney Spears. I started trying to explain to Fred how I felt, and even as I was talking I knew I was making a fool of myself. Why couldn't I just shut the fuck up? I wanted Fred so badly, but I had my missionary persona to hide behind. Fred slipped his arm around me and we held each other tight as the cool wind whipped around us. I was holding another man! I was so excited I couldn't stand it.

"Why don't you stay in my dorm tonight?" he whispered in my ear.

"But your roommates..."

"Don't worry. It's all taken care of." I looked surprised. So, Fred had been planning this all along. For the rest of the night I was euphoric. I was going to have sex! I was going to have sex! So what if he had been with every guy at the dance? This was my night, damnit!

Videos by the Go-Gos and Duran Duran played on the big video screen as we headed out to Fred's dorm. It was warmer out on the street, but only slightly. Fred was wearing a long wool coat, which he used to wrap us both up in. We walked to Ray's Pizza (the original, way before the impostors popped up) and had a slice. It was about 1 a.m. and now all I wanted was to have sex with Fred. When were we going to have the sex?

In the lobby of Fred's dorm we ran into Danny, who was chatting with the campus tramp, Rick. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Danny shoot me a look that I couldn't quite place. I knew that Danny had a crush on me that was not mutual. I sensed that Danny was either acting jealous that I was going upstairs with Fred or being smug about what would happen after I came downstairs from Fred's. Either way it was my turn and I didn't really care what Danny thought.

In the elevator on the way up to Fred's room our hands were all over each other, and we made out till we got to the sixth floor. It was about 2:30 a.m., and when we got to Fred's room we heard Fred's straight roommate Neil in the next room. I shot Fred a nervous look. "Don't worry," he said. "He's cool."

Once in Fred's room, we lay at opposite ends of his bed, talking about how bitchy Victoria Principal was and how funny Joan Rivers was. We inched closer and closer together, and within seconds we were making out and had each other's clothes off. The rest is kind of blurry. We fell asleep in each other's arms around 6:00. We slept a few hours, fooled around again, and at around noon, exhausted, we had brunch. I was ecstatic on the ride home to Brooklyn.

Over the next few weeks Fred and I saw each other and slept with each other, but in a few short weeks he had become aloof and distant. I thought maybe he was having a bad week or weeks, or maybe he just wasn't much of a talker. After about a month our contact had waned, and I figured he'd call me when he felt like it.

At a Columbia gay and lesbian dance a month later, Mark, Danny, and I were hanging out together when I asked Danny where Fred was. "Oh, he's around here somewhere," he said matter-of-factly. Halfway through the dance I walked out onto the patio and saw Fred sucking face with another guy. I wasn't surprised, or hurt, or anything. I just didn't get it. Why didn't he have the guts to say fuck off or it was nice but...? He saw me and pulled away from his catch. I could see his eyes were glassy, and he had a somewhat paranoid look on his face. But he came over to me and said with a big smile, "Now it's my turn to talk to you."

"Are you OK?" I said.

"He dropped some acid," I heard a voice behind me say. It was Danny. The look he'd shot me that night made sense now. Danny knew that Fred was high the night we slept together. When Fred was off his high he was quite a different person.

I looked at Fred icily, and he got very defensive. He told me that he'd only dropped a tab of acid and that it was my problem if I couldn't deal with it. He turned away and started making out with his miscellaneous date again. I just sort of shrugged and turned around and went inside with Danny and Mark.

For the next few months I was preoccupied with other things. My grandmother died around Thanksgiving, and for all of December I was preparing for my semester abroad in Spain. Besides, I had a new infatuation, a guy in my Sociology class named Ben, and Fred was low on my radar screen. I had one last fling with him around Christmas before I left for Madrid in early January.

When I came home the following summer, Danny, taking a drag on his cigarette, told me that Fred had a steady boyfriend. "Oh," he said, "and Fred hates you."

"Really?" I said. "Did he say why?"

"He said that when he became famous he didn't want you to be able to say that you'd slept with him." Danny saw the look of puzzlement on my face. "Oh, don't worry," Danny said. "It's not personal. He hates everyone."

As it turned out, Fred did become famous...or rather, he represents a lot of people who are famous. He obviously achieved what he wanted, at least professionally. Still, there's one wish he didn't get. The names have been changed to protect only myself.