Chris was there, too, that night and that must have
helped. In some ways having him there split the
responsibility between us. Chris was already as close to me
as a brother. So when David walked through the door for the
first time, it wasn't just me taking him in and having those
important first impressions. Chris was there, too, and he
was so much like family. It's comforting to think now that
he was there the first night another member of my chosen
family arrived.

The first thing I noticed about him was his hair. As he
walked through the door I saw how beautiful the blond was
and that stunning blend going from white-blond to darker
blond to the brown the closer his hair was cut to his scalp.
That was one of the things I loved to do when we first made
love-feel that beautiful hair slide between my fingers as I
went backwards, from the brown to the white-blond, feeling
like the softest silk.

He came bounding in, dragging along his bicycle which he
had carried up to my second floor apartment. He charged in
just like the Leo I came to find out he was, and seemed
right at home. And as he came in, so seemingly brave, I did
for the first time what would become a habit for us. I could
feel that he was scared somewhere inside, scared of the
things we're all scared of: rejection, opening up too much,
getting our hearts broken. I saw something that most people
don't for the first time that night.

I also remember he immediately used his sense of humor.
I don't remember the joke or even the context but I do
remember being relieve that he was smart-really brilliant, I
came to find out-and that he could make me laugh. It seemed
like so long since I had last laughed. And that has been
another one of those invaluable little connections that
we've made that has gotten us so far.

I felt that Chris didn't like him at first. I saw it in
Chris' smile when Chris and David shook hands His smile
didn't go up to his eyes the way it normally did. Later
Chris confessed that he didn't like David when they first
me; he thought David was full of bravado and arrogance Of
course later, he was one of the few people who urged me to
stay with David because he loved him then, too, if for no
other reason than David made me happy. They are still
close.

So the introductions were made and everyone was so
awkward because no one really ever went on dates in that
apartment, least likely me. Then David and I talked about
what to do then, about the feature part of the date, the
coffee house part we had talked about two days earlier when
he asked me out and I said I'd love to go. We left his bike
in my apartment and headed out.

We left with the intention of walking to Westwood for
coffee, then calling it an early evening. We both had been
busy today and were both tired. (A week after our first
kiss, we confessed that we had both been each other's third
dates of the day; I had lunch with Dan and dinner with Tim
and David was the after dinner coffee. David had something
similar, though neither one of us can remember his dates'
names any more.) We began walking towards Westwood, a
fifteen minute walk at most, and began talking. Then the
magic started.

I don't even really remember any more what we talked
about that night we walked for three hours before getting
back to my apartment. I can't tell you the topics except to
say it was typical sort of first-date exchange of
information stuff-romantic histories, family background,
dreams. What I do remember is the feeling of talking to
David that night, the feeling that if he hadn't been talking
I would have been saying the same words because we were that
close. He said things that night which I had thought about
years before and never could have remember unless he had
said them. He talked of dreams that I had dreamed since I
was old enough to know that I loved men. We shared an
intimacy that some married couples share, that night, the
first night we met. And I knew I wanted to be with him for a
very long time.

As we walked and talked, I could feel the energy rising
with David, too. I knew this wasn't a feeling I was
imagining and I knew I wasn't alone in my excitement. I
could tell by the way he talked and the way he was answering
questions and how his eyes shone there, how they sparked as
I talked and how I knew he wanted to get inside me, to know
more about me. It was the first time in my life that my
passion, my desire, my excitement was not unrequited. I
finally knew that I could be loved back. This man could love
me back.

We never got to the coffee house.

We walked for those three hours that flew by in that
first-date-going-well excitement I had only experienced once
before. We found ourselves back at my place, three hours
later and we didn't know what to do. I invited him up,
something I had never done. I asked him to come see my room
because I wanted him to and I wanted to be close to him and
to touch him and to explore him, to explore this intimacy we
had found He accepted the invitation, smiling as he did
so.

I remember it was in my room that we were talking about
kids and David telling me having kids was so important to
him and me being so happy because I wanted kids, too. I
remember thinking quickly that our kids would be light eyed
and blond haired. Then I remembered that we were both men
and that while we might have kids, they would never be our
combined genes, that we would never have a living product
formed from both of our bodies. And I wanted to cry then but
I didn't. I wanted to cry because it seemed so unfair that
our love would never create a child, though we could raise a
child together. And I wanted to cry because it seemed so
unfair that most heterosexual couples could have children
without a problem and that some people even had kids without
even meaning to. And it all seemed very unfair then that no
matter how hard we tried we could never produce a child
together, not with our own bodies, together. It seemed very
unfair that our intimacy could be interrupted like that and
in the middle of this wonderful night I got very sad.

So I remember hugging David and I remember now he was
wearing that green shirt, the one made out of that canvas-
type material that felt so thick. And I remember kissing him
for the first time and how warm his mouth was and how long
since I had kissed anyone or touched anyone. And I wanted to
join with him right then, to become part of him for a little
while the way I still sometimes do when we're sleeping
together and I just wish our flesh would open up to receive
the other and we could be one for a while. Just to feel the
same intimacy physically for a while that we share mentally,
that's what I want. We get close sometimes, when he is
inside me or me inside him, but I still have this dream,
this fantasy of oneness, a fantasy I started that night we
first kissed.

After that first kiss we moved to my bed-really a queen
sized mattress and box springs on the ground. And I remember
we kissed again for minutes at a time and talked in between
kisses and we touched our bodies and he tickled me for the
first time. I remember those moments on the bed very clearly
still, even though they are nearly two years ago. I can
still see his face as he tickled me.

We lay there, still fully clothed, and we were silent.
Hours had passed since he first walked through my door and
we had talked non-stop. But now we were quiet. The silence
soaked into me and I realized the only time I allow myself
to be quiet with someone, the only time I can sit with
someone and no one talks is when I'm with my family, my
biological one or those I have chosen, and I knew he would
become a part of that family for me. I was happier than I
ever remember being sitting there silent with the first man
I came to love and the first man who would love me.

I sat up first because it was my job as Host and saw
that it was three am. I looked down at his face laying on my
pillow and I smiled down on him. He smiled back up at me
with that smile I know so well today, that warm, loving
smile which is the most reassuring thing to me in my moments
of temporary doubt about our relationship which are becoming
so infrequent now. I smiled down at my boyfriend.

He needed to leave then because he told his roommate he
would be back that night. I could have asked him to spend
the night, to sleep in my bed with me, but I didn't feel
like there was any rush. There would be many more nights
ahead for both of us. We didn't need sex that night. We had
enough intimacy already.

I walked him to the door and he got his bike. On my
porch we kissed for the last time that night and I held him
close for a long time, maybe minutes. I didn't want to let
him go. Eventually we did part and made a date for the next
night.

I walked up the stairs to my apartment as David mounted
his bike. I looked out the window on the second floor. Until
the day of my death, I will always remember the image of
David riding his bike out of my courtyard, glancing and
waving as he turned the corner, smiling big. Priceless.
Beautiful. Perfect.

I can't really tell you even today why I started crying
then. I can tell you the were not tears of sadness. Grief
had nothing to do with it. I cried instead because I had
finally found someone I could share myself with completely
and totally for the first time in my life. After all the
pain and depression and suicidal thoughts of coming out, I
finally had glimpsed happiness. I had reached the light at
the end of the tunnel. I cried for 20 years of thinking I
could never be happy because I'm gay and for all the books
I've read where the gay man is either alone or dead in the
end and I cried for each time I had been called "faggot" on
the playground. I cried that night because I could stop
crying tonight. I cried because the pleasure felt so
immensely relieving after the pain. And I cried because I
would see David the next day. And the next.

The tears I shed there outside my apartment cleansed me.
I was able to begin again. My soul was clean and I was ready
to let David in.