closest friends to this day. We were on the same team, and every four years, in ’80, ’84, and ’88, the sports reporters were suggesting that Megan and I were having a torrid affair. They’d publish photos of us together, with Megan rubbing my shoulders. It was never reported that we were an item, but it was implied, and we didn’t try to discourage the speculation. Megan always thought it was good for my image, and we laughed about the whole thing. But the truth was, Megan and I were incredibly good friends and we did spend a lot of our free time together. It’s just that we spent a lot of time talking together about the guys we were both interested in.
Megan and I also joked about getting married. We talked a lot about how it might hurt me if I came out publicly. She thought it would be a lot better for my image if we got married, but I didn’t think it would fool anyone. Anyway, it was never more than talk, but our kids would have been great divers.
Not long after I got back from the Olympics, I got involved in a relationship with a man for the first time. I was still confused about my attraction to men, but after my experience with Yuri, I longed to be held by a man again. The problem was, I had no idea where to meet other gay people. There wasn’t exactly a gay teen center in El Cajon in 1976. There was no place I could meet other gay kids like me, no place to sort out my conflicts over my sexuality, and no way to start going out on dates with boys my age.
So, because I couldn’t find other gay people, someone found me. During the fall semester of high school in 1976, my classes ended shortly after noon, and I’d gather up my books and drive to the beach. I told myself I was going to do my schoolwork there, but I rarely opened a book.
One afternoon a few weeks into the semester, this guy at the beach kept staring at me. He looked very similar to a guy who worked at the pool, rather attractive, in his late thirties, with brown hair and a stocky build. He looked similar enough to the guy I knew that I went over to talk to him. He told me his name, which I didn’t recognize, and then he asked if I wanted to get a drink at his place, a Coke or an iced tea. I told myself that he was just being nice, but I thought he was attractive and in the back of my mind I hoped that something
would
happen, so I went. At that point, I still couldn’t admit to myself that this was what I wanted. I couldn’t deal with what that would mean about me.
He wanted me to go with him in his car, but I suggested that I follow him in my car to his house. I was smart enough to know that I’d better take my own car, smart enough not to get myself into a situation where I might be stranded.
During the drive there, my mind was racing with different thoughts: Should I really do this? Is this proper? What if I’m caught? What does he really want? Is he just being nice, or is he a murderer? Nevertheless, I was intrigued and curious and attracted, and I was not turning back.
We got to his place, a nice two-story town house, and we went in and sat down in his living room. We talked for a while and he got me something to drink. At some point he said, “Let me show you around the place,” and eventually we ended up in his bedroom. He put his arms around me and kissed me. I really liked being held, and I was thrilled that this guy found me attractive.
While it was happening, I enjoyed what we were doing, but afterward, I felt guilty and ashamed for having had sex with a man. On the one hand, it felt right; I was attracted to men, I wanted to be held, and I enjoyed being physical with a man. But on the other hand, it felt wrong; sex between two men was a sin according to my church. It upset me that he was so much older, not because I felt molested or anything—I had been a more-thanwilling participant—but the difference in our ages somehow made the experience even more shameful. But where could I go to meet gay people my own
Megan and I also joked about getting married. We talked a lot about how it might hurt me if I came out publicly. She thought it would be a lot better for my image if we got married, but I didn’t think it would fool anyone. Anyway, it was never more than talk, but our kids would have been great divers.
Not long after I got back from the Olympics, I got involved in a relationship with a man for the first time. I was still confused about my attraction to men, but after my experience with Yuri, I longed to be held by a man again. The problem was, I had no idea where to meet other gay people. There wasn’t exactly a gay teen center in El Cajon in 1976. There was no place I could meet other gay kids like me, no place to sort out my conflicts over my sexuality, and no way to start going out on dates with boys my age.
So, because I couldn’t find other gay people, someone found me. During the fall semester of high school in 1976, my classes ended shortly after noon, and I’d gather up my books and drive to the beach. I told myself I was going to do my schoolwork there, but I rarely opened a book.
One afternoon a few weeks into the semester, this guy at the beach kept staring at me. He looked very similar to a guy who worked at the pool, rather attractive, in his late thirties, with brown hair and a stocky build. He looked similar enough to the guy I knew that I went over to talk to him. He told me his name, which I didn’t recognize, and then he asked if I wanted to get a drink at his place, a Coke or an iced tea. I told myself that he was just being nice, but I thought he was attractive and in the back of my mind I hoped that something
would
happen, so I went. At that point, I still couldn’t admit to myself that this was what I wanted. I couldn’t deal with what that would mean about me.
He wanted me to go with him in his car, but I suggested that I follow him in my car to his house. I was smart enough to know that I’d better take my own car, smart enough not to get myself into a situation where I might be stranded.
During the drive there, my mind was racing with different thoughts: Should I really do this? Is this proper? What if I’m caught? What does he really want? Is he just being nice, or is he a murderer? Nevertheless, I was intrigued and curious and attracted, and I was not turning back.
We got to his place, a nice two-story town house, and we went in and sat down in his living room. We talked for a while and he got me something to drink. At some point he said, “Let me show you around the place,” and eventually we ended up in his bedroom. He put his arms around me and kissed me. I really liked being held, and I was thrilled that this guy found me attractive.
While it was happening, I enjoyed what we were doing, but afterward, I felt guilty and ashamed for having had sex with a man. On the one hand, it felt right; I was attracted to men, I wanted to be held, and I enjoyed being physical with a man. But on the other hand, it felt wrong; sex between two men was a sin according to my church. It upset me that he was so much older, not because I felt molested or anything—I had been a more-thanwilling participant—but the difference in our ages somehow made the experience even more shameful. But where could I go to meet gay people my own
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