age?
Before I left, he gave me his phone number. Of course, I didn’t give him mine. I told him that I lived with my parents and that it would be a very bad situation for me if they found out. It didn’t occur to me that it also might be a bad situation for him, given my age. On the drive home I could smell his scent on me. I worried that my mother would know I had been with a man. As soon as I got home, I jumped in the shower and scrubbed myself clean.
Over the next six months, we got together maybe a dozen times. I’d stop on my way to the beach and call him and ask if I could come by. If he wasn’t home, I’d go to the beach and sometimes I’d run into him there. At some point he told me he was concerned about seeing me because I was under eighteen. Apparently, he’d been jailed in the past for picking up minors.
I thought that over time I’d feel less ashamed about what I was doing, but it only got worse. The age difference bothered me more, and he couldn’t exactly be a part of my life. I felt stupid telling him what I was doing at school, and I couldn’t introduce him to any of my classmates. I hated the separateness and the secrecy, but I kept going back for the affection, the holding, the cuddling—more those than the sex. I was starved for affection, and he was happy to give it to me.
I know that plenty of gay men and lesbians can tell stories about having had similar experiences with older men and women when they were teenagers. Most will tell you that they were willing participants. But age of consent is nonetheless a volatile issue among gay people, just as it is among heterosexuals, especially because of the persistent myth that gay men are by definition child molesters. The truth, of course, is that the vast majority of child molesters are the male heterosexual members of a child’s family.
Given a choice, I would have preferred to meet and date someone close to me in age. But as for most gay and lesbian teenagers, even today, there were no places for me to meet my peers. If there were more opportunities for gay and lesbian teens to meet one another, perhaps fewer of them would find themselves seeking refuge in the arms of adult lovers. That said, I don’t regret the affection I exchanged with this man.
I don’t regret any affection I exchanged, ever.
NINE
DIVING
G OING BACK HOME AND returning to Valhalla High School in the fall of 1976 was a big adjustment for me. I’d been at Santa Ana High School for the spring semester, living with Dr. Lee and his family, training for the Olympics. Now I was home again, and there was no way to go back to the way things had been. I had left Valhalla an invisible person and I returned a hero. Now everyone wanted to be my friend, but I didn’t know whom to trust. Sure, I wanted friends, but not the kind who wanted to be around me only because I’d won a medal. From that point on, I could never tell if someone liked me for myself or for who they thought I was.
I’m also shy, and it seemed easier to keep to myself. My parents had gotten me a car when I went to live with Dr. Lee, so now as soon as classes were over, I would hightail it out to the beach. Some people at school thought I was snobbish, that I thought I was too good for them, but that wasn’t it. The new attention was more than I could handle, and I needed to get away.
Nevertheless, I still got involved in school activities and managed to have a pretty good time. I began coaching the men’s and women’s diving team, and I also helped coach women’s gymnastics. Despite what I may have thought of myself, and despite what they may have thought of me, my classmates voted me best dressed, best dancer, as well as best physique. I liked the attention, but it was more than a little embarrassing. And it always felt like they admired someone else, that if they knew the real me, they’d take it all back.
I continued training with Dr. Lee and going to diving competitions, but I began to have
Before I left, he gave me his phone number. Of course, I didn’t give him mine. I told him that I lived with my parents and that it would be a very bad situation for me if they found out. It didn’t occur to me that it also might be a bad situation for him, given my age. On the drive home I could smell his scent on me. I worried that my mother would know I had been with a man. As soon as I got home, I jumped in the shower and scrubbed myself clean.
Over the next six months, we got together maybe a dozen times. I’d stop on my way to the beach and call him and ask if I could come by. If he wasn’t home, I’d go to the beach and sometimes I’d run into him there. At some point he told me he was concerned about seeing me because I was under eighteen. Apparently, he’d been jailed in the past for picking up minors.
I thought that over time I’d feel less ashamed about what I was doing, but it only got worse. The age difference bothered me more, and he couldn’t exactly be a part of my life. I felt stupid telling him what I was doing at school, and I couldn’t introduce him to any of my classmates. I hated the separateness and the secrecy, but I kept going back for the affection, the holding, the cuddling—more those than the sex. I was starved for affection, and he was happy to give it to me.
I know that plenty of gay men and lesbians can tell stories about having had similar experiences with older men and women when they were teenagers. Most will tell you that they were willing participants. But age of consent is nonetheless a volatile issue among gay people, just as it is among heterosexuals, especially because of the persistent myth that gay men are by definition child molesters. The truth, of course, is that the vast majority of child molesters are the male heterosexual members of a child’s family.
Given a choice, I would have preferred to meet and date someone close to me in age. But as for most gay and lesbian teenagers, even today, there were no places for me to meet my peers. If there were more opportunities for gay and lesbian teens to meet one another, perhaps fewer of them would find themselves seeking refuge in the arms of adult lovers. That said, I don’t regret the affection I exchanged with this man.
I don’t regret any affection I exchanged, ever.
NINE
DIVING
G OING BACK HOME AND returning to Valhalla High School in the fall of 1976 was a big adjustment for me. I’d been at Santa Ana High School for the spring semester, living with Dr. Lee and his family, training for the Olympics. Now I was home again, and there was no way to go back to the way things had been. I had left Valhalla an invisible person and I returned a hero. Now everyone wanted to be my friend, but I didn’t know whom to trust. Sure, I wanted friends, but not the kind who wanted to be around me only because I’d won a medal. From that point on, I could never tell if someone liked me for myself or for who they thought I was.
I’m also shy, and it seemed easier to keep to myself. My parents had gotten me a car when I went to live with Dr. Lee, so now as soon as classes were over, I would hightail it out to the beach. Some people at school thought I was snobbish, that I thought I was too good for them, but that wasn’t it. The new attention was more than I could handle, and I needed to get away.
Nevertheless, I still got involved in school activities and managed to have a pretty good time. I began coaching the men’s and women’s diving team, and I also helped coach women’s gymnastics. Despite what I may have thought of myself, and despite what they may have thought of me, my classmates voted me best dressed, best dancer, as well as best physique. I liked the attention, but it was more than a little embarrassing. And it always felt like they admired someone else, that if they knew the real me, they’d take it all back.
I continued training with Dr. Lee and going to diving competitions, but I began to have
Similar Books
