I took a 10-day Caribbean Cruise with Rodney and Jimmy. I’m not sure why Steve wasn’t part of that. Maybe because of the money or something. We booked it through a travel agent friend from church. He suggested 10 days, saying seven isn’t enough and 14 can be too much. It was on one of the older Sitmar Lines ships, the Fairsea if I remember correctly. Small compared to today’s mega ships. I think with crew and passengers, maybe 900 souls onboard. The ship was beautiful, with lots of teak wood railings and finishes. Three of us sharing a cabin made it quite affordable—less than $400 rings a bell. The tight space with no portals or windows didn’t matter all that much. We were really only in our cabin to sleep for a few hours, otherwise running around the ship or on shore excursions.
A former agent, Karen, who’d worked under our travel agent was now the Julie on our ship—Cruise Director. She made sure we had everything we needed. There was a bottle of champagne in our room when we got there, compliments of my travel agent. We ate dinner at the same table with the same people every night—a couple of older couples—and had the same server. The couple always bought plenty of wine for the table. Our server caught on that I was game to try anything. He would bring me dishes I didn’t order, but wanted me to try. It was the first time I’d had frog legs and escargot—foreshadow.
The dining room had the prettiest stemware and glasses, etched with the company’s logo. Over the 10 days I managed to slip a glass or two into my suit jacket—dinner was tie and coat—until I had a set. If our server noticed, nothing was ever said. A favorite souvenir, that. I did actually use them, so over the years there were fewer and fewer…until there were none.
Early on in the trip they had a talent show. Naturally I auditioned…and secured a spot. No recollection of what I sang. They had me open and close the show. Which are both great positions to be in as a performer. The fun thing out of that was making friends with the band members. I started hanging out with them. They didn’t have to be up in the mornings, so there were some late nights playing cards in their cabins or jamming together.
I don’t remember much else about the cruise. The only shore excursion I remember was a scuba diving adventure. There was a training session, pre-dive—after which I qualified for the first fin of becoming a certified diver. Although I told myself I’d get that certification, I only ever earned one fin.
Karen and I might have dated. As much as one can date on a cruise ship. I seem to recall spending a lot of time with her in the evenings, cocktails and dancing.
After that adventure, it was back to reality.
His name was Sal.
We met working at The Old Spaghetti Factory. Sal was an attractive, exotic looking boy. We were about the same age. While I’d come to terms with being gay, I hadn’t really acted on it—aside from the little dalliance with the guy that had stayed at the Fellowship House. And Steve. Sal brought me into full on, man to man sex. I would come home late at night after having been with him. This was while I was still living with the Ingersolls. Perhaps why I pushed the boundaries with Steve.
At one point Sal told me he’d been dating male model, Jeff Aquilon. I didn’t know the name, but knew the face. And body. He was touted as the first male supermodel. I didn’t know why he was interested in me if he was dating a hot man like that. I think he had a photo of them together, so I didn’t question it. Since my experiences with things Jon Ross told me, I’ve wondered about Sal’s story.
Beginning to act on my sexuality and the blowjob incident with Steve convinced me it was time to give up youth directing at the churches. Like teachers, I suppose, you never actually know what good you may be doing with kids. I felt like I had been doing good things as youth director. I feared that if my sexuality came out, all of that would be undone. So, I gave my notice to both churches.
Linda didn’t know what was going on with me, but she knew something was up. When I decided it was time to move out of the Ingersoll’s, she offered to rent me her second bedroom—I think maybe she had lost her roommate. It was a win win.
Linda and I had become best buds. She was a smart, independent, determined woman. Her sister would say stubborn. Linda had MS. Sometimes her muscles wouldn’t respond to her brain. She couldn’t feel heat in her hands and had to be really careful about touching or picking up things when cooking. Linda didn’t like certain foods. Not because they didn’t taste good, because they didn’t feel right in her mouth. She began B12 injections as part of her treatments. She couldn’t stand the sight of needles. I learned to do the jab. As one who also despises needles, it could have only been love and friendship that made me agree to do so.
Linda and Ron B. and his girlfriend, Janet, and I would drive up to Big Bear, in the mountains, in winter, and spend a week at the B’s family cabin. We packed in all the food and drink we’d need—especially lots of coke for Linda—plenty of hot chocolate and marshmallows. Chili was one of the favorite dishes on the menu. All homemade and eaten with sour cream and crumbled Fritos on top. Makes my mouth water even now. It’s the only thing I can remember eating there.
Monopoly was also big on the agenda. We were all competitive Monopoly players. They’d been doing it for years, and I grew up playing with my siblings. Sometimes a game would go rather quickly or it could stretch on for days. Which is why we usually started the first night there. One game even had to be continued after we’d gone back home.
Somewhere in here I met Clive. Clive was an older gentleman from London. He was a wig designer/maker for stage and film in England. He claimed to have constructed the Wookie costume for Chewbacca in Star Wars. There was even a photo. Not only was I captivated by his accent, and his looks, the sex hooked me pretty quickly. He was either in Los Angeles for an extended period or he returned not long after we first met. Either way, by the end of it we decided I needed to join him in London and see where our budding relationship might lead.
One of the reasons he was in Los Angeles was to meet with a former film actress from England in hopes of getting a foot in the wig design/making in Hollywood. He took me along, as his assistant, to a stunning Beverly Hills mansion. I don’t know if anything came of that meeting. I never made it to London.
With Clive back in London, I was dating around some. Read, sleeping around some. I guy I’d slept with two or three times called to let me know he had Gonorrhea. Not long after, I started having the telltale pain and milky discharge from my dick. I went to the doctor. Gonorrhea. Penicillin shots fucking hurt like a muther. I told Linda as little as possible. She’s no dummy. She worked in the medical field and recognized the pain and discomfort from the shots. We talked. I told her I was gay. She was one of, if not the, first person I told. She was not surprised. That kinda hurt.
Side bar…
Awhile back I found Linda on Facebook and established contact with her. We went back and forth a few times, catching up, and then the contact kind of dried up, though she didn’t unfriend me. It might have been because of her health. At the time, she was in an assisted living home. Or as has happened before with some of my conservative and religious friends, she might have turned notifications off or snoozed me to avoid my foul language and political posts.
I decided to get back in touch with her recently to help me flesh out more details of our friendship. The first post I see on her FB page is a friend of hers acknowledging her death, just recently. My heart hurts. It hurts for all that I do remember of our friendship. It hurts for the loss of an amazing woman. It hurts for the loss of my friend.
I called Clive and told him what had happened. We agreed it was best for me not to come. I wouldn’t make it to London for some years.
I don’t remember when the break with that part of my life happened.
I know I was still seeing Debbie Taylorson. I told Debbie I was gay. I remember Margie calling me and wanting to have lunch. Lunch with Margie was scary. She told me she’d heard rumors I was gay—confirmation that leaving the youth work was the right choice—and asked if it was true. I couldn’t lie to Margie. Then she asked me if anything had ever happened with Steve.
Ok, I could lie to Margie.
I didn’t think about it then, but wonder now if she had some indication that Steve was struggling with his own sexuality.
I don’t recall any church friends still being part of my life after moving back to LA. Did being gay shut them all out? I can’t imagine that, but I have so few memories. Linda lived in Pasadena. After moving out of her apartment I ended up in West Hollywood.
I rented a room from an older gay couple, Bob and Gene, near WeHo. I don’t remember where exactly they fall on my life’s timeline. It had to be between living with Linda and meeting Jon Ross. I only mention them because they were so interesting. Their house was like an art gallery. There was barely any space on any wall that didn’t have framed artwork, some of them quite graphic, homoerotic. There was smallish piece, religious looking frame with doors on it. Opening the door revealed a hunky, naked man. Having left the church, I was still sorting out a lot of things. They were great mentors for a young man struggling to find his way.
While working nights at the Spag Fag—as we called it—I started working lunches at an upscale restaurant in the Melrose District, The Carriage Trade. It was a gay restaurant at night, mostly neighborhood businesspeople for lunch. Even working lunch, I worked half as much and made twice the money as I did at the Factory. Easy choice when they offered me a night position. I made a spectacular exit from the SF.
The servers at night were all gay. Some fun, some not so much. I made a lot of money working there and made some friends. Frank, one of the servers, had a gorgeous, younger, model boyfriend, Paul. Paul Was trying to break into modeling. Since we had the talent agency going, Frank asked if we might be able to help. I’d seen Paul in person, good looking. I was knocked over when I saw his photos. And not a just little aroused. One of those people a camera naturally loves.
By then I was with Jon Ross, but my sexual appetite wasn’t constrained by that, sorry to say. I discovered there was an alleyway not far from The Carriage Trade where men hung out for…whatever. Sometimes after work I would drive down that alley. I would get a handjob or blowjob in the car.
The servers at The Carriage Trade had told me that making regular customers would really pay off, especially at Christmas. They would get all kinds of fabulous gifts. I had one customer ask me how much it would take to have sex with him. I told him, “I don’t lay down with anyone for less than 500,” and walked away. I thought that would be that. When I went back to the table, there were five 100 dollar bills laying there.
That was a good job.
Leave a Reply