I remember my first time with another man like it happened just yesterday. I had finally gotten up the nerve to walk into a small but popular gay nightclub alone. I couldn’t go to the club with anyone, with any of my friends, as I was still living life very much in the closet. I had given up dating women, having come to the clear realization that they simply weren’t for me, but I had not yet felt safe or comfortable enough putting my true identity and feelings on the line. I had been scared.

When I first walked in I was hit hard in the face by an overwhelming realization that I had no idea what I was doing, no idea what to do, what to say, how to act, in a place like this. I almost turned around and left, but something inside told me that if I didn’t stay and give it a try, I may be doomed to live the rest of my life hiding who I truly was. Giving myself a silent little pep talk, I walked over to the bar, sat down, and ordered a drink. I did my best to make casual small talk with the bartender, but he was busy. There were more and more men filling in the place, and it had been pretty packed when I walked in.

Once again I was just about ready to throw in the towel and leave when he came over, sat down next to me, and noticing that I had just finished my drink, offered to buy me another. I graciously welcomed his company, and the second drink. I figured the less sober I was the easier it would be to make conversation with him. He was beautiful, and he seemed so confident, so sure of himself. I was still scared as hell. He must have noticed though, because he immediately asked me if it was the first time I’d been in there. When I nodded yes, he seemed to somehow be able to sense my feelings and anxieties. He told me we’d finish our drinks, maybe have one more if we felt like it, and then get out of there together.

I was mesmerized by him, by his cool and confident persona. There was no way I was going to refuse an invitation by someone like him. Hell, I wanted to be him, so after we finished our drinks we decided to jet. I had no idea where we were going or what would happen, but I obediently followed him to his car, got in it when he opened the door for me, and buckled up, ready to go.

We arrived at his place not more than ten minutes later. I was glad the drive hadn’t been longer. Being alone with him in the car not knowing what was going to happen next was more than nerve-wracking. But again he must have sensed my anxiety because he assured me that we were just going to go back to his place, where it was quieter and we could talk more easily.

He led the way up to his apartment, opened the door for me, and pushed me inside, gently though, when I did not immediately start to walk in. He helped me out of my coat, hung it up for me, and led me over to the couch. We sat down on it together and he started asking me questions: what was my name, what did I do, all the basic questions you ask someone whom you have just