I am not naughty. I am not risqué. I am not on the lowdown. I am not closeted. I am not confused about how to be in the world. I do not need a personal crisis to deal with my attraction to someone. I do not need to challenge the world order and curse and swear about it to assert who I am. I do not need to make asserting who I am my identity; I am a plumber; I am a painter; I am a dramatist; beautiful men are hot—it doesn’t mean I want to nail every one I see; I most certainly do not. Asserting my identity is a waste of time. I am a bad-ass adult person who gets along quite well in the world. If you are having a crisis about my identity, have another steak sandwich and get over it.

A gay person can be stupid and awkward and mean in a world that did not make room for them. They can also be charming and beautiful in a world that knows how. Make room—make room! Your athletic physique is a thing of beauty. I appreciate every part of it. I could grow old with you and become a chump and drink beer under an umbrella table on the patio of that bar we both like, that one by the white sandy beach by the lake. Our son or daughter might walk up to us while we are relaxing their and order a highball, and you will pay for it, and we will remember them with fondness and grace and beauty. We might remember that time they dashed into the street and made a delivery truck hit the brakes hard, how fucking mad we got, and how instead I hugged them really hard and said the most reasonable things and made the moment right.

More on this later….