The Twenty-Third Century: Nontraditional Love. Rafael Grugman

seeking an intelligent partner in life. I have no problem with children from a previous relationship. If the desire is mutual, I am ready to raise a family with several children.”

      I had no idea that once my ad was published, I would be inundated with a barrage of letters. Not just from New York, but also from Canada, France, Trinidad… I got scared, and I didn’t respond to anyone. My cowardice was easy to explain: it was my first step, like a space walk. I wanted novelty, but I was restrained by my fear of the unknown.

      I began my psychological training by reading popular scientific literature. My next step was to study educational video cassettes, placing myself mentally in the roles of the main characters. I acquired the “Guidebook for Young Homosexuals,” which had become the standard manual, replacing the Bible in many families.

      The one who finds his way out of the labyrinth is the first to be trampled. Could this wise saying refer to me? I was morally prepared to take the step that would change my life radically, but I was using any excuse to put off the beginning of these changes. Until Mr. Opportunity came to my aid. But in order to make it easier for myself to adapt to my new life, I offered to let Daniel buy my half of the house and moved to Brooklyn.

      My first male partner was to have been Jacob. We met by chance in Manhattan, at the “Paris at Night” restaurant during a friend’s birthday celebration. I was sitting at a table by myself; the guests were dancing to the stirring Latin American music, and I was openly bored. I had no dancing experience with men, and I was through with women. My heterosexual past was obliterated and cut off from the present by an insurmountable ditch.

      The man who approached me was not from our group.

      “Why aren’t you dancing?” he asked politely.

      “No one invited me.”

      “Would you allow me?” he gallantly rose, clicked his heels and courteously extended his hand.

      I stood. The man held me by the waist and led me to the dance floor. Judging by the way he escorted me, easily placing his hand on my thigh, I surmised the role that would be allotted to me in the dance. Well, if this was to be, I would not let the opportunity slip by. I had to overcome my fear and trust my partner. I hoped he would understand my situation and be delicate and well-mannered.

      As we danced, I managed to have a look at him. He was nearly twice as old as me, just under seventy, balding. His face was open and attractive.

      He leaned towards my ear and introduced himself.

      “Jacob. A lonely romantic.”

      “Robert,” I introduced myself, reacting to the intimate word “romantic.”

      The man’s hand slid below my waist.

      “Are you lonely?”

      I blushed deeply, not knowing how to react. Should I allow this or become indignant? “Be bold,” my inner voice encouraged me. “You have also been unceremonious, high-handed and pushy with women, and you were pleased when they submitted to your desires.”

      The man repeated his question, pressing his cheek against me: “You didn’t answer, are you lonely?”

      “Yes,” I forced the word out with difficulty.

      “Will you allow me to call you?”

      With a sinking heart, I said “yes” again, feeling that my shirt had become sticky from perspiration.

      “Excuse me, I need the rest room,” I made a feeble attempt to escape from his hands.