That was the good part of the story. The bad news Michael had already been aware of: his weekend date was in a nearly ten-year relationship with an older man. The couple had problems and seemed on the brink of separation, but even so, his date would not let Michael call him at home and gave him only his office number. Michael told him he was available for a serious relationship and the “ball was now in his court.”
Michael, who was himself now involved with a “part time” lover in Seattle whom he had met in New York through mutual friends, cheerfully summed up his love life: “I have two part-timers: 50 percent in Seattle and [referring to his Paris partner], 25 percent in New York.” It raised laughter and sympathetic metaphors reminiscent of old melodramas such as Back Street.
One of the most committed regulars in the group observed that Michael always initiated his love affairs as a tourist or with tourists from out of town, which, he concluded, indicated self-inflicted failure. “Why is it that we meet men we desire in remote places?” and “Aren’t there nice men in New York?” were comments reiterated by a few listeners. Michael responded by quoting a friend’s conclusion that “all the nice men are married.” Others took issue: “Is it true?” “After all, all the men in our own group are single!”
Michael then related another friend’s suggestion—rejecting it resentfully—that he should not be too choosy and pick up the first reasonably suitable man he could find because it would be more and more difficult for him to meet an attractive mate. Tony, an artist in his early sixties who had recently joined the group, reacted strongly against that “defeatist idea.” He cited his own recent decision to leave his lover of two years, a very good-looking and much younger man. His friends were astonished to see him make that move, but he claimed there was no evidence that older men could not be passionately loved by younger men. Jack, a core member in his late fifties, seconded this view: his two former lovers were both ten years younger. Tony then declared: “There are thousands of men out there. Everyday we come across many new men. Why should we settle for less than we deserve?” It was mostly a matter of the way “we see ourselves,” he concluded.
A few weeks later Michael reported he was preparing for a trip to Greece. He had had a difficult week. He was torn again by the dilemma of whether to make a career change. He had decided to separate from his part-time Seattle lover and had not heard lately from the young man he met in Paris. Jack reacted with emotion. He lamented Michael’s decision to give up his Seattle lover. He had hoped, instead, that one or the other would eventually “move his ass” to New York or Seattle.
Michael’s trip to Greece ended without a new romantic encounter to report. He declared he wasn’t going to settle for half a loaf. He had given up on the man from Paris and spoke critically of those who could not go on with their lives without some sort of a mate, even if evidently unsatisfactory. He also voiced a complaint about people who come to their meetings, look around, and leave immediately or attend once and never come back because they do not find anyone they are attracted to. Picking up on the theme, Henry, a newcomer in his late forties, a divorced lawyer I had met before at the Gay Fathers Forum, argued that the men he observed in other groups were always desperately looking for Mr. Right. He thought they should instead just get together to discuss issues of shared interest. Inevitably, they would meet Mr. Right. He was out there, but one had to have the right attitude and patience. Tony, the artist, cited his own motivation for becoming a SAGE Circle regular: he found the meetings enjoyable. Considering Tony’s good looks, extrovert manner, and successful career, one could accept the implication that he had other opportunities and was not attending in order to meet a partner.
Paul, in his early sixties, frequently acted as facilitator in Michael’s absence. He was far less revealing about himself except for the endless minor calamities in his household affairs—leaking pipes, loss of keys, and computer crashes. He sometimes mentioned some details from his past life and lovers, but only as comments on other participants’ stories. A man of somewhat distinguished appearance who now lived alone, he had no regrets about his earlier years. In his retirement he was engaged in a late career in musical composition and was active in organizing occasional weekend and holiday outings to museums or the movies, which included some of the veteran participants. I also occasionally met him at other Center activities. Although he spoke little and avoided emotional outbursts, his comments, offered in a very restrained tone, were often instrumental in facilitating a smooth continuation of meetings that lacked an evocative theme for a more lively discussion, and thus saved the gathering from early dispersal. Reserved and analytical, he would have been a good candidate had the group required a professional facilitator.
In his late fifties, Jack was a dedicated regular for whom SAGE was his only gay circle in New York. He divided his life, as well as his public identity, between gay and straight. He considered himself gay but was closeted at work, at home, in his church, and in his community. He was in the thirtieth year of a happy marriage to a woman who had long ago discovered his other life but remained with him after he promised never to “shame” her. Their two sons were unaware of their father’s secret life, and although married, they remained very close to their parents. Jack’s robust, extrovert manner, his avowed loyalty to his church, and his conservative attitudes in various spheres gave no clue—stereotypically—to his homosexuality. But for many years, apart for the SAGE weekly participation, Jack acted out his gay identity also at his cottage on the New Jersey shore. His family and friends tolerated his dedication to his beach retreat as a special addiction that did no harm. Here Jack enjoyed complete freedom to express his sexual orientation. He sometimes invited friends and new acquaintances from SAGE meetings out to his house, but more often he looked for male company at the bars and beaches in his Jersey community. Over the years, he had shared the house with two lovers, with each of whom he had had long partnerships before separating. He still lamented the loss of his partners who left him as they looked for full-time lovers.
At most meetings Jack related experiences from the preceding weekend stay at his cottage. He had a reputation in the group as an incurable romantic and a relentless seeker of a love-based relationship. He was convinced he had no desire for one-night stands. Nevertheless, he experimented with occasional dates, particularly since most patrons at gay establishments located around his weekend retreat represented a more reliable clientele, well off and older than the bar regulars in New York City. He felt close to the old-timers, including those who were not really “his cup of tea.” He was particularly happy with the arrival of Tony, whose Italian ethnic tradition soon made him a close pal.
A large but unprepossessing man in his mid-fifties, John seemed less educated than most other regulars. He was often described as a tireless cruiser and was once reprimanded by Michael, who noticed him leaving a meeting for a long break, which he assumed John spent at another Center activity checking out the men there. John apologized, embarrassed as a schoolboy caught doing something naughty. At one meeting he spoke of his recent vacation in Mexico. Once there, he confessed, he had wasted no time in searching for sex and had a good time with young local men whom he soon met at the nearby plaza. His sexual adventures were safe and inexpensive but left him no time to visit the ancient ruins he wished to see. John was open about his attraction to young men, a desire he could not easily satisfy in New York. Someone in the group asked John why he didn’t invite one of these accommodating “boys” home with him to New York.
Sam, a college administrator in his mid-fifties, was a prominent regular whose follies nevertheless commanded respect. He was a man of striking physical presence, tall and heavy, with a generous and humorous manner. At the first meeting I saw him, he was edgy and related the troubles of the day—noisy neighbors who incessantly made his life intolerable and his closest friend’s arrest for causing a public disturbance due to his alcoholism. About a month later Sam happily told the group that he had invited a gorgeous heterosexual young man he met at an AA meeting to stay at his apartment rent-free. His adoring description was confirmed later the same evening when the charming houseguest joined Sam at the post-meeting get-together.
Sam