Growing out of the past - 2

 

   Here’s another San Diego story. 

   This one takes place long after I graduated from high school, after I graduated from college.  It takes place in the mid or late 90’s, a few years before I came out.  This last bit is important. 

   I was in San Diego visiting my college roommate.  We would visit each other a few times a year.  Most of the time, I would go down there, which I didn’t mind at all.  In fact, I would take the train there. 

   As I remember, we were driving around on a gloomy day – not a good day for the beach or our usual San Diego outdoor outings.  My friend got an excited, mischievious look in his eyes and said he had a treat for me. 

   He took me to a strip club.  Yep, a strip club. 

   Let me set up the scene a bit more.  On the one hand, my friend no doubt thought he was doing me a favor.  Of course, he and I talked about sex – or rather, he talked to me about his sexual exploits.  (When we shared an apartment in college, I always found or caught him with some girl.) I’m sure he wondered about my sexual needs.  On the other hand, that’s all I had – a hand, my hand. Yes, I thought about sex – a lot – but it was abstract.  Other than masturbating, I had no sexual experience, no experience of being touched other than to be cleaned or taken care of.  In addition, I wasn’t sure about what I liked.  I’m pretty sure I had a crush on my friend, but I didn’t understand or didn’t want to understand it and certainly didn’t dare admit it. 

   And here’s the scene: we were in a gritty area, and the place was sleazy, just like the stereotype – bare parking lot, flashing neon lights… Inside wasn’t better. I just remember it was dark.  And I remember my friend was excited and happy – for me – and wanted me to be excited and happy. 

   I tried to be excited and happy.  I think I was more amazed, in awe – that I was in such a place, that such places really existed.  My friend probably sensed that I wasn’t having the right reaction and told me he was buying me a lap dance. 

    A lap dance!  What was that?  Again, I tried to be excited and happy, but I think, really, I was terrified. 

   The girl – young woman – came.  She was in a red, white and blue, stars-and-stripes string bikini, and she was skinny, very skinny. As my friend knew, I prefer skinny, but this skinny was wrong, like it was unnatural, like she was on speed or something. 

   It could have been just that.  But, as I look back, I doubt it.  In any case, nothing doing. As the woman writhed and gyrated around and against my wheelchair and over me – I don’t remember if she removed any part of her bikini, which should be a hint - I just wasn’t excited.  I couldn’t get aroused.  I definitely couldn’t, to put it bluntly, get it up.  If anything, I felt disgusted. 

   I’m sure my friend got it up (I wish I saw that!), and, afterwards, when he slapped my back and asked me how I liked it “buddy,” I laughed and told him yeah, I really liked it. How could I not? 

   It was another few years until I finally realized that the fact that the woman looked like a speed-freak wasn’t really why I couldn’t get it up, until I finally got the hint, along with all the other hints, and realized, accepted the fact, that I was gay.  (My friend wasn’t exactly thrilled when I told him.)