This is the continuing story of the people who have helped to shape my heart and soul. Reading about them is the best way I can think of to explain what makes me who I am.

Michael: Larger than life and what's it to ya?

Michael is one of those people who is a force of nature. Sort of like a hurricane. Not everyone is always happy to see him coming...and NOBODY gets away completely unscathed, but you can't really blame a hurricane for being a hurricane. He is actually a dear, sweet, insecure individual underneath all of the bluster. If I have learned anything at all from him, it is to look past first impressions, because they are often contrived as a defense. That...and a little something about secrets.

Now, I wouldn't say that Michael couldn't keep a secret. I wouldn't have to. He will be the first one to tell you that he is completely untrustworthy and unscrupulous. He also has the ability to talk you out of those secrets anyway. He told me, "The thing is that nobody really wants to keep their secrets. They just want it to be someone else's fault that it gets out. If they wanted it to be a real secret, they would just shut up and keep it to themselves." I must admit that it certainly proved true with most everyone that he encountered.

Now I knew the instant that Michael came to work at the restaurant. It was not because I met him, because I didn't. I was up front making something wonderful for a Vegan who would eat nothing. I found out because for some reason the instant any gay person walks into the restaurant, all of the straight people feel it is their duty to inform all of the other gay people. The unspoken assumption is that they will immediately become lifelong friends and soon be sleeping with one another. Now I am in no way wanting to perpetuate this sort of backward thinking, but there is something to be said for the truism that just because an assumption is based on bigoted stereotypes, it doesn't make it a lie. Sensing this undertone, I decided for myself not to like the new person if I could at all justify it to myself. Now I making this decision, I made no great strides for gay solidarity, or even as a human being. It was an irrational and wholly illogical reaction, but it was mine, and I am more interested in telling you the truth than making myself look good and noble. (too late for that, anyway) Michael made it easy to stick to my guns on the disliking him front. One look at the SCREAMING queen at the back of the kitchen and all sorts of alarms went off in my head. I knew at once that he was going to alienate people and generally create chaos just from looking at him. In short, I subconsciously joined the "other side" , and became a hostile force rather than an ally. To my own infinite shame, I even recall thinking to myself, "Now this is why straight people resent us so much."

It is easy to look back and analyze myself into oblivion. I have read all of the gobbledygook about self-hating and "internalized homophobia", and it is all valid and applicable here. For the sake of this story, however, lets just simplify and call it a lesson that I needed to learn. Knowing the reason behind something ugly doesn't make it any less ugly. So I just went on with my work for weeks, interacting as little as possible with him, and participating shamelessly in the "Michael bashing". It might have gone on forever, but for the opening of my big mouth.

I had made the announcement to everyone that if they satayed late to help out with staffing shortages, I would be happy to give anyone a ride home. I felt confident in this, as I knew that most of the staff had really reliable transportation. The occasional ride home seemed a small price to pay for enough people to run the place. Well, it came to pass that I hadn't bothered to get to know Michael well enough to know that he did not have reliable transportation. At the end of the shift one night, I found myself being asked for a ride. Not wanting to appear to be a jerk, I agreed. He lived only 5 minutes away, so I figured I could stand it that long.

Once in the car, and safely going, Michael let me have it. "Why do you hate me?' he asked, point blank. I started to backpedal, but he was having none of it. He assured me that he couldn't care less, but that he needed an explaination. It was all so matter-of-fact that it was comical. Flustered, I finally came up with that I really didn't hate him, I just refused to like him. It was as much a shock to me as it was to him. Just then , we arrived at his house, and it seemed an awkward place to leave the conversaton. I told him that I was coming in, that he had 30 minutes to get ready, and that we were going out. I really don't think that he had wanted to do anything but shock me into admitting I was a hypocrite. I know that going out was not in the plan, but I needed to do something to take control of the situation. I figured, correctly, that a man with no car and new to town had not gotten out much yet, and gambled on that being a temptation. I honestly didn't think much past making the offer as sincere as possible in order to assuage my conscience when he refused. I never thought he would go. I am glad that he did, though.

Once inside, he informed me that "In order to be presentable, I need at least 45 minutes, and that will leave me only a pale reflection of myself." I giggled, and informed him that I'd settle for the reflection if it got us to the club before 2 for 1 well drinks expired. I got a beer from the fridge and plopped down on the sofa. He just walked into his room, locked the door, and a minute later I heard Madonna being played at ungodly levels. I had 45 minutes to consider how I had gotten to that point.

I was amazed at how easy it was to laugh and joke with him here in his apartment. It took a while, but I began to realize just how much I changed when I went to work. Now , I am not talking about professionalism, and the necessary air of separation between supervisor and employee. I became a different person, and Michael was making me look at that person. It is still amazing to me that after so many years of the whole "coming out" process, there are layers on layers. Up until that night, I had thought that I was "out and proud" and living the way I wanted. It took the sharp contrast between who I was at work, and who I became in an "alone" setting with another gay man to make me see that I still had a long way to go. Now, hindsight is 20/20, and all of the glorious revelations in this story did not necessarily fly rapidly to my consciousness. I just knew that something was wrong, and I needed to fix it. After 45 minutes of self-loathing, I was ready to party. (okay, maybe 15 minutes of self-loathing, and 30 minutes of primping in the other bathroom) When Michael emerged, eye-liner, mascara, blush, and HAIR, I just swallowed my comments and pretended not to be embarrassed as I walked with him to the car. I could tell from his grin that he was enjoying it greatly to make me squirm.

Bottom line, we had a great time. I found out about him, and the ex-lover that had destroyed his self-confidence and sent him running to Florida to lick his wounds. He found out about me, and the ex-lover that had destroyed my self-confidence and sent me running to lick my wounds. I agreed to be less of a jerk at work, and he agreed to change nothing and be as obnoxious as he could to keep me on my toes. We danced until last call and beyond, and I brought him back to his place. I stayed on the couch, and he went promptly to bed. I even gave him permission, jokingly, to tell people at work that I had spent the night. I wouldn't make that mistake again. He, of course, did tell everyone, and forgot the detail of my having spent it on the couch.

After the kiss (see Denise's story), I did eventually succumb to curiosity and leave the couch behind for a night. It was awkward, and mediocre at best, and he required MAJOR maintenance the next morning to reassure him that I was not going to never speak to him again now that I had "had my way with him." I guess that some mysteries should remain mysteries. He ended up running back to the evil ex-boyfriend a few months later in search of his lost self-esteem. Looking in the wrong place, I suspect, but I wish him well. I cannot judge, given my track record. I just thank him for the unintentional nudge in the right direction and move on.

Home Page.