August 1992

I'm desperate to write. It's been three weeks! The longest lapse since I started keeping this journal. Three weeks of wonderful- no matter how tragic- experiences. Days of confusion and growth. New faces seen in the old.

Been hanging out with Brandon a lot.

There's nothing like two men sharing their love for dick. It brings us orphans together.

Christian's cousin Mark, who is twenty-five, is in town from New Orleans. We fooled around tonight after we both admitted that we're shy. I felt his penis through his pants and I think he might be small. There's something distant about him.

Conrad, who used to make fun of me in high school and call me a fag and threaten to kill me, opened up to me tonight at a party. I was sitting on the hardwood floor when he came and sat next to me. He offered to refresh my drink and did so. It seemed like he needed a friend. He turned to me and in his macho way said, "Just between you and me, Emil, sometimes I feel isolated." I was blown away by the fact that Conrad was actually opening up to me. 'Are you sure you don't isolate yourself?' I asked him. We talked for a while. Christian joined us and was depressed because his beloved ferret went missing. We talked about homosexuality. Christian says he dislikes really flamboyant men, that they annoy him. Christian seems like an angry person, anyway. I tried to understand him, his anger, his opinions, even though I disagreed with them. He needs understanding- that's all. Like Conrad. After the party Brandon and I went to some guy's loft downtown where they continued to smoke pot. I couldn't even watch them, it made me sick. I went into the bathroom twice and just lay there sick.

Marcelo and I went to Sidetrack. I should've gone home afterward, but we went to the Manhole. There I stood around and watched the boys dance. I was bored. A man who stood nearby told me to smile. He said his name was Mike. He looked like he was in his fifties. His charming manner along with my own ignorance led to an awful experience. He asked if he could kiss me, I said no. He was civil until daylight. We had gone to his friend's house, a very large fellow. There we had sat around the kitchen table and talked, drinking the whole while. I was fascinated. They spoke of trips to exotic places. I asked questions. They reminisced. Everything was going well until Mike had too much to drink. Again he wanted to kiss me, touch me. I pulled away. I looked at his friend who looked away. I said I should leave now and got up, walked to the front door, but it was locked. Mike followed. Then his friend. I fussed with the lock, couldn't get it to open. Mike shouted. Was angry. Even his friend looked scared, which frightened me even more. I felt I had been trusting, naïve. Why had I come here? Why had I flirted with Mike? Finally the friend got past Mike and opened the door for me. I walked into the sunshine feeling violated, angry, almost guilty for having gotten myself into a mess. Angry at Mike for being so charming, making me feel young and beautiful, and then turning like he had. This experience has affected me greatly in the way I see the community, and people in general. How they want, expect, demand from you. I'll be a sport and continue to love, anyway.

Kelly had a party. Mark and I stole away into Kelly's little sister's room. This is my journal and I'm going to say this- Mark swallows!

At Roscoe's Mike waved and smiled from across the bar. Whispered something to his friend, then turned to the bartender and said, "That's Emil." I was appalled and angry, and turned to Marcelo. Down on the bars. No more, I promised myself.

I called the number Marcelo gave me. After some boring cliché conversation I ended up going to Steve's apartment in Boy's Town. I know, it's stupid, but I did it anyway. Steve had a huge penis. I sucked it for a long time. I tried to be myself but he didn't talk much. His silence made the experience a lot less romantic. Not romantic in a love sense, but in a novel sense. I left feeling bad about myself and felt that going over to Steve's had killed one more innocent side of me. But there's no need to beat myself over mistakes one is supposed to make.

At work I went out to my car and found a flat tire and a note that read: Your left rear tire is flat! I tried to patch the leak with a small black tire patch and glue at 10:40, but I'm afraid it wasn't strong enough. The anonymous note made me feel so good and gave me hope that the world isn't such a horrible place, after all.

It still freaks me out to see Brandon's name so much in my diary. What if I let myself love him? I want to be able to have male friends, gay and straight, and not be sexual with them. This is a big fear in my life right now. These last few days have been wonderful and yet hideous!

This really made me smile in my hour of need- I was talking to Marcelo by telephone and when we were about to hang up he said, "I love you," which he's never said to me before.

I met my cousins at Sahar, the Persian restaurant, for dinner and took Marcelo with me. I was a little disappointed because my cousins weren't being themselves with Marcelo there. I think I may have even overheard my cousins call Marcelo a fag in Assyrian. Then Marcelo and I went to Roscoe's, Sidetrack, The Loading Zone, and The Loading Dock! Ran into the Turkish gentleman I met not too long ago. Mamet wanted to have a threesome with me and Marcelo, but I said I wasn't up for it. Mamet, unlike Mike, was really cool about this. By the way, I called Mike one afternoon and told him in a direct and civil manner how unfair he'd been. He said he was too drunk to remember the incident. At least I got my point across.

At another one of Arthur's parties Conrad and I went up on the roof and talked again. He admitted that he's been lonely. I tried to console him. Then he said to me, "Be honest. Are you gay?" This coming from a guy who threatened me in high school and called me fag all the time. I answered without a pause, 'Yes, I am.' "That's cool," he said, "I still love you, man."

Today was my nineteenth birthday! A bunch of us went to Simon's and got stoned and drunk. It was fun until Conrad told Val that she had to suck us all off to get a ride home. He's still so rude and vulgar. I was disappointed. But I drove him home because no one else would. We hung out in his room for a while. Conrad took out a pipe he'd stolen from Simon's and he was being really weird. Dark. He frightened me. I drove home fantasizing about Conrad fingering me.

Brandon and I left Monday at two in the morning for Lee Valley Farm- the farm in Tennessee which Brandon's dad, Tom, goes to where he rides horses and relaxes. But the road trip that was supposed to be healing and cleansing turned out to be a nightmare. The roads in Kentucky and Tennessee were beautiful. The people nice, very nice, different. The food cheap. On Tuesday Lee, the owner of the farm, taught me how to ride bareback. Hashish, my horse was great. Brandon and I smoked pot left and right and were tired most of the time. One night we were sitting on the porch talking. We had taken some painkillers when Brandon said out of the blue, "Sometimes I have dreams. They tell the truth." He had slurred his words but never finished them. We were interrupted by Tom who came out of the pitch dark and joined us. I still wonder what Brandon was going to say that night. What dreams? What truth? The pool was surrounded by mountains. The hot tub was heated by burning wood. Rob, who had moved down from Chicago to work on the farm, cooked our meals. One evening Rob and I talked as we picked fresh vegetables from the garden. He said that his partner of many years came home with a seventeen-year-old one day and said, "I'm in love with him. I'm leaving you." I took showers outside. There were three other men staying on the farm while we were there, and they walked around in the nude. This bothered Brandon. I didn't care who did what. The peace I felt while on the farm was wonderful. It was the drive home that turned into hell. First we got lost, then my car broke down, and then we got arrested. We were thrown in jail for having pot. Spent the night in jail. Brandon's dad bailed us out by wiring the money. When we got back to our car, which had been left by the side of the road, we discovered that we'd been robbed of most our things. We made our way back to Chicago in the pouring rain. Quiet. Depressed. Dad doesn't know. He can't know. He doesn't need the stress. I'm supposed to go back to court but my boss Sue, with whom I'm really close, told me not to. Her husband even called from the hospital where his father was having open-heart surgery and said, "I'd tell my own son not to go. They could fine you and throw you in jail. Just don't ever go back to the south." I had to tell my brother and my cousins. They didn't know what to say. Will this haunt me some day? I told dad that I love him, but feel great distance. He said that he loves me even more than he loves Bell. He's not drunk tonight. Another attempt. How long will it last this time? I refuse to have faith in him any longer. It would be a waste of time. All I can do is wait. Wait. Wake from the dream. I feel alone, wronged. It makes me want to cry. Sometimes I think, It didn't really happen, but I know better. I have to accept the reality. Someone help me, save me, rescue me, baby me, love me. Can't help but blame myself, Brandon, Tom. I think a new phase in life is coming. I feel it. Don't destroy yourself, I tell myself. Don't do it. Life is important to me. I want to live long enough to find out if I will ever grow into a more stable adult. I thought about Santi and wondered if he could save me, but it's so disappointing how older men have let me down. Older gay men are so insecure. Wish me luck through all this. Think good thoughts for me. Please.

I put shampoo on my toothbrush this morning in the shower. Broke into tears at work and called Rachel and Marcelo's. No answer. Wondered if I could ever become a citizen or travel the world. My boss Sue called to check on me. She said, "I know you're delicate."