PARKING IN the city is a bitch, and after driving around for what seemed like forever, we finally found a spot and walked over toward Harvey Milk Avenue.
Houston’s gay central, the main drag, the center of gay life in Houston.
Our own yellow brick road.
As we got closer, my heart started beating faster. There were guys of all ages, some hot, some not so much, all walking in the same general direction. There was something going on that I couldn’t quite put a name to, but I felt it.
Whatever it was, there was an energy that was making me excited. And, I admit, horny.
Nate looked over at me with a nervous/excited/scared/horny look on his face, and I knew he felt it too.
Although it might have been more scared/nervous than anything.
We’d already decided, after way too many hours of discussion, that before we went all in, our first stop would be Adam’s Place, a bar described as a friendly neighborhood hangout. Supposedly chill AF.
And suddenly, we were there. Looking at the dark window. At the door. This was it.
I looked over at Nate; he looked at me. We nodded, and without a word and before we lost our nerve, opened the door and walked in.
We were now in our first gay bar. Ever.
It was filled with… regular guys. Guys like you’d see anywhere, walking down the street, at the grocery store, at the movies, even living next door.
Just guys. All gay. All looking to meet other guys or to just hang out with guys like themselves.
And it felt perfectly normal.
It felt right.
We walked quickly over to the bar and ordered Bud Lights (one of the few beers on display that we’d actually heard of), trying hard to be cool, to make it seem like it was something we’d done hundreds of times. The hot guy behind the bar, with muscles for days, asked us for our IDs. After a brief panicked look between us, we handed them over. Mr. Hottie standing there in his tank top and very tight jeans grinned, looked at them, grinned again, said, “Yep, those are definitely IDs all right,” and gave us our beers.
Since I drove, Nate bought the beers. I left the tip.
Drinks in hand, we turned from the bar to check the place out.
And it was clear we were being checked out as well.
Because it was a local neighborhood hangout, almost everyone there knew everyone else. Or at least seemed to.
We were new and unknown.
All eyes seemed to be on us.
We were, as they say, fresh meat.
And suddenly, we were both nervous as hell, not sure what to do. Should we smile at anyone we thought was hot? Go over and say hi? Wait for someone to come over to us?
Why wasn’t there some sort of guidebook or handbook or something on how to be gay?
So we did nothing. We drank our beers, whispered to each other, pointed out guys we thought were cute, and waited for something, for anything, to happen.
Nate, I think, was kind of freaking out about being there, about the reality of what we were doing, and he whispered to me that he thought maybe we should leave.
Finally, though, someone made the first move.
His name was Mike. An older guy in his thirties, pretty good shape and a great smile.
“First time?” he asked.
I could feel my face turn bright red…. Was it that obvious?
“It’s cool… everyone has to have a first time,” he said with a smirk on his face. “Let me buy you guys a beer.”
Nate shot me a look that showed me he wasn’t feeling this at all, but couldn’t say no to another round, so after I gave Nate a look meant to reassure him and we quickly downed the beers we already had, we went back to the bar with Mike. There, Mr. Hottie muscle bartender gave us a raised eyebrow look that let me know he thought Mike had scored. With both of us.
That wasn’t going to happen. Not in a million years.
But fortunately, instead of an invite back to his place, Mike offered us advice.
“Look,” he said. “I know you’re probably not legal. And I know this is your first time out. It’s written all over your cute little faces, but I’m not about to ask you home”—I could feel Nate’s tension ease up a bit—“so don’t worry about that.
“So let me give you some advice from an older, well, um, slightly older guy who has been where you are now. Don’t go home with the first hot guy you meet. Or even the second one. Don’t drink too much and do not do drugs with anyone, or you’ll end up doing things that you’ll regret with guys you’ll definitely regret doing them with. But… when you know it’s right, go ahead. And watch each other’s back. Keep each other close and safe, okay?”
We nodded in agreement.
“And finally, before I let you guys go”—and I have to admit that the more of the second beer I drank, the better he looked—“this isn’t the place you want to be. It’s too quiet, the music is all wrong, and, well… most of the guys here are too old for you. Go down the street to Pacific Coast. It’s what you’re looking for. You need to dance and get sweaty and be with guys who are at least closer to your own age. If Jesse is at the door, tell him I sent you—my name is Mike, by the way. He’ll waive the cover charge and not look at your IDs too closely.
“Have fun, you two, and look me up in a few years… but now… get out of here before I say or do something I’ll be sorry for.”
We looked at each other and laughed. I thanked him, gave him a hug—Nate didn’t—and we headed out and over to Pacific Coast.