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Only later, upon arriving home, I read his inscription to me: “I tease you because I see so much of myself in you. When the summer ended, I wrote something appropriately snarky and bombastic in David’s yearbook. David had a deep, raspy voice and a strong jaw, and composed acerbic, Elvis Costello–like love songs to idealized women on his guitar, and when we would jam out for a room of impressed peers to “Don’t Go Back to Rockville” - him on guitar, me on piano - I felt a kind of joyous male bonding that I’d observed but stood apart from amid years of suffering through hockey, baseball, and soccer teams. We would engage in dizzying verbal jousting that, at the time, was the closest thing I’d ever had to sex. David, who was Jewish and from a richer town than I, matched my bombast word for word, allusion for allusion, ridiculous alliteration for ridiculous alliteration. If you were going to throw me in the mud and steal my bike - and, sadly, this was the kind of thing that happened to me on a regular basis between the years 19 - I’d be damned you’d do it without me calling you a cretinous troglodyte as you rode away.īut that summer I went to a special program for gifted public-high-school kids and met David, the first straight male soul mate I ever had. Consequently, I’d built up a thick, defensive wall of big words around me. I’d grown up in a middle-class Massachusetts town, which was largely Irish and Italian, and, frankly, prior to that summer, I’d not known much in the way of tenderness or warmth from straight men. By this time I knew deep down I was gay, though it would be another five years before I’d come out. The turning point in my life with straight men came in 1986, the summer before my senior year in high school. Rock Hudson and Robert Lansing in A Gathering of Eagles.