During my last year in Upstate New York, I got an email from my ex-boyfriend Fred: "Guess what -- I just got a job offer in Indianapolis, near your parents!"
"Indianapolis, great!" I shot back. "What sort of job is it? Ministerial?"
"I'm the Sub-Secretary of the Social Action Committee for the Disciples of Christ,"
A pro-gay Protestant denomination.
"Handling LGBT issues?"
"No -- I'm not even out at work. I handle issues regarding the mentally ill and homeless, But you should see my office -- it looks right out onto Meridian Street! Will you be coming out for Christmas? We can celebrate our 32nd anniversary!"
Fred and I met at Christmastime 1979, when I was a sophomore at Augustana College, and he was a ministerial intern at a Methodist church in Rock Island. We dated for about six months, and then became friends through years of changing jobs, cities, and relationships.
He was with Matt, a Cute Young Thing with a sarcastic wit and a nice butt, and then Jester, a college student with a buffed physique and a gigantic Kovbasa+++, then a series of Cute Young Things. He worked as a youth pastor, mental health counselor, and homeless advocate in cities all over the map, from Omaha to San Bernadino to Sandusky. I never knew where the next postcard or email would be coming from.
Time passes. We hadn't seen each other for about ten years!
I didn't make it to Indianapolis for Christmas, but I did that summer.
The full story, with nude photos and sexual situations, is on Tales of West Hollywood.