One day in the summer of 2015, a few weeks after the Supreme Court decision that legalized same-sex marriage in the U.S., I get a wedding invitation in the mail, and a request to be in the wedding party.
My first gay wedding! I can't wait.
Besides, it's from my ex-boyfriend, so all of my West Hollywood friends will be there.
I've only met his partner Ben once, when I flew back to West Hollywood for a week-long visit. A week was way too long!
He was in his early 60s, tall, rather buffed -- he spent every afternoon at the gym -- with greying salt-and-pepper hair and a moustache. Attractive, but elitist, conservative, and a bit crotchety.
No sharing, no parties, no going out to the bars to cruise. I couldn't even invite a guy over to spend the night with me.
And when I was asked out by a 20-year old, all hell broke loose
"What are you doing dating a guy young enough to be your son?" Ben exclaimed. "Stick to guys your own age!"
"Um...I'm a twink magnet. I can't help it."
"Nonsense. You just like twinks because you can't handle the responsibilities of a grown-up relationship."
I check the invitation again. It's not even in West Hollywood. It's at Saint Mark's Episcopal Cathedral in Salt Lake City, Utah
A gay wedding in Salt Lake City? Homophobic Mormon country? Whatever for?