I was fifteen years old, a high school sophomore, at music camp in Decorah, Iowa. I shared a dorm room with Todd (not his real name).
My first big crush: soulful eyes, tight smooth chest, nice abs, square hands.
His mother was Lebanese. I've found Middle Easterners sexy ever since.
He was Catholic, not Muslim. I've found Catholics sexy ever since.
Afterwards I tried everything to make Todd my boyfriend, including dating his girlfriend, but nothing worked. He didn't even want to be friends. During my junior year, we barely spoke. I don't recall seeing him at all during my senior year.
The years passed. I went to college, then grad school, moved to West Hollywood, moved to New York, got my Ph.D., moved to Florida, taught in Ohio, Upstate, and the Plains, had friends and boyfriends and hookups.
In 2016, 40 years after that night in Decorah, Iowa, he enrolls in one of my classes!
Ok, it's not him. This Todd doesn't even look like my Todd. Much paler, thin, with an oval head and short black hair. Nice hands. Cute, but far short of the angelic beauty of my Todd, at least in my memory.
But it's not a very common name, so there must be a relation. Could this guy be my Todd's son?
Not likely. Maybe nephew or...gulp...a grandson?
I stalk this Todd on Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram. He's 20 years old, from a small town in Minnesota. He played hockey in high school. He's a social work major who volunteers at the domestic abuse shelter, and he is a canvass leader for the Democratic Party.
There are pictures of him fishing, playing hockey, and with his arm around a girl.
And with a rainbow flag over his profile stating "We are Orlando."
Probably straight, but certainly a gay ally.
The full story, with nude photos and explicit sexual content, is on Tales of West Hollywood