Does This Baby Make Me Look Straight?: Confessions of a Gay Dad by Dan Bucatinsky Page A

We got into the elevator and my stomach started doing flips. She smiled at me and I at her. It’s like we both knew. I started to run a million excuses in my head to talk myself out of what I had determined to do: I don’t want to be late for Dreamgirls. What if someone hears and kicks us out of the hotel? We ate Indian for lunch, risky choice for lovemaking, no? But I was climbing the steps on the high dive and I really didn’t want to turn back. It was time to just walk to the edge and jump.
    Nora threw her bags on the floor and I just went for it. I picked her up and threw her on the bed. In a matter of seconds, we were both naked. While we were making out, Nora led my hand down, you know, there. Thank God, because my hand wasn’t going to go there by itself. It was lifeless and limp—like the victim of some self-induced stroke. But luckily, it was the only part of me that was limp.
    Yes, gay guys can get erections when we are with women. We’re still men, after all. It doesn’t take much. A piece of fruit.A bus seat. A hat. The drop of that hat. And the mechanics of it all? Exactly the same. Tab A goes into Slot B just like it does for everyone else. Tab A just liked to fool around with Tab B instead.
    After a few minutes, she felt me against her and guided me to where I was supposed to be. I remember being surprised at how unremarkable it was. My mind was racing: You’re doing it! You’re having sex! Then, Huh. Is this it? This right here is what having sex feels like? Man. What the hell is the big deal?
    Afterward, we showered and had dinner and I was on top of the world. I did it! I did it! I had sex with my girlfriend in a five-star hotel just like Warren Beatty a floor or two away. I’m a man among men. A man’s man . . . a straight man.
    It was March of 1986. I had been keeping a journal since the beginning of the previous semester, which I’d spent at the Eugene O’Neill Theater Center studying theater, dance, and puppetry. (Why didn’t they just call it the Center for Gay Studies?) Here’s the entry in my journal after that fateful night:
    March 11, 1986. New York City .
    Well, it happened! Tonight I am a man. That sounds so stupid. But it’s true. Tonight, Nora and I finally did “it.” We had sex. I’m no longer a virgin. I can’t believe it. After all this time. And all the nervousness. And all the worry. I have to admit—it was over so fast. And I didn’t really like It didn’t really feel the way I thought it would feel. Kind of no big deal. Anyway. I’m so happy! Because now there’s no going back! Nobody can take it away from me. I just hope she doesn’t want to do it all the time now .
    Before Nora had the chance to even hint at doing it again, the following night I was feeling pretty cocky. Let’s do it again , I thought. Why not? Really seal the deal . So we got ready for bed, slid into the million-thread-count sheets, and I immediately rolled on top of her. Again, she guided me. Only this time, I felt something different.
    Wait a minute! What’s happening here? I thought. I felt a tiny bit of pressure and then most definitely the warm tight wetness that could mean only one thing: I was inside her. Again, my mind was racing.
    This was nothing like the night before. So what the hell had that been?
    It turned out I hadn’t lost my virginity to Nora on that first night. I lost it to the side of her leg and maybe some rolled-up sheets. Why she didn’t tell me I had taken a wrong turn or failed to yield at the intersection, I can’t for the life of me figure out. Was she trying to protect me from embarrassment? The second night was unmistakable. I was most definitely inside another human being for the first time in my life. And a woman, at that! It’s interesting the way biology or evolution or whatever set it up so the male could pretty much have a positive sexual experience with anything warm enough, wet enough, and tight enough. Not to minimize the role of attraction,