“Yeah, too wet to go outside,” responded my boyfriend.įor the next half an hour, we made an excuse after an excuse as to why we should stay in the car.
Instead, we both sat there trying our best to peer through the spattering of rain, trying to make out the figures going into the bar. However, neither of us wanted to get out of the car and walk up the steps to the bar. The bar was out of town and miles from where we lived. For weeks, we’d both built up the courage to go to a gay bar for the first time. Holding hands with him, we listened to the patter of the rain on the roof as we watched the raindrops splatter on the windscreen. On one particular, wet Saturday evening, I found myself sitting in my boyfriend’s car. He was over the age of 21 and thought I was too. Like any red-blooded male at 17, my hormones made my brain think of little else but wanting to (putting it mildly) get laid.īy the time I reached my 19th birthday, I already had what I had considered a boyfriend. Of course, I overlooked that particular part of the law. The law stated that, for my safety, sex remained on hold until I reached 21.
If I boasted about it, I could get myself into trouble. Whether they’d slept with many of those they mentioned was open to debate.Īt 17-years-old, it was against the law for me to sleep with a person of the same sex. They’d been wandering into bars and nightclubs for the last year with the only threat of getting asked for age identification.Īt 17-years-old, my straight mates were not only getting drunk most Friday and Saturday nights but were boasting about sleeping around with members of the opposite sex without any worry. True Stories – Going To A Gay Bar For The First TimeĪt 17-years-old, I was in awe of my straight mates.
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