Love in the Closet

Rewinding to the time when I was young, dumb, and full of cum, I was 22 years old when I met Kurt. I was in college at the time, and being single was not exactly in the cards considering my friends were going on group dates. They would invite me, but I didn’t want to be the odd one out because at the time I felt like I was a party pooper of sorts. I didn’t want to be the miserable lonely single.

One day during the last month of summer, I went on Grindr looking for trouble as one is generally bound to do. I came across this cute boy sporting a huge pearly white smile and cute glasses. His name was Kurt, and he had a name as cute as his face. Of course he was 19 at the time so neither of us really knew how to date. As an added bonus, he lived only a few blocks away from me. I can’t remember who messaged whom first, but the chemistry was quite instant. One message after another without fail. We were talking about our interests, disinterests, what we’re learning in school, and shortly after we started sexting. We would talk about all the ways we would kiss each other and the way we would have hot sweaty sex that God himself should pay to see that show. I had to meet him.

The first few days were like a dream. The laughs we had, all the movies we watched — not to mention the mind-blowing sex. That comes with youth I guess. All that insatiable stamina really makes for a weekend’s worth of fucking. God, we had so much sex we would literally lose track of time. What made the sex memorable was the fact that he had asked me to top him as he had never bottomed before. I was so honored that he would be willing to be that physically vulnerable with me. Yes, it was messy and clumsy, but we slowly got in to a rhythm and things just started to naturally flow. We had sex from sunrise to sundown and we would have had at least two dozen orgasms by the evening. It was fast, but I felt like he was the one.

Two weeks in to this romance, he invited me over for something important. I wondered what it could be, so I rushed right over. He said, “I wanted to tell you that I’m closeted because I want to tell you that I love you.” That took me back a bit as I had never dated anyone in the closet before, and that it had been a while since someone told me that they loved me with such fervent sincerity. I had fucked some closeted gays, yeah. But never dated. I didn’t know how to respond because I was still processing his words. Was this too fast? Are we really doing this? Did he really mean those words? I asked him for some time to give him an answer and he did. I walked home not knowing the right words to say, so I typed up a letter. Yeah, corny, I know. But I’m better with words written down than I am at speaking them. God, that letter was so fucking corny. I talked about how I trusted him, and how I felt like he was the one, and how I felt so safe in his arms. I really thought this was love. The next day I gave him that letter which was greeted with a long fuck session. If I knew now what I knew then, I wouldn’t have rushed in to this relationship so quickly. I would have avoided the mess that was about to come.

We went through the same routine that all couples go through, but this seemed like the fast-forwarded version — honeymoon phase, comfort, and devastating heart break all in the span of three months. The honeymoon phase was great, but this is really where I should have picked up on the red flags of dating someone in the closet. We went to the aquarium together as boyfriends, but not one moment did he ever want to hold my hand. I tried to connect pinkies at least which was met with a knee-jerk reaction to pull away.

“No, I can’t do that right now” he said, while giving me this don’t-do-that-again-type of look.

I thought to myself, “Huh, okay. Maybe he just doesn’t want me to know his palms are sweaty.” Boy, was I wrong.

We would do all the things couples would do in public except hold hands or kiss. The only time he wanted to kiss me out of the house was when we were in some park bench out of view or in covered alleyway. I didn’t think too much of it. Again, this was my first time dating someone in the closet, so I didn’t really know what to expect. Another red flag that came up that I should have seen coming was that I was spending more money. And when he said he would pay me back, he didn’t. To this day I haven’t been paid back the cost of a Fan Expo ticket plus merchandise. I gave him money to buy both of us stuff because I couldn’t go. But he spent it all only on himself. Finally, there was one last red flag that I should have caught which would really throw me a curve ball.

There was a carnival being held in the city. Bright lights, fast food, games and music. It really felt romantic and perfect. I should mention right now that I’m not a big fan of getting tickled. This will be important to remember. So we’re walking through the carnival and enjoying each other’s company. We ate funnel cakes, bought some fudge, even rode one of the rides. Everything was going perfect. I was planning on taking him to this ride that would overlook the city, and I would give him a long kiss out in public but far from view. I thought it would help with the whole closeted thing. On our way, he started to tickle me. I told him no stop. He thought he was being playful which is okay, but I didn’t like the feeling. He tickled me again, and I pulled away. I reminded him a little more sternly to stop. He held my arm by the bicep, and I thought that he was finally being romantic. Suddenly, in what he thought was a playful manner, he pinched my skin quite hard. That’s when I yelled.

“I TOLD YOU TO STOP!”

People briefly stared at us. His demeanor changed. That smile I liked seeing so much was gone. He kept his distance from me for the rest of the evening. The air that was filled with noise and laughter felt quiet and painful. Both of our faces are on the ground at this point, and we spent the evening in this air of awkwardness. I tried to make it up to him by winning a carnival game for him, but that didn’t cheer him up.

“People were looking at us,” he whispered.

I replied, “I’m sorry, but I told you stop.”

The commute back home was painful. Not a word said. Not even our hands holding underneath the sweater I laid out for us as a blanket. I truly felt that I had messed up. My heart was in my throat. My pulse was racing. I fucked this up so badly. Please say something. I got to my stop, and he didn’t even acknowledge me. Just gave me a nod and took a nap. I wish I could say that was the most painful part of this story.

A few weeks of total silence passed since the incident, and he sent me a text saying “we need to talk.” Nobody wants to read that. My body went in to panic mode. My blood ran cold, and I couldn’t feel my limbs. I was feeling so numb reading those four stupid words. Still, I mustered up enough strength to get in the car and drive to his house. He met me at the door with this sullen look on his face like he was carrying something heavy. Right then and there I knew what the next words were.

“We need to break up.”

“What?”

“I’m sorry.”

“What do you mean? Was it something I said? Was it the thing at the carnival?”

“No, it’s none of that. I just can’t date anymore.”

“So…what? When you told me you love me, was that a lie?”

“No, I wasn’t lying.”

I’m on the verge of tears at this point trying my hardest to hold it in. “So why?'“

“On top of the fact that I’m still not out, I have to confess something. I cheated on you three times.”

And that’s what did it for me. I ran out and I sobbed so hard in my car. I felt so betrayed. How could anyone do that to me? What did I do to deserve this kind of treatment? I’m a good person! How dare he cheat on me! UGHHH FUCK ALL MEN!!! I didn’t even give him the opportunity to give proper closure. I just wanted to leave the scene immediately. I got home and cried my heart out to the point of my pillows soaking in tears. It was a pain that I never want anyone to experience. It literally felt like a punch in the gut. The pain of that heartbreak was so visceral I puked in the toilet. Not long after, I got a text from him saying “Why did you just run out like that like a girl?” I was over it. I blocked him hoping to never hear from him again.

A few weeks passed, and I did what any gay would do. I hopped back on Grindr to find meaningless sex again. I just needed to feel some sort of relief. This ache that needed to be healed. He left a hole in my heart that felt like it would never be filled. I hung out with my friends trying to drown my sorrows with alcohol and dive bar burgers. I was a wreck. I asked all my friends for advice: why would he do this, how do I get over him, I wanted to kill him so badly after that. They all said the same thing. I needed closure.

I unblocked him and asked him to come over to my place. Emotions weren’t running high and we were able to have a discussion at length about parting ways. He really did love me, but he couldn’t date me because I was so out in the open that he felt ashamed to even be with another guy. Yet he was able to cheat on me with three other men. One of them being my ex. The conversation ended with us agreeing not to see each other anymore and not remain friends because that would be too painful for me. And yes, it also ended with break up sex.

Where is he now? To my knowledge, he’s finally out and happy with his current boyfriend. And good for him! All gays deserve to be happy, and I will fight with my dying breath to make sure that happens. But if for some reason Kurt ends up reading this, I want you to know this: I can understand why you would cheat on me. You really hurt me. But I’m glad that you’re out and that your family has accepted you. I’m glad that you found a guy that loves you the way you love them. Don’t hurt them the way you hurt me. When you say you love someone, you better mean it. Be good to him. Also you still owe me $100. I’ll be charging with interest.

A friend once told me this about dating someone in the closet; the hate that they have for themselves will always outweigh the love that you have for them. I guess RuPaul was on to something when she said “If you can’t love yourself, how in the hell are you gonna love somebody else?” Shame is a powerful thing, and not in a good way. The closet can have such a strong hold on you, but the sooner you accept that these are parts of you that aren’t going anywhere, the sooner you can start to embrace them. I was caught in the crossfire of someone battling their own shame. Some might call me a casualty, but I choose to call it resilience. I hope for anyone out there that is afraid to be who they are, please know that you are not obligated to come out. It is your story to tell and nobody else’s. I just hope that in the process you don’t hurt anyone else the way Kurt hurt me.

Hah, I just now realized that rhymes.