twenty-something

So I turn 25 in 454 days, 4 hours, and 54 minutes... In that time, I not only need to get engaged, but married -- gay-married. Or so the plan I've had in my head for as long as I can remember dictates: married by 25, kids by 30. All my life, I've wanted to be normal -- to achieve that idyllic and very, very cliched white-picket crap that most of us buy into, the sort of life I never had when I was a kid. I think this was the biggest obsticle in conciously acknowledging my homosexuality for the first sixteen years, and caused some of the biggest internal struggles in accepting it. How could I be "normal" and be gay? How could I have a wife, kids, great job, success, that fucking fence -- if I was a deviant?

Well, I started looking around -- on the Internet when I was 16 -- for anything. And what I found were sketchy chatrooms, lots of porn -- and the homepage of one 32-year-old Australian doctor. He liked the same TV shows, movies, and music as I did -- he also happened to be gay, well-adjusted, and practically married to another man. He was a normal guy with a normal life. And that gave me hope.

It's funny, because up until almost exactly two years ago, I still bought into all that whole-heartedly. There were times, in the moment, during our relationship, that I thought Joe, my first serious boyfriend, could be "The One." That we'd get hitched -- Civil Unioned or whatnot -- adopt, live happily ever after -- just like our other couple friends. The slightly distorted mirror image of heterosexuality was sort of expected of us by others -- our friends and, to some extent, my family -- and so I guess we sort of fell into it. We were a cute couple and, at first, we had a picturesque, "perfect" relationship. But time, situations, graduations, and ACL surgeries complicated things a wee bit. We ended up on the tail end of one-year-and-three-months together both sort of hating each other. Forget gay-marriage -- we were practically gay-divorced.

But, I guess, even up to the day we broke up, I sort of bought into that idea that was forced on us by our liberal and supportive friends in BVT. PC terms like "partner." The go-to question -- "How's Joe?" -- which was like this conversation failsafe. Deeper questions about the relationship, the future, our plans... They forced it on me, but part of me was into it. Part of me sorta thought I might really marry Joe. And here's a confession: if we had made it to my senior year, part of me had it in my head that I'd buy a ring and propose right 'round my graduation day.

How the hell did I go from THAT to a quiet, closeted relationship with my current beau? I really don't know. Part of it is the "Golden Retriver" in me -- I got burned by the last one, and I wanted something completely different. But I think that was only a small part of my transformation between Joe and Duncan, my current beau.

I can speculate that I fell into this relationship and found what I needed -- and that didn't include showing off my new boyfriend, double-dating, or most of that horrid couples stuff. Because the relationship existed, especially at first, only behind closed doors, I learned that I could meet my needs and be happy, truly happy, without any of the trappings that they have always told me I need. Sure, it was (and is) hard to have a closeted relationship -- but its refreshing not to have family members always asking home my boyfriend is and wondering if we'll get a civil union -- and that's in large part because many don't know Duncan even exists.

But the topic of cohabitation has been breached. And it's opened some combination of Pandora's Box and Trojan Horse. I don't know what I want, but I think I know what he does -- or doesn't -- want, or isn't ready for. And maybe the fact that I can't have it, but some days, I think it's an awesome idea. I think about how easy things could be, how nice it would be to come home to him every night, how practical it would be to be "roommate" instead of just closeted lovers. But what the hell do I know? I don't know what I want or what I'm ready for in this moment I'm living in.

But I do want it, eventually, in some form. To live with somebody, to share my life. As a best friend -- but more. A companion. And that might not include coming up with new vows or creative solutions to the whole two dads thing. I'm pretty much resigned to the fact that I won't be married by 25, and that's OK. Because I don't really know what I want. Now. Tomorrow. Two years from now. Twenty. But I think it's somewhere between the two men I've loved.

I want love. I want my kind of love. And I'm starting to figure out that it's not going to be the kind of love that the straights want me to have, and it might not be the kind of love my supportive, liberal-ish friends and family want for me -- but it's going to be what's right for me and my man.

This is my relationship, and this is my terms. And, for now, it's good enough for me.