The Club
So now I had an alternate plan. I was convinced that the magazines were the problem. Those photos got my imagination working and got me horny. If I actually saw guys doing those sex acts depicted in the magazines, I would be appropriately disgusted and revert to my normal, straight self. And so I resolved to go back to Old Town on Saturday and go to one of those X-rated movie theaters that showed gay films. I told my folks I was going out with some friends and wouldn't be home till late. In fact, I might even stay overnight with one of them. I don't know why that came out of my mouth, but it did.
I picked a theater that had a really disgusting sounding feature showing and resolved to go to the seven o'clock showing. I arrived about twenty minutes before the start time, but couldn't bring myself to go up to the box office. I stood across the street from the theater and watched people buy tickets and file in. There were a lot of them and I didn't like the looks of the crowd. There were a few 'normal' looking guys, but you could tell that most of them were gay. The way they swished around when they walked and the feminine mannerisms that many of them exhibited.
Anyway, I just couldn't screw up the courage to go in. At about quarter past seven I decided to just wait around for the eight-thirty show. Maybe that wouldn't be as crowded. I watched people file out of the first showing and watched new customers buy their tickets and enter the theater. What the hell, I figured. Just go do it. I was just about to cross the street when a voice behind me stopped me in my tracks.
"You don't want to go to that movie, son."
I turned around to see a very large man standing close. He was probably about six foot-two and I'll bet he weighed two hundred plus pounds. He had long, gray hair worn in a ponytail and a small gold earring dangled from his right ear. I guessed him to be in his fifties.
"I . . . I don't?" I stammered.
"No. The movie itself is crap. But the men inside that dark theater would eat you for lunch, son." The man chuckled. "If you're looking for company, why don't you come down the street to a club with me."
"I . . . I don't know."
"A drink in a public place never hurt anyone. Let's go do it." He smiled and grabbing me by the arm began to lead me down the street. He was so confident that I just let him lead me.
"My name is Devlin, Devlin MacArthur. But my friends call me Dev. What's your name, son?
"Paul. Paul Bryant."
"And here we are, Paul. Let's go get a drink or two."
The club was called "The Den." It was one of a number of clubs lining both sides of the street. From the clientele lingering outside, it was obvious that these were gay clubs. The doorman at "The Den" could see that I was probably not twenty-one and initially refused to admit me. But he knew Dev, called him the "Professor," and Dev talked him into letting me in. Dev claimed I was his eighteen year old nephew and that he would feed me nothing but soft drinks.
"How old are you, Paul?' Dev asked when we were inside.
"I'm actually going to be nineteen in a couple of weeks."
"Great."
I had never been in a club like this before. Oh shit, let's be honest, I had never been in a club before. I suppose I had expected bright lights and loud music. But this place was very quiet with soft music playing and the lighting very low. It took a while for my eyes to adjust to the lighting enough where I could actually make things out. Dev took hold of my arm again and led me deeper into the room. There were tables and chairs in the center of the room and couches and love seats along the walls.
Dev led me to a love seat on the far wall from the entrance and ordered drinks for us. Scotch, neat for him and a strawberry daiquiri for me. So much for feeding me cokes! I was glad that he did the ordering. I had not consumed much alcohol in my life and didn't know much about drinks.
The love seat wasn't all that big and with his large frame, Dev's leg was pressed up right against mine. He threw his arm across the top of the seat and gradually, his arm came to rest across my shoulders. The drinks came quickly and we sat and talked. The drinks kept coming. As soon as I had finished downing one, there was another to replace it.
Dev told me all about himself. He was fifty-two years old and a professor at the University of Illinois Circle campus. I was thrilled about that because I was starting at UICC that September. Dev taught introductory psychology, a freshman course, and an advanced psych course as well. He lived alone in an apartment on the near north side and, as he put it, he wasn't currently screwing anyone. I felt more and more comfortable as he told me about himself.
Then he asked me to tell him about me. I gave him all the standard background information. He listened politely, but what he was really interested in was what I was doing standing outside a gay movie theater on a Saturday night. I felt so comfortable with him, that I spilled all the beans. I told him about finding the magazine at the airport and then buying the magazine at the bookstore down the street. I told him about the encounter with the married guy in the bookstore. And I told him about my disastrous date with Mary Lou Martin and how confused I was about everything that was happening to me. I told him I was afraid that I would be changed into a homosexual.
"That's quite a bit of angst you're dealing with, Paul." He chuckled. "But you know, you can't change who you really are. Your job is to discover who you are and let your true essence emerge."
"How do I do that?" I entreated.
"Through experience." Dev answered. "But you must be open to experience. You must embrace opportunity and discovery. The incident at the bookstore was such an experience. It started you down the slippery slope to delicious decadence."
"Yes, but that was wrong."
"Was it? Let's explore that. What got you sexually aroused at the bookstore? The man?"
"No. It was the magazine. The one with the men and boys."
"Both magazines featured older men and younger boys, didn't they Paul?"
"Ye . . . Yes."
"And you like to masturbate while looking at the pictures of the men and boys together, don't you, Paul?"
"Yes."
"Do you fantasize while you masturbate?"
"I guess so."
"What do you fantasize about?
"I . . . I don't know."
