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Coming Out and The Women I Loved
Bea was my first serious relationship. We were madly in love — me all 6’ 250 lbs of hairy white guy, and she, 5’ 100lbs of Black Caribbean heritage. We were a study in contrasts and similarities, two technicolor liberal arts(ish) majors in a bland, grey engineering school. She was attracted to me because of my sense of humor and latent homosexuality. I was attracted to her because of her intellect, her sweetness, and her extraordinary beauty.
I was her second gay boyfriend. Her first had come out to her during high school, and she spoke about it with a dry humor and deep, abiding affection. This was amazing, considering the acrimony that suffused my parents’ gay-themed divorce. Subconsciously, I may have also been attracted to her because I knew she would accept me for the person I was desperately trying to avoid becoming. And if her current, loving husband is any indication, she may have always had a thing for bearish guys.
Bea had an eclectic — at least to my way of thinking — taste in music, literature and art, and she was a voracious consumer. She turned me on to Barenaked Ladies (underground mix tape, natch) and Diana Krall. Growing up, the only music we had in the house were records that my parents borrowed from the library.
Mom was an ABBA fiend, and my dad loved obscure European pop, so I was well versed in Demis Roussos’ and…
