The Boy, Part One

The problem with dating younger guys is that all the growing up you did you have to go through all again. All the uncertainty, the self-discovery, and the brutal adjustment to the working world you lived through in your twenties you get to experience vicariously, sometimes with unexpected consequences.

About a year after dumping Shouhei I met “Kenji.” He was a 22-year-old university student, finishing up his last year. An English lit major, he was working on his final paper. Coincidentally the topic was Mark Twain, one of my favorite authors, and it was refreshing to talk to a guy about something other than hair, underwear, and pop stars. He was plowing his way through A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur’s Court, and I actually re-read the novel to talk it over with him.

The age thing bothered me a little. I was 34 at the time, leaving only a dozen years between us, but with the exception of the Seven-Eleven guy I’d woken up with after getting a bit too drunk, twelve years was the biggest gap between me and any guy I’d ever been with. Kenji was unlike any other Japanese guy I’d dated before, and I had trouble believing he was (as he confessed to me) gay. The majority of the Japanese guys interested in gaijin were on the passive side, expecting you to do all the work (both in bed and in conversation). I was aware, of course, that Japan had its share of macho, butch tops, but none of them seemed interested in foreigners, who are generally perceived as being loud and aggressive. From what I had seen of the Japanese gay universe, the line between the active senpai and the passive kouhai was deeply established, with foreigners collectively stereotyped into the former rather than the latter. As a result, I had been on scores of dates where the boys sat there like lumps, looking pretty, waiting for you to do all the heavy lifting. After awhile, it was wearying.

Kenji, however, was extremely out-going, funny, self-confident, and even playful. He didn’t have the withdrawn and guarded attributes I’d gotten myself used to in Japan. In fact, there was something so innocent about him, I found myself wondering how he’d managed to escape donning the cynical armor most gay men put on after a few rounds of the dating scene. The answer soon became clear.

The first few times we were intimate, he was very passionate, but seemed a bit nervous. He would come over to my place and we’d fool around for hours, but nothing hardcore would happen. Then one night, he decided to stay over, and as they said back in high school, things went “all the way.” As we lay there naked in bed, he confessed that it was the first time he’d ever had sex with a man, and then apologized, expecting me to be angry that I had been his first.

I wasn’t, of course. I was deeply touched. “But you told me you’d dated other guys before,” I said. He admitted he had, but things never progressed that far. Then he told me one of the most horrible (and funny) dating stories I had ever heard.

Having come to the conclusion that he was gay, he started visiting internet chat rooms, hoping to meet a nice foreign guy. He eventually found a Canadian we will call “Todd.” Todd seemed nice, sweet, affectionate. After a few dates, Kenji nervously went back to his place for what would be his first sexual experience. As they moved slowly towards the bedroom, Todd told him he’d really love it if Kenji would give him a “golden shower.” Kenji, whose English was excellent but didn’t quite extend into the bizarre depths of the sexual world, was baffled. Unwilling to reveal his ignorance, he agreed, thinking Todd wanted them to take a shower first. But as things showed no sign of moving towards the bathroom, and Todd was waiting with expectation on the bed, Kenji was forced to admit he didn’t know what was going on.

“I want you to piss on me,” Todd told him. “Please? All over my body.”

Kenji, horrified, grabbed his clothes and fled the room. The fact that this wasn’t enough to make him swear off men entirely was admirable.

He laughed when he told me about it, so clearly no permanent damage was done. “Welcome to the gay world,” I told him. “Though I’d heard much worse stories of the first time!”

He snuggled against me. “That wasn’t my first time. You were. And it was perfect.”

It was the beginning of something really great.