Spring 2008, a warm afternoon in April. I am jogging in Fairborn Community Park near Dayton, Ohio. The jogging path is about 3/4 miles long, through woods, over Beaver Creek, and then past the high school. I go four times.
Suddenly there is a boy jogging beside me beside me. He doesn't pass -- he keeps pace. I glance over -- shorter than me, slim with brown hair and dark eyes. He's wearing a green-and-yellow Wright State University t-shirt and yellow jogging shorts.
"I'm a professor at Wright State," I say.
He looks over and smiles. "Cool."
"What year are you in?"
"Sophomore."
"I never saw you here before. A long way from campus, isn't it?"
"I like the woods."
We chat as we jog, the boy giving short, cryptic answers. I learn that he lives with his parents, and he wants to be a writer.
When a group of college-aged joggers approach, he looks alarmed, says "See ya!" and rushes off.
He appears again the next day. This time no group of college-aged joggers interrupts us. I learn that his name is Austin, he plays on the junior varsity football team, he has an older brother in the air force, and he hates zucchini.
At the end of the jog, Austin asks "Where are you going now?""Home to take a shower, I guess."
"Cool. I could use a shower, too. Can I come? You can drop me off here later."
I stare in surprise. I get hit on by younger guys all the time. It wasn't hard to recognize the shy, reticent way they express interest. But they don't usually make such blatant propositions!
"Um...well, you know, my apartment's a mess."
"I don't care. You should see my room!"
"Maybe another time, ok?" I reach out my hand. He squeezes it hard.
On the third day, Austin ups the ante: he has his shirt off, displaying a slim, smooth chest, solid but not muscular, with nice abs. And I'm can't be sure, but it looks like he stuffed a sock into his pants.
"How did you know I was gay?" I ask.
"I just figured. You jog here every day, and there's never a girl with you."
"There's never a girl with you, either. Or a guy."
"Oh, the guys at school are jerks. I like older men."
"How many older men have you been with?"
"Only one. I was jogging, and he sat in his car in the parking lot watching me, and one day he offered me a ride home. He was way old, though. Maybe 40!"
"I'm 46."
"Yeah, but you work out! And I bet you got a big one!"
At the end of the jog, Austin asks, "Can I come over for that shower now?"
"Tell you what -- tomorrow's Friday. How about a real date? Dinner at Thai Nine, out to the bars, then we'll see what happens."
"Cool. Meet me here at 5:00. I have a 10:00 curfew, just so you know."
"No problem, I'll get you home before that." We clasp hands again, and I drive home, wondering "What college student has a 10:00 curfew?"
Curious, I go onto the Wright State University website. There's no Austin listed on the Junior Varsity Football team. So I google "Austin,""Fairborn, Ohio," and "football."
Austin Alvarez. There's a photo of him in the newspaper, sitting on Santa's lap. A little kid. Five years ago.
He went to a junior high tennis camp. Two years ago.
This year, he was on the junior varsity football team -- at Fairborn High School.
Austin is fifteen years old! Sixteen, tops!
Austin is fifteen years old! Sixteen, tops!
No way is this date happening, for obvious reasons:
1. The age of consent in Ohio is sixteen.
2. I don't want to key into the myth that gay men are folk devils, out to seduce children.
3. He's a kid!
But I don't want to abandon Austin altogether. Gay kids grow up in a world of silence and fear. They don't know any gay people. They have no way to learn about gay history or culture. They have no idea that "it gets better." They need mentors.
But I don't want to abandon Austin altogether. Gay kids grow up in a world of silence and fear. They don't know any gay people. They have no way to learn about gay history or culture. They have no idea that "it gets better." They need mentors.
Friday I don't go jogging. I meet Austin in the park at 5:00 as scheduled. He's wearing a nice button-down shirt and pants. He looks like one of those kids you see on tv who are all nervous at the beginning of a heterosexual date, while their parents take pictures and coo "My son is growing up!" I'll bet no one took pictures tonight!
"I don't know how this works," Austin says as he climbs into the car. "Should we, like, make out?"
"Traditionally you start with dinner."
We have dinner at Thai Nine, as promised, and I tell Austin about the gay neighborhoods of West Hollywood and Wilton Manors. He didn't know that such things existed.
He doesn't say much. He's busy trying to hide the fact that he's a sophomore in high school, but a few tell-tale signs give him away. Like he hates his algebra teacher. College students have professors, and typically take calculus, not algebra.
After dinner, we get back into the car and drive into the warm Ohio night. Austin gets very quiet.
But I don't take him to my apartment. We drive to a small, non-descript building in downtown Dayton. The LGBT Community Center.
"What the..." Austin begins. "Is this one of those sex clubs?"
"It's the Zone, a safe space for LGBT youth, aged 14 to 21. They have games, videos, discussions, dances. A great place to meet gay guys your age. I think tonight is game night."
"You know I'm in high school?" he asks, shocked. Then, in a small voice, "Don't you...don't you want to, like, do stuff?"
"Give this place a try. I'll pick you up in two hours, and if you still want to, we'll talk."
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"Total nerd. Always got a portable chess set with him, if you can believe that. Wants to be a chemist." He pauses. "Cute, though. He invited me to see a movie tomorrow night. Iron Man, of course."
"Your first date. You must be excited!"
He leans over and kisses me on the cheek. "I'm ready to go home now. My home, not yours, if that's ok"
You have to mentor gay youth.
See also: The High School Bodybuilder