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Vagabond

When my arthritis is a real bitch, I often sit on my battered couch, carefully tucking my bushy ringed tail underneath. For hours I think about the life I've led, the places I've visited, and the people I've met. You do that when you get to be my age, when the world seems to be speeding up more and more and you're doing your best to keep up, only to realize that the world isn't for you anymore, it's for the young folks. For men like me, all we can do is to watch the seeds we planted grow and nurture those who are willing to listen to our stories.

Yes, _stories_are why I'm writing this. A young friend of mine suggested that I write them down. He listened to the rambling of this old raccoon whenever he came over to help with the car or groceries, and he told me that they were too good to just leave as spoken words. So here I am, ninety years young and typing away at a computer, going down my long-gone memory lanes. I have few regrets in my life--I lived a good, long one--and this is a story about how I found myself in a world that didn't quite know what to do with me.

History says that people's attitudes toward gay men began to shift in the 21st century. For the most part, that is true; laws were being passed left and right to ensure equal protection and tolerance, and seeing gay people on TV shows was becoming more and more normal. Hell, everyone had gay friends--and I think that's what helped push the gay rights movement forward as much as it did. It's hard to hate someone you know intimately.

That isn't to say that everything was great during those years. Far from it. Even as the laws changed, bigotry, hatred, and fear were still running through the veins of our country. There were counter-movements everywhere, all under the argument that society had moved too fast. Hate crimes still happened, and people could still be awful. A smart boy would have kept it to himself that he fancied his own gender. I was not so bright back then.

My name is Beaumont "Beau" Jeune. My story as a "vagabond"--as I like to refer to myself at that stage in life--began when I was eighteen years of age. I was a spring chicken who had just freshly graduated from a small high school in an equally small town called Cooper in the West Virginian hills. People there are a different kind of folks; time seemed to move differently in Cooper. It had definitely sheltered my country boy butt.

But this isn't a story about me growing up in Cooper. The only reason I start here is because up until this point, my hometown had been the only thing I'd ever known. An innocent and glass-half-full kind of guy that I was, I believed that people would accept me if I started letting out my dirty secret. As it turns out, I was quite wrong.

Don't get me wrong, though. People there--the ones I told my secret to, at least--were never cruel to me. But they treated me differently those last few weeks of high school. People were a bit quieter around me and asking me all sorts of questions about what it meant to be gay, and gosh I had no idea at the time! Thankfully my small group of friends kept it to themselves until I left.

I didn't know what I would've done if Pa had found out back then. We never quite got along, but he was one of the best miners you could ever find in the hills. We raccoons take pride in our wonderful night vision, and Pa used that to his advantage, always leading the way for new lines of coal. He even talked about having me get a job there. I balked at the thought. That wasn't what I wanted.

Though young and inexperienced, I still had the sense to feel that Cooper was no longer as welcome to me, and that Pa would never understand. So I packed up the few things I owned into my old baby-blue pickup truck one morning, before anyone else was awake, and left. I left a note to Pa, telling him that I loved him and that I would call him when I got a chance. I remember the moment I left my town. 4:35 AM in July. That is how this story begins.

That is how I became a vagabond.

---

Looking back on my choices in those early months, I was a dummy for trusting the Internet as much as I did. I could've ended up dead or worse, but back then, that was my only support group for being gay. I knew that if I wanted to understand myself I needed to understand what it meant to _be_gay. I talked to my friends I made online, and one of them, a guy by the name of Nick, invited me to come stay awhile at his place in Boston.

I had never seen the ocean until I arrived in Boston, and I was like a kid in a candy store when I parked my truck that late summer afternoon at an old brownstone building. My ringed tail was tired--and extra messy after hours of being jammed between my butt and the car seat--so I flicked it to get the blood moving. I was told to come to this address by 3:00 PM. The clock in my truck now displayed 3:20 PM.

"Beau?" a voice said from outside the truck. I turned to see a young bobcat looking into the window. He wore an athletic pair of shorts and a fitted athletic t-shirt which clung to his body and showed off the lines of his muscles underneath. It was subtle, but it was clear that he wore it to show off a little. I smiled and got out of my truck.

"Yeah. Nick?" I offered my hand, which got Nick staring at it before pulling me into a nice, tight hug. I tensed up but slowly relaxed. Where I came from, you did not hug other guys so openly. I was worried someone would see.

"You made it! You get out of the country okay? You tired? How're you feeling? You should come in!"

The bobcat was shooting out words like a machine gun, a furball of energy with a bounce in his steps. His eyes twinkling like a pair of bright stars, the boy led me into the old building and up the stairs.

"Sorry I was a little late. I wanted to get a latte before you got here and then I got caught in a conversation with someone..."

"Heh," I laughed with a shrug as we kept going up and up. "You always miss my messages online, you know. Seems to be a thing with you Boston fellas."

"We definitely work by our own time, Ring Butt."

That was his nickname for me. We met in a chat group for people who weren't sure exactly what being gay really meant, but he seemed further along than I was. He was confident and proud, and I wished I could be as open as he was. I was still wearing baggy clothing over myself, worried that showing off would get me unwanted attention.

The bobcat opened the door to his small apartment and we stepped in.

"Welcome to home!" my host said, spreading his arms wide. "You can stay as long as you want. You said you were just passing through, but I hope you stay awhile. I could show you around."

The apartment had just one bedroom and a tiny front room. The kitchen was so small that I thought my Aunt Emma would've died in frustration had she needed to use it. The whole place was clean but also lived in--you could see a few dirty cups here and there, some books not so nicely arranged, dust on the shelf... signs that Nick took care of the place but wasn't going overboard on the cleaning.

"Thanks," I said as I put my backpack down. "I'd like that. I have some money if you want me to chip in--"

Nick vehemently shook his head. "Don't mention it! I got my scholarship. You're fine as long as you don't try to break my hospitality, you know?" He patted me jovially on the back. Opening the fridge, the bobcat got me a cold bottle of water.

Those first few hours were so awkward. Nick and I didn't know how to talk to one another. We were happy to see each other, sure, but we were embarrassed, too. We played it up and hid it by making jokes and acting like we were old friends. But in actuality, we didn't know all that much about each other. But we tried.

It wasn't until after we opened a few cans of cold beer did we finally, finally, start to relax. By then, the sun had set and the streetlights turned on. When I say that things had felt weird, I mean it. Even a game of Halo couldn't really get us to relax.

Looking back, I can guess why. Neither of us knew if this meeting would lead to sex. Neither of us really knew how to take the lead, and neither of us was sure what we wanted. If we had just talked about the awkward bits, things wouldn't have taken so long to finally get moving. But that's hindsight for you, 20/20.

We listened to soft music as we got more and more drunk, or at least more relaxed. I was being careful to not get too plastered, since I tended to fall asleep if I had too much alcohol in my system. I garnered enough courage to ask the question that had been burning on my mind since I left Cooper.

"So...Nick...you had any luck figuring out this gay stuff?"

Nick shrugged and sipped his beer. "Not really, no."

That surprised me. "Well, what's going on? Maybe I can help. Think of it like posting online."

"It's pretty boring."

"Hey, you're helping me out by letting me crash here. Least I can do is be a shoulder. No judgment."

That earned me a smile from the bobcat. He reached up and ran his hand through one of his cheek ruffs and exhaled slowly. "Well, the thing is...I'm into older men. By that, I mean I really like men who are old enough to be my dad. My dad, he ran out on me and my mom, so I never really had someone masculine in my life. That's why I like them, I think. I like being held and told I'm a good guy. It made me realize I was missing something in my life."

I nodded. Pa was always in my life, and while he was a quiet man he had always been the pinnacle of masculinity in my little world; he had taught me how to hunt and fix cars. We weren't close at all, but he taught me what, I believed at the time, was to be a man.

"But, Iunno. I came to art school here in Boston because it's more open than my hometown, but I'm still scared. I keep thinking: what if people make fun of me? What if I'm wrong about liking men? It's really confusing, Beau."

"Let me ask you this." I turned to face him, my beer almost empty now. "When you...you know..." I moved my hand up and down in a pumping motion. "Do you think about men? Women? Both?"

Nick blushed and looked down at his hands. His ears folded back against his head, swallowed hard, then quietly answered: "Men."

"Doesn't that clear it up?"

"No! It's different." He took a deep sigh. "There's this guy I met on a gay dating app, the one that the guys on the message boards are always using. He's a raccoon, like you. He was older than I expected--he's a professor of engineering--and can talk forever about science and the world. It's humbling, and I love it because it's like he has the whole world figured out. I tell him about some of the stuff going on and he has a story or an experience he shares with me and it's...it's nice to know I'm not the first to walk that path."

I nodded. My beer was finished and I felt tense, excited. We were onto something for Nick, I could feel it. This was also the longest verbal conversation I'd ever had about being gay. It felt dangerous and alive. I loved it.

"But I get these weird thoughts, like, what does he see in a kid like me? What will happen if we get together in a relationship? What about if he dies? He isn't ancient or even old, but he'll likely die before me--"

"Woah!" I held up my hand. "You're gettin' a little ahead of yourself, aren't ya? You said you weren't even dating and now you're imagining a life after his funeral. Calm down!"

"I don't know, Beau, I'm scared."

Nick's face said it all. He had been holding that in for so long, and I knew that fear. All the worries about being out about yourself--it was true and very real.

I flashed the warmest smile I could muster at my feline friend. "I'd like to meet him if at all possible, but I also know that you miss every swing you don't take. Nothing commits you to anything. But if you don't try, you'll never know and maybe even regret it."

My time in Boston started on an awkward friendship between two boys who didn't even know if they were really gay. But after that night, things changed for the both of us in slow but remarkable ways.

A couple days later, Nick introduced me to Professor Bensley, a raccoon with graying tail rings, a bit of a heavy set body, and a jolly laugh that made you want to laugh with him. As my bobcat friend said, he had a story to tell about everything. He was a fan of history and he told us all about Victorian England. Supposedly there had been a menace plaguing London going by the name Jack. I wanted to know more but Nick fell asleep, much to our laughter.

I stayed in Boston for a year. I had officially become Nick's roommate and paid my rent. I had a decent amount saved up from my life of not really needing to spend it, and I got a job downtown in a bookstore. I was never overwhelmed with cash, but I had enough to survive. When I look back on that year in Boston, I remember feeling so alive and so adult; that I could really be this way and everything would be fine.

Nick and I explored each other at first. Nick was my first kiss with a boy and I saw stars when our lips touched. It evolved from there, of course. I lost my virginity to him on a stormy night. It was awkward and funny, legs and limbs everywhere, but we laughed and had fun. I was worried, at the time, that I would have fallen for Nick when we had sex, but nothing more than a warm friendship ever developed. Besides, his heart belonged to someone else I would soon come to realize.

Professor Bensley and Nick started to date by the time I realized I needed to leave Boston. Everything was fine, of course, but Nick wanted to move in with the professor and I felt too comfortable here in Boston.

I knew I was gay, and I knew that I liked men, but I didn't know much about what it meant to be gay, including the goods and the bads. I wanted to meet and talk to more people who had different experiences from my own. While I could have lived in Boston for the rest of my life and been happy, I was still searching for something and I knew it wasn't there. So I packed up everything, once more, in my truck and set out on the road.

My friends stayed in touch after I left. Three years later, I found out that they got serious enough to get married. Nick was nervous, of course, but when I saw them again at their wedding, I knew they were still in love and would likely remain that way for a long, long time.

When Nick asked me to dance on the night of the wedding reception (during which a couple of guests whom I've never met before asked us if I was Bensley's son--which got an awkward chuckle out of all three of us), he leaned in and whispered something into my ear. Something I'll never forget and I want written down on these pages:

"Thanks for helping me take the swing."

---

I had no idea where I was going for a while and that was part of the adventure. I went around the United States, working odd jobs here and there. My down-to-earth country-boy side did me wonders when I had to rely on the kindness of strangers to let me work or show me where a boy like myself could sleep on the dime. I didn't meet many gay men in that period of my life, though honestly I was enjoying the trips and the sights and the people to really focus too much on finding other gay men.

That was, until Arizona, when I bumped into Claude.

Claude was someone I spoke to online when I was a kid, but we had grown distant. In my last year chatting with him regularly, the coyote said that he was having family problems and then stopped coming online as much. We still kept in touch though, usually an email every few months, but nothing specific about either of our lives--we chatted about the things we liked, like games and guys.

Truth be told, I knew he was out this way--Flagstaff, to be specific. But I didn't expect to actually find him. I wasn't going to impose on him either since I didn't know his life situation like I had Nick's, and I was honestly just treating Arizona as a rest stop on my way to California.

So when I bumped into the coyote at the diner, you had to believe we did that thing you see on TV; the stare and the look up and down...and then the happy embrace. We had exchanged many pictures over the years (yes, even those kinds of pictures) and so I knew him by looks alone--sandy-colored fur, ears tipped with light milk chocolate highlights, brighter wheat-colored highlights on his face under his eyes going down the length of his neck. He was handsome, and fit. He was wearing a fitted black muscle shirt that held to his upper body like it had been airbrushed on. Over his left pectoral was the logo for a mechanics shop, and he had an oily rag hanging out of his back pocket.

When I met Nick for the first time, there was that awkwardness between us, but the same didn't happen with Claude. The coyote was always warm, friendly, and cheerful. He had his arm around me and led me to the circular booth in the back of the diner.

"Dude, I can't believe you're here!" Claude said once we sat down in the booth, flashing one of his famous coyote grins. "You shoulda said something!"

"Ah," I rubbed the back of my head, embarrassed. "I didn't want to impose or nothin', you know? Plus we don't talk as much these days and I didn't know what was what..."

Claude reached over, grabbing me by the neck and pulling me in closer, looking me right in the eyes. "Beau. You've seen me naked, I think you can ask if you can visit."

I laughed and shrugged. "You got a couch to surf on?"

"You think I was going to let you stay at the hotel? No way. You're bunking with me. How long are you here for?"

"Not sure. Don't want to impose too long."

And like that Claude and I picked up right where we left off. Claude filled me in on why he went M.I.A. for a while:

"Folks didn't take well to me coming out. They were...okay at first, but things kept building and building, you know? But I stuck around for a bit, tolerating it, thinking it was just them coming to grips with what had changed--though really nothing changed.

"It got worse, actually. Every problem in the house was my fault: it was my fault my Mom wouldn't have grandkids, it was my fault we couldn't go to family gatherings, it was my fault for global warming...I swear, they found things to blame me for. Like not mowing the lawn when it was snowing...can you believe that? I think my Dad just wanted to scream at me for being gay.

"So eventually, I had to say goodbye to them. It hurt, honestly. I mean...they're my parents, and I knew they loved me...in some twisted, awful way they probably thought they were helping...but nothing I said worked. Nothing I did was fine.

"I found my Mom snooping on my computer one morning, and that was it. I left with just my car, my wallet, and some clothes in a backpack and ended up here in Flagstaff.

"It was hell, man. I'm sorry I didn't keep in touch more back then, but I was so depressed and going through so much. They tried following me, stalking me on social media, so I went dark. I didn't have the energy and I didn't want to talk about it...so I kinda stopped talking to a lot of people, including you."

I found myself frowning. "Claude, you don't have to apologize. That sounds rough. I can't imagine..."

"Hey!" Claude interrupted my sympathy speech and perked his ears up. "You wanna meet my boyfriends?"

My mouth hung open. "Um...boyfriends?"

Claude was in a polyamorous relationship. The three of them (he and his two boyfriends, to be specific) shared a house tucked between some really tall green trees and rocks. The house was old but looked well-maintained.

The coyote gleefully led me inside, cupped his hands over his muzzle, and yelled: "GUYS! I'M HOME! C'MERE!!"

There was the sound of heavy feet falling as two men came rushing to the front door, one rubbing an eye like he had just woken up from a nap and the other dressed handsomely in a nice pair of jeans and a polo shirt.

"Beau, let me introduce you to my boyfriends, Jason and Miles. Jay, Mi, this is my old internet friend Beau. You know, the raccoon who was an ace in Ring Masters RX?"

The two men were around my age. The sleepy one was a black panther wearing a tanktop and a pair of sky blue briefs. Once he stopped yawning and looked at me, I could see that he had a pair of the most handsome violet eyes. "Hey, I'm Miles. Claude talks about you when he's missing his old gaming days."

The other boyfriend, Jason, was a white wolf. He was fit but lean, like a muscular swimmer. He had dyed his fur tips red on his head and his ears so it looked like he was being bathed in red light all the time. He smiled and pulled me into a hug.

"Jason's a hugger," Claude said with a laugh.

"I...Can...Tell...!" I pretended to wheeze.

This was my first encounter with a poly relationship. I was incredibly curious but also wary about picking through their lives and asking weird questions. So, for the first week of living with them, I mostly just watched. The trio had a special dynamic, and it was interesting to see how they equally cared about and focused on each other sometimes. They seemed to be aware that they needed private time just as much as group time.

It wasn't until one morning, when I was making some eggs in the kitchen and the other three sat at the dining room table, that Claude chuckled with a piece of toast in his muzzle. "You're being too polite, Beau."

"About what?"

Jason giggled a little as he poured himself some orange juice. "I can't believe he's lasted this long."

I dropped the finished eggs on four separate plates, brought them on the table, and looked at the two with an innocent tilt of my head. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"You watch us like you're studying us," the white wolf said, reaching for his plate. "Yet you don't ask any questions. I get the respect but we're friends here."

And thus, the floodgates were open.

"Okay, so how does it work?" I asked as soon as I sat down at the table.

"You mean the three of us?" Claude answered. "We just love each other, and we're aware of each other. I care for them equally, and they care for me too. We don't branch off. We really need each other, and we all fill a gap that none of us could really fill before."

"Were you guys dating and then invited a third or...?"

It was Miles's turn to shake his head. "We were friends. Local gay bar downtown. We got close, became roommates eventually, and found that we all just clicked. I wanted more from both of them and it turned out they wanted the same. We talked about it one night--"

"After sex."

"Jason!" Miles growled at his interrupter, then shook his head. "Yes...after sex. We decided to give it a shot. Going on three years now."

"And your feelings never get hurt?"

"Sure they do," Jason added. "But that happens in regular relationships, too. If you mean whether we get jealous of one another if I see Miles and Claude go off and be romantic, then--nope. I'm comfortable with our relationship and how we are to one another. I know that they aren't trying to push me out, and that they just want to enjoy each other. We pair off from time to time, and it lets the third person get some alone time. But it's not that often. We really like being together."

"What do you tell people in town?"

"Roommates," Claude said with his trademark coyote grin. "Most people around here are fine that we're gay, but the poly stuff can weird them out, so we just keep our lives private. If someone gets close to us, they generally figure it out. Hell, I'm sure the town knows already."

"But how do you maintain it? Isn't it hard?"

"All relationships are hard, silly," Jason laughed. "The key is the corny thing you probably already know: communication. We talk about anything that may be bothering us about the whole thing, and we work it out. Usually those issues are just misunderstandings or someone needing more attention. We also don't judge."

"You judged me when I wore that yellow shirt to the club two months ago."

"Someone had to," Claude said. "But you still looked good in it."

Flagstaff offered me a huge learning experience. The three-way lovers, or throuple as they were actually called, told me to be open about my questions. I did, and they answered honestly.

I learned during the trip that love is not a one-to-one ratio but can be split in many directions. And with a lot of work and dedication, you can maintain those bonds, even if society tells you to fuck off because you're different.

I think of my sojourn in Flagstaff as the time when I really embraced the gay culture in a way that I couldn't in Boston. These were men who were beginning to settle in, didn't want or need to go out all the time and party (though they absolutely still did), and were developing their lives. The thing that struck me was that they were just so happy all the time. It wasn't fake, either. You could tell that they had found the people who they wanted to be with, and they were genuinely loving every moment of it.

They also took me under their wing, so to speak. Jason showed me how to really dress if I wanted to attract guys. He brought me to the mall many times and had me try on all kinds of clothes, even stuff I would never have worn back home. For the first time in my life, I felt sexy and desired beyond just the people I knew online.

That was the part of my life I found men at the gay clubs and spent nights with them. Not all the time, not every night, but I was flirting, looking for someone to develop a relationship with, and I was enjoying the sex. It was a kind of freedom I didn't have in Boston, where I was so scared to be on my own in a gay club that I had stuck to Nick like glue. But here, I had gone out many times when the boys didn't want to, and I didn't come home until the next morning. It was in Flagstaff that I realized I could be more than just a gay kid--I could be a gay man and thrive with that kind of life.

I spent two years there. I was happy, but I was also alone. I never had a serious relationship, and once again, I had felt the pull of something more.

I yearned to see more. So I was back on the road to continue my journey as a vagabond.

When I left Arizona, I was not the neophyte who had driven in looking for scrambled eggs and bacon. I had more experience, more confidence, and a better understanding of who I was and what I wanted.

Claude, Jason, and Miles were together for the rest of their lives. I went to their wedding and--sadly--their funerals. I miss them dearly as I consider them the men who really showed me what I could get in life if I pushed for it. But when I feel sad about their passing, I remember how happy they were and what joy they brought to the people around them.

I look at their picture every night before I go to bed, remembering these friends who gave me so much and asked for nothing in return.

---

Coming out of the closet and embracing yourself is harder than most people think. Sure, back when I was a kid, things were definitely improving, but what about the men before my generation? I was about to get a history lesson in what it meant to be a homosexual the decades prior.

After leaving Arizona, I went where everyone on a wandering journey around America inevitably goes--California. I had thought about going to Hollywood and seeing the things I'd only seen on TV, but something pulled me up the highway and I soon found myself in the historical city of San Francisco, a place where LGBTQIA+ people had been flocking to for decades.

First things first, of course, I did the touristy things. Going to Alcatraz, seeing the Golden Gate, eating the wonderful food in the Mission District, going to Sutro Tower... One by one, I checked off the list of all the stuff I needed to do as a tourist before I sank my teeth into the meat of the city.

I didn't really know anyone in this area, so I put my name out on a few message boards. A man saw my post requesting for a place to crash and reached out. We decided to meet up at a local coffee shop.

He was an older tiger. Not "old" as...you know...but he was definitely not someone I would have sought out to be friends with back then. I was so superficial in those days, I'm sorry.

The tiger was still good-looking--a man who kept up with his time at the gym, but you could see the years starting to work him over. His eyes looked a little tired and his body did not have that svelte feline grace you would expect, though I did observe some muscles rippling under that orange fur. He was wearing a nice button up shirt and a vest with green rimmed glasses. When he stood up from the table, he towered over me, holding out his giant hand to shake mine.

"Beau?" His voice was warm and smooth. He smiled down at me with a charm I did not expect.

"That's me. You're Arnold?" I kept feeling my eyes wanting to drift over his body. This man was old enough to be my Pa, but he was attractive! I was almost scared about that, but also somewhat thrilled. Until now no one had shown interest in me besides men hovering around my age. This was uncharted territory.

"Guilty as charged," the tiger said and motioned to the table. "I took the liberty of ordering you some coffee. My treat."

"Thanks." I sat down, wrapping my fingers around the steaming cup of coffee that was admittedly some of the best I'd ever had.

I explained to him about my "adventure" and that I was looking to stay in the city for an indeterminate amount of time. He said that was fine and even offered to help me find a job. He worked up in Mountain View making video games. I realized then that this man had money. I was a little surprised he wanted to take some riff raff in, but I was not going to turn a blind eye to kindness.

"The house may be a bit much compared to most places here, but just know that I am not one of those snobs."

Arnold led me into his house that was set into a hill overlooked the city. It had large windows with expensive-looking sofas and artwork. The house looked old on the outside but was glamorous and new on the inside. Arnold seemed to be giddy with showing me how everything in the home could be controlled with a touchscreen hidden into the walls all over the house. He was a real tech guy and his den was a testament to that passion.

There was a long workbench with various computers, monitors and shelves of games and other video game paraphernalia. A large light set into the ceiling shone the room with muted coloring, illuminating curved sofas that all faced inwards, not outwards. On the wall were VR goggles and controllers, complete with full-body and facial tracking devices.

He showed me a recording he had made in VR of an avatar--a blue colored tiger--wielding a giant sword. The movements were crisp and fluid.

"I made the hardware for this tech and I've been refining the code," he explained. "It's on the market now but this stuff is a prototype that I'm working on. It's not great but it's going to be something major one day, just you wait."

Arnold was humble. When I was able to look him up on my phone, I found the man was one of those souls who came around once in a generation. He didn't care about money or fame but wanted to give something to the world and push his knowledge as far as he could while still having fun. He was bashful about showing off, though, acting like he would be scolded for it. I made it my mission to make time for him if he wanted to show me something. He was letting me live here rent-free, after all.

Weeks went on and I found myself loving the gay culture in San Francisco. It was diverse and broad with all kinds of people from all walks of life. I learned something about our history, such as Harvey Milk, and the AIDS epidemic of the 80's, and started to realize that the men before us had been through a lot.

Arnold was reserved but also incredibly friendly. He never wanted to go out to the bars or the clubs with me, which I did offer. But when he wanted to go out to dinner and I was home, he always invited me, and it was always his treat. He wasn't trying to romance me, I could tell that from the beginning--it was something else.

The man was lonely.

It took months for him to open up to me about his life, and even then it was incredibly difficult to get more than a mumble out of him initially. He seemed embarrassed, but it all came to a head when there was a knock on the front door one Sunday morning. When I answered the door, I saw a young tiger about my age standing there. He looked surprised--which I can't blame them for, since they expected a tiger and instead saw a raccoon greeting them at the door--but quickly recovered.

"Hey, is Arnold here?"

"Yeah," I said, but secretly thinking, What was Arnold doing inviting someone home that was my age? He never had guests besides the odd friend from work and his Dungeons and Dragons group every other Saturday (he had roped me into the game and I quickly became a fan).

"Wait!" Arnold shouted as he came running down the corner, panting and holding the wall. He grunted. "Drat. I was trying to get to the door before you, Beau."

The younger tiger muscled passed me and walked up to Arnold, hugging him tightly. "Hey Dad!"

My ringed tail puffed and I stood there staring at the embracing tigers with saucers-like eyes. Arnold blushed deeply by this revelation about the young tiger. I smiled politely and shook my head. "No sweat, Arnie. I was in the middle of something anyway."

I left the father and son alone. The son, Arthur, stuck around for hours, during which I heard them having fun in the game room. I wanted to join in but thought it would be impolite to barge in, so I let the family have their time and stayed in my room--or the bedroom I was borrowing. It wasn't until Arthur left that Arnold knocked on my door.

"Hey," he said as he stepped in. "Can we talk?"

"Arnie, you don't have to tell me anything." I watched the tiger twitch his tail nervously, frowning. "But you're still my friend and I don't, you know, think anything less about you, if you're worried about that."

Arnold turned to leave with his hands in his neatly-pressed pants pockets but stopped, shook his head, and came back inside. He sat on a chair and faced me. "I think I'm...okay to talk about it."

I listened politely as Arnold took a deep breath.

"Arthur is one year older than you, give or take a month or two. I have two other sons, Andrew and Aiden. Triplets. The other two are probably going to stop by sometime this month as well, just so you know. I...well, it was a different time back then, Beau."

I tilted my head. "You mean...because you had a wife and kids?"

Arnold nodded solemnly. "When...when I was a younger man, being gay was almost the same as being a criminal. People thought I could go about abusing children, that I stalked schools and wanted to only satisfy my deviancy. You heard it everywhere you went--there wasn't anything like the Internet in those days, no online message boards and communities, not big ones anyway. I had no one to talk to. So I convinced myself I was not gay and I swallowed everything about what made me who I was and met my wife."

Arnold smiled as his eyes unfocused and seemed to be looking at something across time. "She was a great woman, you know? We got along so well at work. We were best friends, she could finish my sentences and I hers. I loved her, and I still do love her, but...not in the way that matters. We endured and got married. I remember I was so nervous on my wedding night. I was a true blue virgin, if you can believe it. I think that's why I was able to finish, I was so excited that it didn't last long. But I remember thinking that something didn't feel right."

I had never slept with a woman before so I didn't know what the point of reference was. I knew that gay men who had slept with women said that it felt fine but also off, like it wasn't meant for them. I think that's what Arnold was trying to tell me.

"Still, I pushed on. We didn't have sexual relations often, and most of the time I would lose my ability, if you know what I mean, and at first she was okay with it. When we had the boys we were both so busy with taking care of three boys and our careers that I had an out. I had done my fatherly duties and had children, but I could tell she wanted me to be more romantic, more loving, and I didn't know how to fulfill that. I was supportive and kind but...I never got the desire to bring her flowers or chocolates, or swoon her. She knew I was attracted to men, she had known since before we got married, and I think she was starting to realize how true it was."

The older tiger plucked his glasses from his face and wiped his eyes.

"Things quickly deteriorated between us. I was trying to find any excuse to not go home or work over time. I had finally worked up the courage to go to the gay neighborhood, the Castro one night...and Beau, my world opened up to me."

I watched as Arnold's face lit up like the sun. "I met a guy at a bar...oh gosh, a lion, I think. Swept me off my feet. I felt drawn to him like a magnet, and that night I cheated on my wife and my vows. But it had been the most liberating moment of my young life, Beau. I left feeling so good and so awful. I kept it all inside and kept sneaking away, spending time away from my young family because I was finally feeling like myself."

"That's not a bad thing, Arnie," I said softly.

The tiger lifted his hand to shush me politely. "I'm sure she knew. She endured it for more than anyone should have, and I was not careful about my infidelity. Lord knows I should have been, though."

"What do you mean?"

"Back then, there was the AIDS epidemic, but no one really called it that. Hell, no one really knew what it was, but it was killing gay men at a rapid rate. Back then, sex was a lot more free and a lot less keen on the idea of sexual protection. I slept around with reckless abandon and I was an idiot for it. I had tried to sleep with my wife several times while I cheated on her and realized that, if I had been infected, I could have gotten her sick, too. Thankfully that never came around."

Arnold swallowed hard. "Beau, that time was an awful period to be gay. Especially here. On one hand you felt liberated because you felt like you could be yourself, be free, but...oh god, Beau, so many of my friends got sick and died. I've been to more funerals than I want to count. I watched good men--wonderful men--die slowly, painfully, and above all...alone. When these men were sick and dying in the hospitals, the nurses didn't want to go near them and their families abandoned them."

The man was openly crying now, tears forming a moist train on the fur of his face.

"I lost so many good people, and I was hurting a woman who was my friend. Eventually it all came crashing down around me and she left me, took our boys, and moved to Santa Cruz. She never blamed it on me being gay, but I had broken our family by not trying harder, or so I thought. On top of all this, my friends were sick or dying if not dead. I didn't know who to turn to, who to talk to, I considered suicide more than once, Beau.

"It took me years to come around. I hated being gay. I hated that I lost my family, and that my friends were dying, and that society didn't like me... So I tried hard not to be. I shut my heart down, and while I was able to function, I wasn't living. I realized that I had cut myself off from feeling things because I was so scared to be hurt. I've worked hard to undo that barrier, but it's still up, I'm sure you can tell. I don't talk about myself a lot and I don't...really know how to be around other gay men like I used to."

Arnold stared at me with tears streaming down his face, but he was smiling. "When I saw your ad, I thought this might be a great opportunity for me to just let the barriers come down completely. You have the chance to be yourself in a society that doesn't hate gay men like they did in mine. I'm envious and I admit to living this new life vicariously through you, to some degree. But you being here, Beau, has been rewarding for me in so many ways. I should have told you about my boys, but I was afraid you would look down on me if you found out I had shunned being who I was."

I quietly scooted over, put my arms around Arnold, and hugged him tightly and close. He buried his face into my shoulder and I felt him sob.

"I don't judge people like that," I said, "and I'm so sorry you were, Arnold." Pretty soon I could also feel myself shedding tears at the thought of how much the man must have suffered. I had no idea that good, kind people like Arnold could struggle with being gay well into middle age. I had no idea that it could hurt them so much. I realized now that I was very lucky that I had mostly positive experiences. Arnold was wounded and he needed someone to help him heal. He was pleading for my help.

After that day, we became very close. At my urging, he went to see a therapist but said he would only go if I went with him. He started following me out of the house more (though he said the clubs were too loud) and having a good time. One night while walking through downtown, he stopped me and kissed me on the lips.

At first I wasn't sure what to make of the kiss, but I liked it. I realized then that I wanted someone like Arnold in my life, someone wise and mature who could help guide me through my troubles. My own Pa was never so involved in my life and knew nothing about being gay. I realized, when our lips touched, that we both needed each other for different but wonderful reasons. As we walked home that night, his striped tail reached around and intertwined with my ringed one.

We became romantically involved from then on. Until then I never thought I would see myself with someone older, but I liked it. It made me think of Nick and his professor, but it was different with us--I think we were pulled closer because of need rather than pure sexual attraction. Days spent with him were sometimes wild, sometimes funny, but always wholesome. Arnold never did figure out how to use TikTok.

That period of growth and learning was, admittedly, the first time in my life that I felt content. I just wish it could have lasted longer.

Arnold passed away seven years later. He went in his sleep and didn't suffer. Losing him hurt me in ways I didn't expect, but I knew that this was the reality of dating someone so much older than me.

The tiger left me his home and a rather surprising amount of money. I'm in the house right now, typing away, sitting at the desk that used to be his. Arnold never bought cheap furniture.

That, my dear reader, is something I wanted to share with you--that being gay isn't about rainbows and corporate icons, but rather, it's about people. Our history is often overshadowed or omitted, so there is always so much more to tell. Every person who comes out of the closet to be themselves and go against what society may expect of them will face some trial, some tribulation. Each journey is different. Each journey is precious.

I was fortunate back then as a hatchling, and today, I'm damned lucky to be as old as I am. I met wonderful people in my life who helped me figure out the question that was always on my mind since I was a teenager:

What does it mean to be gay?

Even after all these years, after all these experiences--listening to people sharing their lives, meeting new men, marrying my late husband when I was almost Arnold's age at the time we first met--I still can't tell you what it means.

But if I can impart one kernel of wisdom, it's that pain goes away and joy always comes back.

So, go ahead and take flight. There's still much to be discovered, my dear vagabond.

-- Beaumont "Beau" Jeune