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Used to be, when I was asked when I knew I was gay, I’d pop off with a glib, “The first time I saw Gene Kelly’s ass.” And it wasn’t far wrong. I happened onto a Saturday afternoon showing of On The Town on TV – just about the time he meets up with Miss Turnstiles and they do their little duet – and got locked onto him and his derriere in that white sailor suit...and never once looked back. 

 But reality is, that was merely the first time I understood what it was I wanted in life. The first time I knew that I wasn’t like the other guys was when I went on a camping trip with my Boy Scout troop.I was a Second Class about two or three badges short of being First Class, and I’d been part of this troop at my church for a year. 

Which was pretty good for just being twelve and having lived in five different cities in the previous four years. 

 I didn’t like it much. Wasn’t really one of the guys. And camping was pure boredom. Though I didn’t mind sitting around a late night campfire telling ghost stories – it being in Texas, everybody knew at least three, and since I’d lived in England I knew five. But sleeping under the stars was uncomfortable and I never got the hang of cooking in the wild. 

 Then one weekend we went on a hike to stay overnight along the Guadalupe Rive, near New Braunsfels. A damn had recently been completed and a lake would soon cover this large section of gullies and ravines with ice cold spring water, an area saturated with towering Cedar Trees and bubbling brooks and limestone cliffs, and my first thought at seeing it was, “What a shame to fill it in with water.”

 It was an June weekend, the time of year where the air surrounds you in a blanket of stillness. A rain the night before added to the humidity, so by the time we reached our chosen camp site, we were dripping with sweat and near heat exhaustion. So the leader of our troop said, “Let’s drop everything and hit the water.” 

 Took the other guys no time to become a dozen tweens in shorts and trunks splashing around in a pool shaded by ancient Pecan trees. Wrestling. Swimming. Making noise. 

 Thing is, I couldn’t swim, so couldn’t join them. Not that it mattered; I was transfixed by a simple series of rapids and tiny waterfalls gurgling past at breakneck speed. So I sat and watched twigs and leaves race by like little boats and pretended they were jumping over Niagara Falls. 

 Now, we also had assistant scout master, who was a young Airman with a wife and who was about to be a father. He was around 6 feet tall with dark hair, tight and trim, and with tanned skin. I'd thought he was very good-looking, and he was really nice to me. Very patient, like when he showed me for the tenth time how to do a simple square knot. As I said, I really didn't understand why I thought that, at the time. I was just focused on how wonderful his hands were, and I wanted to sketch them, sometime. So I thought I was just being artistic. 

 Well...he joined our party by standing on a rock at the top of the rapids cascade. Straight and proud. Broad shoulders. Trim hips. Legs to die for. His elegant form framed by deep green trees, slashes of white rock and clear blue sky. Water splashing around his ankles. His hands on his hips as he surveyed the majesty of the area. And all he was wearing was a bright red, square cut Speedo. 

 I looked up and saw him and my heart nearly stopped. He was like Adonis descended from Olympus, with that perfect body, a smile that outshone the sun and RayBans shielding his eyes. 

He was such a complete vision of Steve McQueen cool, I actually cried out, "Mr. Prescott, you're gorgeous." 

 My voice echoed off the rocks. And everyone heard it. And it got very quiet.But all Mr. Prescott did was look at me...and smile...and say, "Thank you." Nothing more. 

 At that moment, I would have killed to be held by him. 

 The rest of the camping trip was me being teased as a girl with a crush by the other boys, but never when he was in earshot. Then when we got back to the church, the scout master took me to one side and told me I should leave the troop because, "We know how uncomfortable you must feel, here, because we feel uncomfortable, too."

 I shrugged. I was never going to gain First Class status in Scouting because I couldn’t swim, and you had to have that badge to advance.Of course, my parents were informed. They shrugged it off as being something he'll grow out of.

But I’d caught my first real glimpse of how the world treats those not straight and simple. Still didn't understand what I was thinking or feeling, but now there was a stain on it and I didn't know how to end that.

 I didn't see Mr. Prescott, again, after that. He was transferred to California, and not long after his wife brought a new little boy into the world. All the ladies in the church were buzzing like crazy, about it. 

 I got depressed, when I heard. I knew I'd never see him, again.

 I do still conjure him up, sometimes, standing on that rock like the kingly gentleman he was. And still, sometimes...sometimes, when I dream of that day, I hold him...and he holds me…and nothing more.

 And for those few moments, I feel whole.