There’s a First Time For Everything

by Beau Gheale

“Hey! I rode my bike to work today too.”

The charming man behind the counter at the coffee shop had never talked to me like that before. He must have seen me ride up that day.

He showed me his fingerless leather gloves that looked more suited to getting into a fistfight than riding a bicycle.

“Yeah, yeah,” I said. “Talk to me when you ride a real bicycle.”

He surprised me, saying, “Oh, I ride a Cannondale mountain bike. What did you think I meant, that I ride a motorcycle?”

I was stunned. I had literally thought I was the only bike commuter in Cleveland in the 1990s. And here was another one standing in front of me.

“Hey, we should hang out sometime,” he continued. “Wanna come over for a beer tonight?”

That day contained many firsts for me. I was eighteen years old. He was twenty-six. Nobody had ever previously found it attractive that I rode a bike — quite the opposite, actually. While I more or less knew I was interested in it, I had never had queer sex before. In line at the coffee shop, though, I explained the whole thing away to be nothing. He was probably just being friendly to the other cyclist. He was too old to be coming on to me. He was too hot to be interested in me.

But when I rode over to his house later, he brought my bike inside and handed me a beer even though he wasn’t drinking. His apartment was small, so we sat in his bedroom. He quickly took an overt approach to his quest that night. Pretty soon I had the entirely new experience of kissing an unshaven man. And before long, we were disrobing. He was uncircumcized. That was another first. He didn’t last very long. I just wanted to keep on going all night and sleep curled up next to him in his bed. But he politely asked me to go home less than an hour after he came. He barely even walked me to my bike.

He ignored me when I saw him at his work for the next few weeks. But I went on to date two of his co-workers, so perhaps I got the last laugh.
This incident was formative for me in understanding seduction, my own homosexuality, social cues, and personal responsibility. If I had been older and more experienced I’d have realized that while the guy was hot, he had little game or savvy. He was a selfish creep with a nice smile.

But what are first times for if not regret, awkward moments, and memories that make you want to bury your face in your palm as you recall the details.

You know what, though? I still think bikes are hot. And while they don’t involve my personal sexuality quite so much anymore, I’m glad I learned that I can appreciate a good-looking cyclist across the way...without having to sleep with them. And that’s an important part of growing up.

— Beau Gheale

These stories originally appeared in Taking the Lane #7: Bikesexuality.

Feature image by Matt Queen

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