The three of us took a house on Fire Island that summer of ‘78. We couldn’t afford The Pines with the A Gays so we bedded down in Cherry Grove, which was cheaper and closer to the bars and discos.
We were friends so we divided two bedrooms and a couch amicably on a rotating basis. If we hit it lucky and we’re due to sleep on the couch, we could negotiate.
But one night, perhaps inevitably, Jimmy and I came home alone. Brett was spending the night elsewhere.
Jim looked at me. I looked at him. He was drunk enough to ask, and I was drunk enough to say yes. When we woke up sober and in each others arms, it still seemed like a good idea so we kept at it in the City and weekends back on the Island Long. Before summer’s end, we were officially each others boyfriend.
Brett always said it was because of him and, in a way, I guess it was.