Me
and Bill, My Story…
It was the fall of 1962…. probably around August or September I believe. A couple of months earlier, a new ‘gay bar’ had opened called ‘Ida’s Inn’ out on the east side of Stockton, California. (That’s where I lived between age 13 and 29). The owner was a lesbian named Peggy. She and her lover Terri ran the place together. Peggy was in her 50’s and had a curvature of the spine, which gave her the appearance of having a hump on her left shoulder. Peggy was a nice lady and all the gays liked her. Terri was a little too ‘piss-elegant’ and was ‘tolerated’ for Peggy’s sake. It was a beer and wine tavern that had previously been a hang out for the University of the Pacific students. It only took a couple visits for them to figure out that this was now a ‘faggot’ watering hole! Although, several of the ‘jocks’ continued to frequent the place and appeared to have a good time. (Closet queens I expect). Anyway, I had a great time there myself and became a regular patron. Peggy hired a bartender named Chuck Stockton who had previously worked at another gay bar out in the delta just Northeast of town. I had met Chuck there and we had had a brief ‘affair’ some months earlier. We just weren’t compatible as lovers and instead, became lifelong friends. The place started to get jumpin’ on the weekends and Peggy approached me with a job offer. Well, I leaped at the chance! Bartenders, especially in a gay bar, generally had the ‘pick-of-the-crop’ and that was fine with me. I was having a ball.
Suddenly, and without
warning, Peggy became critically ill and was hospitalized.
I went to visit her and she gave me a note with her son Bills name and
place of work on it. No one had
even known (until then) that she had a son.
He was a bartender in the cocktail lounge of the Stockton Hotel,
downtown. The note asked that I
contact him and inform him of his mother’s condition, which of course I did. I went that evening and as luck would have it, he was
working. Upon entering, I had asked
the cocktail waitress to point him out and was pleased to find he was a
‘babe’! About 5’9” tall,
dark curly hair, and a ‘killer’ smile.
Looking back, I ‘m sure that it was at that moment that I fell in love
with him. I sat and talked with him
for a couple of hours…it was a slow night so we weren’t interrupted much by
customers. He said that he and his
mother were not on very good terms because he couldn’t accept that she was a
lesbian. At the end of the
conversation he agreed to visit her the next day.
He only got to see her that one time because she passed away two days
later. He never revealed what took
place during that final meeting though, but I think they forgave and forgot
their past disagreements.
Bill was her sole heir
so the bar reverted to him, lock-stock-and-barrel.
At first, he wanted to close the place and put it up for sale and be rid
of it. However, his real estate
agent told him that the market was at an all time low, especially taverns.
He asked Chuck and me to stop by the bar and have a ‘confab.
He told us about the plan to sell the place but had been advised to keep
it open until a buyer was found. At least it would be bringing in money to cover
the overhead in the meantime. He
asked us if we would consider staying on and helping him run the place, which we
agreed to. There was a small,
2-room apartment in the rear of the bar and after I helped him dispose of
Peggy’s belongings, he moved in. Terri
had been thoroughly ‘plucked’ because Peggy had left everything to Bill,
except for a small insurance policy naming Terri as beneficiary.
I think it was only about $5,000.00.
She split for Texas without so much as a ‘fair-the-well to anyone. Good riddance!
At first, business was
pretty slow because the crowd had heard of Bill’s plan to sell the place and
close it. Plus, he was
‘straight’ and most felt he would turn the place into a redneck bar.
He and I hit had it off from the beginning, and soon we were spending a
lot of time together.
As is the case with
gays, word soon spread that Bill and I were an ‘ITEM’!
In no time at all, the place was once again busier than ever. Of course with the money rolling in, Bill was
‘happy-as-a-clam’, to be sure. After
closing, one especially busy Saturday night, Bill and I sat alone at the bar
tallying up the nights receipts when he said he wanted to ask me something.
He wondered what had happened to bring the crowed back in after having
avoided the place at first? I told
him that rumor had it that we were lovers which made everyone feel more
comfortable. He thought about that for a bit then said..”Well, if it’s
OK with you, why not let them keep on thinking that”?
I told him that I had no problem with that at all.
What he didn’t know (at the time) was that I had a mad, passionate
crush on him. He was a doll!
He was a ‘ski-bum’ and spent each ski season in Aspen, Colorado as a
ski instructor at the ‘Snowchase Lodge’.
I was a ‘mess’ over him.
We became inseparable, spending our leisure time together as well as work
time. We often went to ‘after-hours’ parties together and were
lovingly referred to as…”the happy couple”.
There had not been anything ‘sexual’ between us however, (much to MY
despair)!
One night, a really
‘hot’ martial-arts instructor came into the bar and started ‘hitting’ on
me. He hung around until the last
of the ‘queens’ had finally staggered out the door so I could close.
He pulled me down on the couch and started undoing my clothes…I
hadn’t had sex for several weeks and was more then ready.
At that moment, Bill came out of the back room into the bar and seeing
what was taking place…told the guy to ‘hit-the-road’!
After the guy left, Bill turned to me and said, “let’s make the rumor
a fact, alright”? I said, “
what are you saying Bill, that you want us to be ‘lovers’? He replied, “exactly”!
I said, “but Bill,
in order to be ‘lovers’, we would be having sex…to which he replied,
“yes, I know”.
Well kiddies, yours
truly was aghast and agape, to say the least.
He walked into the back room and left me to finish turning out the lights
in the bar. He called for me to
come there, so I left what I was doing and went into his room.
He was lying on the bed, naked. Again
I say, “what a babe’! He told
me to get undressed and to join him. I
think it took me all of three seconds to strip and stretch out next to him.
I was honestly nervous and excited at the same time.
He took me in his arms and pulled me close to him…
I’m not going into detail over what took place that night; it’s much
too personal. All I can say is that
it was the most beautiful experience of my life.
I was in love.
Bill was basically
‘straight’ but did admit to having experimented a little with a gay man who
lived in Aspen. “It wasn’t very
enjoyable though”, he said. With
me, on the other-hand, he loved every minute of it!!!
Hallalulla! Was I in 7th
heaven or what? With the
consummation of our lover relationship, we embarked upon a new and wonderful
time in our lives. The next few months were glorious…each new day filled with
the joy of simply being together.
Then, in April of
’93, tragedy struck…my father and his 7 year old nephew were on their way to
my uncle Willy’s cattle ranch in Farmington, when a Cadillac ran a stop sign
slamming into my dad’s car. The
Cadillac was traveling at a high rate of speed so the impact was horrendous.
Back then, seat belts were not taken seriously as they are today and
neither my dad or Buryl were wearing theirs.
My father was thrown 65’ down the highway and Buryl was thrown 90’
into a field. Both sustained
massive injuries to the head, leaving them both in comas. Buryl died 5 days after the accident. Within two weeks, it was determined that my dad would be a
vegetable from then on. He remained
in a coma for eighteen months. My
mother had suffered a nervous breakdown a couple of years before and had spent
months in a mental hospital. With this tragedy to face, she was teetering on the
brink of a relapse at any moment. All
during this time, Bill was a tower of strength for me. Had it not been for him, I would have flipped out.
I was just 23 at that time, and Bill was 25.
Neither of us had had much experience with personal tragedy, except for
the death of my beloved grandfather, and Bill’s recent loss of his mother.
By the fall of ’94,
Bill had sold the bar and it was time for him to head for Aspen.
He told me that he wanted me to join him as soon as I could. He would get us a place and have everything ready for me when
I got there. For the first 3 or 4
months, he called me every day. My
father in a coma and my mother in bad shape psychologically, I was trapped.
I was an only child and just couldn’t leave under the circumstances.
After awhile, the phone calls began to come less and less frequently.
He begged me to come and be with him, but I just couldn’t leave.
Not with things the way they were. Finally,
the calls stopped. I was
devastated. My dad passed away in
June of ’96…on his 45th birthday.
My friend Chuck and I tried many times to locate Bill, but he had simply
dropped out of sight. I did learn
that he had been on the ski-patrol in Heavenly Valley, California for a time but
had left without a forwarding address.
It was at that time
that my drinking escalated. I spent
many a night drinking, and crying over my lost love. Anger, depression and
loneliness were my constant companions. Booze
became my ‘friend’!
The lawsuit following
the accident, along with my dad’s life insurance, left my mom and me a livable
trust income. Of course I continued to work most of the time, so we got along
fairly well. I had stopped looking for ‘love’ after Bill disappeared, and
took to filling my leisure hours in the pursuit of SEX!
Whenever a ‘trick’ started getting serious, I dropped him like the
proverbial, ‘hot potato’. The
part of me that was capable of loving, had died when I lost Bill.
You see, if he and I had broken up in anger, or had simply fallen out of
love…I could have accepted that. Even
the death of you lover can be accepted because death is a fact of life. But, to
lose someone they way I lost Bill, because
of uncontrollable circumstances, leaves one in a dazed and confused
state.
It has been over 40
years since I lost Bill, and my love for him is just as strong today as it was
then.
In 1971, I met a guy
named Richard that would ultimately change my life.
He not only changed it…he nearly destroyed it!
He was 6’6”tall, handsome and charming.
I was 31 and in the gay world, on the brink of being ‘over- the-
hill’. Fearing a lifetime of
loneliness, I let myself become ‘involved’ with him.
We dated ‘steadily’ for a time and one day he said, “what say we be
lovers”? I didn’t love him, not
with a ‘Bill’ kind of love, but I was afraid if I didn’t make a commitment
then, I might never get the chance again. He
insisted that my mom live with us which made it even better, so I thought.
I would soon learn that he had ulterior motives in having her with us.
He was sweet and kind for a while, filling my sexual needs at the same
time. Even with my vast
‘experience’, it took time and patience for me to be able accommodate his
extremely large ‘endowment’! Life
was good. Until one day, he came
home drunk and became enraged that I questioned where he had been, (and who
with). My mom had gone to visit her
sister Tilly who lived on the other side of town, so we were alone.
He grabbed me by the shoulders and shoved me violently against the wall,
and with a look of pure evil in his eyes, snarled…”how fucking dare you
question me, you worthless piece of shit”!
He threw me to the floor and began kicking me.
Accenting each kick with a verbal epithet….’cock-sucker’; ‘stupid
ass-hole mother fucker’. I
thought he would surely kill me. I was so shocked and appalled at this
unforeseen side of him that I barely felt the beating.
He finally stopped his onslaught and dragged me into the hall closet and
locked me inside. I lay on the
floor in the dark, wracked with pain both physical and emotional.
He didn’t let me out until he saw my mom coming home. I must have been in there for hours. I had had to urinate on the floor and lay in it. Before my
mom came in the house, he hissed at me that if I said a word about this, he
would make me regret it! I kept my
mouth shut. That was the beginning
of my new life…Richard’s punching-bag.
As time passed, he developed an art of finding innovative ways to torture
me physically as well as emotionally. I
soon learned what ‘living hell’ meant.
To this day, I can’t figure out what happened to turn him into such a
tyrannical beast. During the next 8
years, he convinced me that I was to blame every time he beat the crap out of
me, which was frequently. He
introduced me to the wonderful world of drugs early on, and mixed with my
already established alcoholism, I stayed stoned most of the time.
The drugs enabled me to ‘endure’ the onslaught of his wrath, for the
most part at least. The hardest
part was being locked in the closet. My
mom went to live with her sister at one point and with her out of the picture;
he was free to lavish his full demonic cruelty on me. We lived in an old house that was solidly built and had heavy
doors throughout. Once he locked me
in the closet after a particularly severe beating for not making the bed right,
and left me there for 4 days and nights. It
was horrible. But I survived,
despite his cruelty.
At this point I’m
quite sure that you are wondering why I withstood all of that for 8 years???
You know, today I wonder that myself.
At the time, I felt I had one chance at a lover relationship and I had to
take what was dealt me and make the best of it. Abused wives are often asked why they stayed with an abusive
husband? They will often answer
that they felt they had no choice. That
he wasn’t always cruel, just when he was drunk, or pissed off about something
that was done, or said. I was of
that same mindset. Plus, I was an
alcoholic and drug user. But most
of all, I was afraid to leave because he threatened to kill me if I did.
That’s really funny, because I had often thought of taking my own life. Go figure.
I’m clean and sober
today…have been for 18 months! Oh,
I’m still passive/submissive and I continue to be drawn to dominant/aggressive
men. Only now, I have gained the
self-confidence to fight back when the going gets rough.
I still have a lot of emotional scars that may never fully heal, but with
God’s help I can look to tomorrow without fear and dread.
I’ll be 62 years old this coming April and with the exception of those
years between ’50 and ‘60 and the last 18 months of sobriety, my life has
been one hell-of-a-mess!
I started looking for
Bill a few days ago on the internet…he would be about 65 by now (if he is
still living). I found one Bill
Damaral living in Massachusetts and I wrote him a letter last week to see if it
could possibly be MY Bill. If
it is God’s will and it is him, I will have the opportunity to tell him how I
have loved him all of these years. I
would love to be able to do that………
If it doesn’t
happen, at least I know I tried. I
dream of locating him and finding he is as lonely as I am, and we re-connect and
live out the rest of our lives, sharing the simple pleasures, together.
It is a beautiful dream.
Rex
