When Your Job Keeps You in the Closet

Dating a closeted guy can be a messy challenge.  Some men put off coming out because of their families.  Those guys will usually crack open the door a little bit at a time until they take that big leap into freedom. 

But another big block of gay men can't open their closets without setting off the bombs attached to the outsides.  These guys refuse to come out of the closet because their professional lives will explode if muddled with their romantic interests. 

If you've ever dated this kind of guy, you might understand that the "closeted" thing doesn't normally cause drama at first.  Everything is great until you've been together for a while, and then you have to stay at home instead of going to his company picnic or sit in the car while he talks with a coworker.  It's usually then that you feel the relationship isn't real, that it's cheap. 

How long can you live with this?  If you know that your guy's job is going to keep him in the closet forever, can you endure it knowing that you'll always be his illicit lover? 

A few years ago, I met Rick on the Internet.

We talked on the phone a few times.  He was completely closeted, reluctant to tell me much about himself, and hard to get to know.  But his photos were phenomenal.  So, I stuck with him. 

After I showed him that he could trust me, he eventually opened up, and we finally met in person. 

Rick, as it turned out, was a game warden from a Southern state.  I've always had fantasies about about messing around with law enforcement officers, but this guy aroused me like never before. 

He had a muscular build, a short-trimmed goatee, and the most incredible butt I'd ever seen.  The first time I met him, I had to remind myself several times not to rip off his old shirt and faded Levi's.  Rick's slight cockiness and boyish grin had me hooked from the first minute.  And he didn't even have to show me his handcuffs.

After meeting Rick a couple times halfway between his town and Dallas, he invited me to go deer hunting.  In my cosmic lust, I said yes, completely forgetting that I'd never hunted before and had no clue how to kill a deer or what to do with it once it was bleeding on the ground.  I was nervous about the whole thing for weeks. 

For our hunt, Rick and I agreed to meet at a cabin in the middle of redneck country, where the locals might skin you alive if they saw you holding another boy's hand. 

We arrive at 4:00 p.m., with just enough time to throw on our long underwear, camouflage pants, jackets, and boots.  At this point, I still haven't seen Rick naked, and I do my best to take a peak.  Rick, more enthralled about the hunt than getting naked with me at this point, doesn't even notice.

Instead, he gives me a crash course on handling the shotgun, and we drive his pickup truck deep into the woods.  We nestle down in a ground blind, and after only thirty minutes, I am freezing and painfully horny for the camo'd up jock sitting next to me. 

A true hunter, Rick still doesn't notice.  He is far too busy scouring the wood lines for deer in the ever-approaching darkness. 

Within minutes, a good-sized buck walks within 30 yards of our spot.  Remembering Rick's instructions, I slowly point my shotgun, get a center-mass view through the scope, relax my breathing, and pull the trigger. 

The buck drops.  Wow, it was that easy, I think.  I couldn't understand why all my straight friends made such a big deal about it.  Learning to hunt was much easier for me than learning how to play sports. 

After we gut and drain the deer, we drive his truck to the cabin, wash the blood off our hands and arms, and grab a couple sandwiches out of the fridge. 

"Now what?" I ask, figuring that he'd want to drive the deer to the meat processor.

I was way wrong.

Rick doesn't say a word.  He just gives me a cocky grin and pushes me onto the old leather couch in the middle of the cabin. 

His rough beard is a striking contrast to the softness of his lips and tongue, and I grip the back of his buzzed head to keep his lips on mine as he falls on top of me. 

Like most law enforcement officers, Rick is used to getting his way.  He tears off my camo jacket and long shirt with powerful hands, still cold and hard from our earlier hunt. 

I don't resist as he grips my shoulders and pushes me all the way on my back, onto the dirty leather cushions that so many game wardens had probably sat on before. 

He is fully on top of me now, and I can feel his arousal through the thick pants. 

I run my hands down his narrow hips, around his amazing rear, and finally onto his buzzed, angular head as he brings his lips below my waist.

I am in heaven, completely lost in a rough and tender roller coaster in the middle of Deliverance Country.         

After that hunt, Rick and I tried the long distance thing for nine months.  It was torture for me, because I was utterly infatuated.  I don't want to even think about the money we both spent on airfare traveling to see each other. 

I eventually got frustrated with only seeing him once or twice a month, and not at all when hunting season was going on. 

I asked him if he'd ever want to move from his small town.  I sure didn't want to live in a place where people might drag me behind a truck for being gay, and I naturally assumed that he felt the same way.

I was wrong.  Rick had no intention of leaving.  He'd wanted to be a game warden his whole life, and couldn't imagine doing anything else.  If we kept dating, he told me, I could move up there with him or to the nearest city two hours away.  But there was no way either of us could come out if I was going to be a part of his life.

I actually considered making that sacrifice at the time. 

Then, after one terrible visit, I changed my mind.  I went to visit Rick over Labor Day weekend, the same weekend that a bunch of his work buddies and bosses got together for a weekend of drinking and playing cards. 

He told me to come up, because he'd figure out a way to do the work-thing and see me, but when I got there, Rick couldn't figure out a way to please everyone.  As a consequence, I saw him for a total of 12 hours during that four-day weekend. 

I felt cheap, like everything that Rick and I had was illicit and fake. 

After that trip, I thought long and hard about what I wanted in a relationship.  For me, it was just too hard to stay in love with a guy who could never put me at the forefront of his life. 

I still hunt with Rick every year.  Besides teaching me how to kill a deer, I have him to thank for teaching me what I'm looking for in a relationship.

Comments

[Kevin]

Slight correction in the historical perspective - in small towns, they don't drag the gay guys behind trucks. That's African-Americans (as in Jasper, Texas years ago). The gay guys get strung up on fences. Either way, I prefer the big city.

[wayne]

Yep, looks just like Brokeback Mountain, You can't have it both ways and stay sane. It just won't work.

[johnmichael]

Being extremely closeted myself, I think I could make it work. However the other person would have to be just as closeted--otherwise I don't know if I could ask someone to completely stay in if they were already out.