Fistful of Love
Dec 19th, 2024 by Holiday
In another life, Fred W. was the chief artist in the Advertising Department of Stix, Baer & Fuller, a one-time major department store in St. Louis.
When I arrived on the scene as a fledgling graphic reproduction artist, the advertising department was full guns, with a stable of copywriters and a fashion photographer who raved about Guy Bourdin’s work in French Vogue.
Helmut Newton’s work in the same magazine seemed wickedly funny in the face of the growing feminist movement – yet Bourdin was always the master.
I noticed Fred, and yet I didn’t want to notice him. He was at least 20 years older, good looking, dressed smartly and possessed an inspiring sophistication. Among others, Fred’s social circle included famed Chicago photographer Victor Skrebneski.
Being in Fred’s company was a tutorial on life.
At the time, I was an unacknowledged bisexual. Such an outlook is unnecessary and a huge waste of time – but if you were young and social mores were more limiting than contemporary standards, it seemed only natural to keep a tight lid on the subject.
Of course I used all the typical ploys involved with denial: I got drunk, I got high, I was passive, I didn’t use my real name. I did everything possible to avoid taking responsibility for my sexual identity.
I was attracted by the sexual attention of other men. If a male made a move on me and performed fellatio … well, I wasn’t really queer or even bisexual. I was drunk, stoned, tripping, so detached that it really wasn’t happening to me. The male always took advantage of me; that’s the spin I developed to ease the discomfort of the truth.
But Fred was different. He was a colleague – though on a level of accomplishment far beyond me. He was not a frivolous pickup from the bath house or the gay bar.
I made excuses to be present in Fred’s modest studio area. I knew what I was doing, and there was no point in pretense any longer. I wanted Fred to invite me into his world. I was ready for my education to begin.
This was all a bit dicey because I lived with a very attractive woman. Barbara was three years older and already established with a profession. We loved each other – or so we claimed. What I really loved about Barbara was her stunning looks and her captivating body. She resembled a young Catherine Zeta-Jones, with raven dark hair and jutting breasts. Barbara was quite a trophy and, because of such a superficial appreciation, we were not destined for the long run.
I had my beautiful girlfriend, but I was also attracted to Fred. This is a motif that runs through my adult life. Why settle for one when both are equally appealing. That’s why the orientation is called bisexual.
Although I was on the verge of finally being myself, I wasn’t quite prepared to embrace honesty. The virtue is honorable, and certainly the best approach to life. Yet I have always had a low threshold for emotional pain. When the going gets tough, I always get the fuck out of there. At least this was true earlier in life.
Continued at link.