“So…did you guys ever….ya know….do it?” he inquires, as my facial expression morphs from polite and welcoming to distasteful disinterest. Of course, the question itself has become customary. It is obvious he is silently harboring the onslaught of an erection.
“Yep…still do!” I offer back. “In fact, we make it a point to get together once a year…if you know what I mean?” I follow the declaration with my usual knowing wink. “Just to…ya know…connect!”
My party-pal wrestles with a combination of intrigue and disbelief, as he searches for a socially acceptable response to his inept question. The best he can retort is, “Really?”
But his eyes give it all away. Amid this sort of inquiry, they always do. To his credit, they are a clear swimming-pool blue, which initially made me want to dive right into him. But after revealing my family “secret,” they became murky with curious lust. Although my probing comrade had the mental capacity of an ice cube in the drink I was holding—like the other icy squares tinkling around in my highball glass— he is not alone. Unbeknownst to him, he has just joined the ranks of men who harbor the same distorted view about sibling sexcapades. Like Howard Stern’s obsession with the Olsen twins, a certain amount of the population assumes, or perhaps (in Howard’s case) fantasizes that siblings do or are willing to, engage in sex. And although my gay brother Mark and I have had our share of interested gentlemen callers, neither of us would consider a “sibling spread” were Hugh Heffner to come calling. That, and being gay are probably the only two things we might agree upon.
Not knowing what to do with my retort, my cocktail party comrade makes for safer ground. “Wow, that must be really cool! Like, you two must do everything together!” he says.
Yes, I imagine myself saying, ever since childhood…we take all our baths together! And I can’t even think about sleeping in a single bed...alone! Aside from hogging the covers and leaving my naked body shivering—oh, did I forget to mention we sleep naked—he’s great to sleep with!
But instead, from years of twisted innuendo followed by a raised eyebrow, my chronic response is just to smile and nod. But as we chatted on, I couldn’t help but wonder what is so fascinating about a pair of gay genes? Is it a yearning for sibling support or the desire to “fit” into a familial fantasy? And are two really better than one when it comes to swinging from the family tree? Then I began to consider the source.
I suppose I place the initial blame for this abnormal attraction to playing with pairs and its “rise” in popularity to an event early in my formative years. At the age of (somewhere around) 10 came the release of The Parent Trap, Walt Disney’s perky tale of identical twin sisters secretly separated at birth. Admittedly, I too loved the movie until I became the victim of others’ sexual sibling fantasies. And although my brother Mark and I are not twins, there are only eighteen months between us. As children, with our gay genes neatly folded away for future festive occasions, there was little to indicate we were destined to have anything in common. Like oil and vinegar, our lives have been contained in very different bottles. Like a salad, the singular element that tosses us together is the mere fact that we are both gay. And, for as long as I can recall, we have shared none of the same interests and have conducted our lives from opposite sides of the brain. My older brother is the antithesis of analytical. I creatively color my own definitions of things. We are the gay version of the odd couple. But when we were younger, and living in the same city, as we each came out, we would occasionally appear together socially. Some assumed we were twins, which began the queer queries about sibling sex.
After my party postmortem, I called my brother to solicit his recollections of sibling sexual-seekers; even his memories hold an opposing opinion to mine. He considers it a matter of great pride.
“It’s part of our unique connection,” he says. “Being hit on like that, at such an impressionable age, made me really understand how women feel.” For me it has held an incurable distaste for three-ways and a sympathy for the Olsen twins.
Throughout the years, the curious sexual innuendo and queries regarding having a gay sibling continue to mix their way into my cocktail party conversations. (Although they are becoming less frequent with age—apparently nobody wants a middle-aged ménage à trois.) But happily, and interestingly, I have also encountered other pairs of “select” siblings. Usually during our initial exchange, small morsels of information are rationed out to determine if we can become trusted members of the same select sibling sorority. And by having a gay brother, such encounters have offered some elitist invitations—like a game of brotherly bridge or doubles at tennis. There is no sexual innuendo. No raised eyebrows. And no long incestuous interrogations. I suspect Mary-Kate and Ashley would love it. Howard Stern would not be welcome. When such a homo-happening occurs, I often let my mind wander liberally. I imagine what such a club might look like. I envision slogans like “ Double Your Fun” beautifully carved into a wood plaque over the club’s diving board. The club’s pool is brimming with activity as twin teams of gay brothers and sisters swim to win the family trophy for “fagtag”! On the tennis courts, festive fuchsias replace mundane whites, and the nearby clubhouse is filled with blazer-clad clans, each touting the duplication of their gay lineage with a colorful family crest. Naturally the staff will possess ambidextrous skills and be stylishly dressed in twin sets, finishing off their look with a pair of glasses, so that all four eyes are able to oversee the unique duos they adoringly serve.
Today, even though we are still separated by our personality preferences and still encounter twisted interrogations, I have come to realize that having a gay brother provides me with a very unique gift—a familial reinforcement of my gayness. And our place in the world—although some harbor lusty views—is unique. But, because of its uniqueness—aminiscule percentile extrapolated from the already small gay population—it serves as a conduit for greater (gay genetic) explanations to be acknowledged by those who advocate to divide the gay world from its straight, and at times, very narrow-minded world. Our sibling connection is also a persistent reminder for me to be tolerant of those who harbor misunderstood views. And, although we are disconnected by our life choices, we will always be brothers, we will always be gay and our misunderstood, and duplicated, gayness will always connect us. We are gay squared.
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