We met Ted at five the next evening, and were astonished to find him gloriously in drag, we inappropriately wearing a sweater and sports jacket. Gamely, though badly unnerved, we escorted him from his apartment to the fancy hotel. We'd not had much experience with fine hotels, and had no idea how to behave, but Ted swept us along as if we simply were part of his train. His timing was precise: we made our entry immediately ahead of the Bride and the Maids of Honor and their respective escorts, who were formally attired. Ted, as Bridesmaid, was easily the most stunning of the drags, and without resort to a wig.

The best mezzanine suite had been reserved, and a crowd of two hundred soon gathered, we glorious in the midst of it. Tray after tray of drinks were rolled in, compliments of the Groom. Ted was telling us that the Bride was the wildest nympho in town (we knew that meant something awful-we weren't sure what) just as we were introduced to the formidible "mother of the Bride," who'd come happily to give her son in marriage. (She moved in with the couple, as did the two Maids of Honor, for a marriage that lasted all of four months.) We talked awhile with the Groom, a personable, rather quiet sort who was a prominent young attorney, and with many other beautiful people.

A mild disturbance invaded our euphoria, as it was buzzed about that the minister "Evil Annie," a real legitimately defrocked clergyman, had not shown up, and it was time for the ceremony. And suddenly. we, who'd admitted to having been a candidate for the ministry, were being asked to officiate. Our reactions were confused. Though we were being offered a high honor, the impending ceremony, which had seemed to us a rightful symbolic act, now suddenly appeared a cheap travesty. The nobly serious secret ritual had become a vulgar joke, and we were asked to conduct a mere mockwedding. We'd assumed that a real clergyman, acting in sincerity, even if formally unorthodox, would have made everything proper, but the gossip about Evil Annie shocked us deeply. We were already clouded with more drinks than we'd ever had before. And having attended but one wedding in our life, we simply had no idea how to carry it off.

soon arrived,

But Evil Annie screaching a string of frightful jokes, one of the most excessive examples of nasty camp we have ever seen. A loathesomely vulgar little bitch, he took four quick drinks and knocked off the precious ritual words without bothering to face the bride and groom. He was as quickly gone, along with Ted's

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purse and fur wrap.

Our impression of the rest of the party was hazy. Ted was off, looking for Evil Annie. We were passed from lap to lap, and were apparently not our usual quiet self. The sister of the Bride, less attractive than her brother, danced the Bolero, and the music, unfamiliar to us, excited us tremendously. She revealed finally, to general astonishment, that she was actually, physically female, and no mere drab drag as we'd mostly supposed. The Bride's mother became very upset about something and tried to expel everyone, but was generally ignored. With a new friend, an intense and handsome gentleman some years our senior, who gave us our first lecture on famous homosexuals in history, we wandered up to the hotel's famed rooftop bar, which was then the liveliest gay bar in town, and became very thrilled about how

many hundreds of our kind were in this hotel on this wonderful night. We met several Naval Officers coming and going, and learned that they were having a top-brass party, about five dozen strong, in another suite. Their party, which got more torrid than ours, was said to have been raided later by Naval Intelligence.

We left, with our new friend, aglow with the excitement of it all and the drinks, and the first prospective partner we'd found who physically, personally and intellectually approximated our dream view of the ideal male.

Off in a taxi, another romantic touch we'd not been accustomed to, he reciting long passages from Kahlil Gibran, Laurence Hope and Walter Benton, to a grand Victorian house in the suburbs, which turned out to be not his home, but that of his boyfriend, a cherubic blond, whose sex life was the absorbing interest of his entire large family, which received us with a mix-

ture of flair and formality. Our head was not very clear, we being in euphoria still, but this family seemed the greatest marvel we'd yet encountered. Of this large household, only Bobby, our new friend's lover, was gay, but the others all lived vicariously on his adventures. Grandparents, parents, two maiden aunts, his twin brother, his sister and her husband and small children, all were regaled with, and demanded, every detail. Bobby was required to pass every prospective partner through the frankest sort of family scrutiny. We were not aware that we ourself were being so scrutinized, or that we had been somewhat procured, until the family, with best wishes and many embarrassing suggestions, sent the three of us upstairs to bed.

It was fun, and there is considerable versatility in a threesome (further increased later by the brief addition of Bobby's twin brother), but we felt somewhat used, not wholly equitable about the relationship. This was not quite what we'd expected while hunting up the dark streets for this "life" of ours. But the incident was not unpleasant.

Evil Annie and the theft of Ted's fur and purse were in the papers next day, with an elegant picture of Ted in drag and veiled references to the wedding, though there was no mention of the raided officers' party.

Our gay life settled into more routine ways after that, though what followed was generally saner. That crazy night, escorting the Bridesmaid to a drag wedding at the town's best hotel, the outrageous performance of Evil Annie and the Bride's mother and sister, and our odd experience with one peculiarly doting household, capped our coming out, for after all, coming out is a process that more often than not, occupies not one night, but a season. And if any good fairy ever offered us the chance to relive that season, naivete and all, we'd jump at the chance.

In early societies, the equivalent of our "coming out"-the rites of passage is a highly charged ceremony of great significance to the entire tribe. For each individual homosexual in our own society, it is an experience whose particulars are more accidental than ceremonial. But an unforgettable experience, nonetheless, and we urge readers to set down their own, the first few days, or weeks, in a straightforward manner. We would like to make "Coming Out Revisited" a regular feature. But change the names a bit, and change the locations to such names as Cornfield Crossing, Bigtown, or Harbor City. We don't want your Queen Mother to sue us.