Is he or isn't he?

I can’t say I have a particular type of man I like to hang with. I’ve been attracted to guy’s guys and metrosexuals. But as I sat across the table from my date recently, I realized I might have entered new territory. All night, I couldn’t help but wonder, is he or isn’t he?



It was my first date with Stephan, a slightly younger San Francisco man I’d been flirting with online for the past few weeks. We agreed to meet at Cav, a swanky little wine bar next to Zuni. He was even cuter in person, with more delicate features than his profile photos.

I had a feeling he might be a bit different than anyone I’d dated recently — as we checked in with each other by phone that afternoon to firm up our plans, he mentioned nonchalantly, “Oh, by the way, my nipples are pierced. Is that going to be a problem?”

Well, I wasn’t really planning on seeing his nipples that night, or him mine, so I said no. But I did give his profile pictures a good look again to see if there were any obnoxious facial piercings or body modifications I had somehow missed.

Thankfully, there weren’t — not that I have nothing against tasteful tats or piercings.
And that alone isn’t much of anything, but when we met, I was definitely picking up a vibe.

The gay vague vibe.

Mia felt the same way the first time she met Rex.
“He’s just so effeminate,” she sighed after their first coffee date. “I don’t think I’m into that.”
That all changed on date No. 2, when he pushed her up against a wall and kissed her so lustfully that she’s not sure she’ll ever view kissing quite the same way.

Stephan reminded me of Craig, a guy I dated in college for a while. Craig was a gorgeous part-time model with the most amazingly lush lips. What I loved most about him, though, was his irreverent humor, and he had the same passion for indie flicks as I did.

We started our romance slowly, but on the third date, as we sat in the darkened theater waiting for the movie to begin, he reached over and kissed me — a long, wet, passionate and sensuous kiss that made me weak with desire. I wanted him to kiss every part of me like that, and I couldn’t wait for the movie to end. But when it did, and he drove me to my apartment, he declined my invitation to come in.

I was disappointed but determined. Plus I sorta liked his coyness. I started planning the seduction for date No. 4. Date four came, then five and six and … a few months later and we had still never gotten past his wonderful kisses. Every attempt I made to go beyond that was gently but firmly refused.

I’d never experienced anything like that with any guy before, and it wasn’t feeling right.
I started to freak — was it me, or him?

One day, I came right out with it.
“Craig, are you … gay?”
“Gay? Of course not. Why do you ask?”
“Because all I want to do is get you naked and do nasty things to you, but you don’t seem too interested in having sex with me.”
“It’s not you. I’m just not interested in that with anyone right now.”

Oh great, I thought — he’s asexual! But I let it go at that because I wanted to believe him and I loved his company. But the more I saw him with his friends — all of whom I’d call “pretty boys” — I had to wonder if he was being honest with me — or himself.

We eventually stopped seeing each other romantically — whatever little “romance” there was — because I wanted more than just kisses from my lover, no matter how passionate they were. But we remained friends until life took its course.

Now here was pierced (and tattooed, it turns out) Stephan, with all the affectations of a gay, or perhaps bisexual, man, despite all his talk about the ex (wife, that is) and the kids. I felt like I was a contestant on “Gay, Straight or Taken?” — there was no way to know. Although I eventually was pretty blunt with Craig, I couldn’t do the same with Stephan, especially on date No. 1.

Now, I have several gay, lesbian and bi friends, and I consider myself a broad-minded gal. But I needed to ask myself — do I want to date someone who’s bi?

I know some people believe that we’re all bisexual. That’s what Owen, my adorable twentysomething colleague, says. Owen looks about as gay as a man can be, and constantly catches the eye of any number of San Francisco men. Yet there on his left hand ring finger is a gold band that his equally cute new bride, Ava, had placed just 10 months ago.

One night after work, we went to get a drink at Voda, a few blocks from our office, and we started chatting about life, love and how he and Ava met. He admitted that he was attracted to men, but never acted on it — although he wasn’t necessarily against it. But then he met Ava. “I fell in love,” he told me, “and it just happened to be with a woman.”

I can’t say I’ve ever felt that way. Although I can appreciate another woman’s beauty and sexiness, whenever I have fallen in love it more than “just happened” to be with a man. And I suspect it always will be.

And some people argue that there is no bisexuality — just men “caught between two worlds and are really lost,” according to Bonnie Kaye, author of “Is He Straight?” They’re attracted to men, but don’t want to live the gay lifestyle.

I’m not so sure I believe that, but I have no desire to one day have to write a tell-all book like Dina Matos McGreevey, the estranged wife of James McGreevey, the former New Jersey governor who resigned after revealing that he’s gay.

So I was happy when Stephan suggested that for our second date he’d cook dinner for me — at his place. I’ve been around long enough to read between the lines on that one, but I figured it would give me an opportunity to ask about HIV, STDs and bisexuality in a good context.

I showed up at his well-appointed Noe Valley pad ready for seduction. He cooked us a wonderful ribeye with wilted spinach salad; I brought dessert — two mini-molten chocolate cakes and, possibly, me.
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But as I moved closer to him and gently stroked his arm as we sat on the couch, he pulled back. “Hey, don’t take this the wrong way but I’m not interested in getting sexual right now,” he said.

Oh no! I had somehow channeled Craig!

I never heard from Stephan again, and I didn’t call him, either.

Maybe it was me, maybe it was him, maybe it was the dessert that I overbaked and ended up being not very molten at all.

But the next time a man asks me if I’d have a problem with his pierced nipples, I might just say yes.

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