In the Castro, they faced a different challenge. The disparity in their ages was accentuated by their appearance. Nick, with his long, usually disheveled hair, baby face and sloppy schoolboy clothes, looked younger than eighteen while Bill, in his businessman’s coat and tie, clipped hair and with a habitually serious demeanor projected a maturity much older than twenty-eight. This disparity drew remarks that ranged from the jokey—the ticket taker at the Castro theater who greeted them with “tonight’s feature, the return of the cradle snatcher”—to the judgmental—the aging queen at the Neon Chicken who hissed to his companion, “He should be ashamed, the boy’s not even legal, gives all of us a bad name.”

Nick’s school friends were divided between those who thought Bill was “hot” and those who thought dating an older man was “gross.” Then there was the question of where to go. Bars and over 21 clubs were out. Bill let Nick drag him to a dance sponsored by the university’s gay club but he felt so awkwardly out of place he bailed after twenty minutes, leaving Nick hurt and fuming. Eventually, it seemed more comfortable to both of them to spend the evenings alone at Bill’s flat where they ate takeout, watched movies on Bill’s new VCR and kept each other awake half the night having sex.