Christopher Bruhn Horan

The first time that I saw the sign that said the Gatey Theater, all male burlesque, I was on a yellow school bus with my Cub Scout troop traveling through lower Manhattan on our way to see the Radio City Rockettes.

I must have been 10 years old.

All the other boys were singing a very rowdy rendition of our favorite bus song.

Ravioli, I love ravioli.

Ravioli, it's the one for me.

And they were super, super excited about the pictures of the Rockettes that they had seen.

These long-legged dancers always posed with their legs in a kick line.

But here I was looking out the window at West 46th Street at this sign that said, all male burlesque.

Now, I didn't know what was going on up that dark stairwell.

And I didn't know what the two or three guys were doing who were looking over their shoulder before they went up.

But I knew that I wanted to find out.

I knew that I liked boys the way that most boys liked girls as early as first grade when on a jammed family car trip going somewhere, I was thrown in the back seat on my cousin John's lap and I didn't want to get out of the car.

In fifth grade, I played my first spin the bottle game and I just was acutely aware that I wanted that bottle to land on either Chip or Billy or Pat.

And it just kept landing on Bridget over and over and over.

And if it did land on two boys, they just spun it again like nobody cared.

And it wasn't even an option.

And, you know, the environment in my small town about gay was hostile.

And my body and my voice betrayed me.

I strutted where other boys walked.

And people were starting to mistake me for my mother when I picked up the phone and said hi.