Lyin’ Ryan

Chapter 1-2

“Don’t ever fall in love with a closet case,” a friend told me years ago. Being openly gay myself, I didn’t exactly gravitate toward closeted men, nor did they gravitate toward me, so I figured my friend’s advice would go unheeded…until I met Donovan. Don came to my podiatry office a little over two years ago for a shin splint back in the days when he was still a runner. (Those days were, sadly, over.) When I first saw him, I thought he was handsome, but I immediately classified him as a former frat boy s***h jock who liked women, beer, and the Cubs, though not necessarily in that order. While Don had dated women in the past, he’d come out (sort of) in his thirties. (He also wasn’t a former frat boy or a jock, but he was a Cubs fan and he did like beer, so I wasn’t totally off base in my initial assessment of him.) Even though being a podiatrist in Chicago brought many handsome, athletic men my way, I didn’t date my patients. But Don made me break the rules I’d set for myself. During our first appointment, it didn’t take long for him to ask if I was married.

“No,” I said.

“Girlfriend?”

“No.”

He smiled. “Boyfriend?”

“No,” I muttered, sitting back in my chair. “Not at the moment.”

“Then have a drink with me later.”

I stared at him, wondering if he was joking. “A drink?”

“Yeah, a drink.”

I looked at Donovan and seriously considered his offer for a moment. He was an attractive man, tall (just a bit under six feet) with light brown hair, dark brown eyes, an oval-shaped head, and broad shoulders. He was forty when we met and worked as a producer for a local political show that aired nightly on one of the public television stations. Even though Donovan was handsome and charming, I still turned him down for a drink, but my refusal didn’t stop him from asking me out again when he came to my office for a follow-up appointment.

“I’m only asking you to have one drink with me. That’s all. If you’re not feeling it, then I’ll back off.”

“Are you even gay?”

He shrugged. “I’m gay enough.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means,” he said with a smile, “I can make you happy if you let me.”

That made me laugh. He was good. My buttons were definitely being pushed…and I liked it. We went out for that drink and the rest was history.

The main reason I was hesitant to get involved with Donovan was because he was my patient, but I also hesitated because he just didn’t seem like my type. He seemed too…alpha. I’d always preferred a lower-key kind of man. My previous boyfriend was a quiet physical therapist who was great in bed, although slightly dull outside of it. With Donovan, I had no fear of him being dull and I certainly didn’t think he’d be terrible in bed. I feared he’d be overbearing and try to micromanage me and my life. Thankfully, my fears turned out to be unfounded and I soon discovered he wasn’t the control freak I worried he’d be. When he told me he’d dated women for many years, I wasn’t exactly surprised. Everything about him screamed “heterosexual,” from the way he looked to the flirty way he often behaved with women.

When Donovan and I started seeing each other regularly, I understood that he wasn’t the kind of gay man you’d see at a pride parade. Because he had been closeted for much of his adult life, he still wasn’t comfortable being totally out. His close friends and family knew he was gay, but some of his coworkers and acquaintances didn’t. Prior to meeting me, he’d never even been in a long-term relationship with another man. Yes, he’d dated a few other men, but never for long. Once a man got too close, he told me he pulled back. But, he assured me, those days of hesitancy were over. He said he was ready for a real relationship with me and I believed him because we were in love. Unfortunately, what Donovan said and what he did were two different things.