I've known of Dennis for years now.
We first met offhandedly, never really sat down for a conversation. Pete was dating Dennis's ex-boyfriend Gene. It didn't last between Pete and Gene, but Dennis had met Steve, who was living with me then. Dennis and Steve had spent a night together, but nothing serious ever came of it. I was keenly aware of what was happening in the room over and pinned Steve down for details. In his way, either gentlemanly or untrusting, Steve avoided giving me anything juicy about his affair, but said that Dennis didn't seem to be into white boys. I let it drop, but sleuthed around a bit and found something he'd written, a short letter to the editor or column for a local newspaper; it was well-written and I was struck again.
A year later, I'd sent him a message online and asked him out to coffee. He'd accepted, but warned me that he was dating someone; since I was interested in more than just coffee, I'd never set a date. But even as I saw other people and as Dennis's relationship lasted all of that next year, I'd look him up now and then and try to catch a glimpse of what he was up to. I was slightly heartened by the fact that this relationship was with a white boy. When it ended quietly, marked only by the change of his online status from "In a Relationship" to blank, I waited, hoping to avoid his post-breakup interlude but also not wanting any other suitors to beat me to the punch.
When I sent him a short, casual message, barely more than a line, asking him how he'd been, he'd responded pretty warmly; we talked a bit about politics and I asked him out again for a "friendly coffee," trying to appear non-threatening. He agreed, disappointingly echoing the friendly adjective, but it was another couple weeks before we could make it work.
