The first time I went to the group, I was super nervous -- what if somebody from my school was there and recognized me? What if the group just laughed at me? I got there about an hour and a half early; the front door of the building wasn't even unlocked yet. That meant I had to casually, nonchalantly hang out at Market and Castro without getting picked up for loitering. I put on my best super-cool "I know what I'm doing, I've seen it all, don't mess with me" face and looked at the newspaper racks outside Jaguar Adult Books, trying to inconspicuously sneak a peek at the merchandise inside without the embarrassment of getting bounced by the sales clerk. Then I feigned great interest in some apartment rental listings and the menu of a Thai restaurant until finally it was almost time for the group. Then I debated whether even showing up on time was okay -- I mean, I didn't want to seem like some eager-beaver newbie who had never even spoken the words "I am gay" out loud to myself in a mirror. But how late was "playing it cool" as opposed to "making a grand entrance"? -- I wanted to fit in, not attract attention. I finally settled on five past as a good symbolic point of reasonably punctual but not anal-retentive. I walked in, my heart beating faster than a disco tune, and met Paul, the group facilitator. I had seen his picture in a newspaper article I saw about gay teen suicide, but I was kinda disappointed meeting him in person. He didn't seem like the together on-top-of-the-world guy the paper interviewed; he struck me as self-centered, stuck up, and judgmental -- he seemed to be sizing me up for an instant snap appraisal, and I didn't think I was doing too well. I was about to mumble an excuse and run home, but then Jay showed up. Jay is 5'10" tall, dark brown hair, a hint of a Virginia drawl, this really cute little dimple on his right cheek when he smiles, eyes that kind of shift from green to brown and back again, and this nose that looks exactly like the one my art teacher always used to show us as the ideal. He walked over to where Paul was unabashedly looking me up and down and said, "Oh, God, Paul, give it a rest. At least let the new guy get through one meeting before you start picking a china pattern." He turned to me and said, "Don't mind him, he's a legend in his own mind. I'm Jay; what's your name?" I later saw his line for a tired old cliché, but at the time it was brilliance to make Shakespeare blush. I stammered, "Uh, yeah, I'm the...uh, I'm...I'm new, this is my first time, I mean, in a group, I mean, like, a rap group or anything. So, uh, what's the story? I mean, how do we do this?" I was looking Jay right in the eye as I rambled, hoping the tent pole in my Levi's wasn't too obvious and also wondering what to do if he wanted to shake my hand which I was certain was clammy with sweat by now. Jay broke my gaze just for an instant as he glanced downwards, but he just grinned and said, "We start with a check-in, just go around and say how our week was, and then we talk about whatever comes up, and then we check out and go down for some pizza or something after. Don't worry, it's all pretty mellow. You can sit by me, if you're a little nervous." I had one of those "remember to breathe" moments, having stopped when he glanced down at my button-flys, but I had stopped blushing pretty quickly, and Jay just smiled as I suddenly inhaled. "Sure, Jay, thanks," was all I could manage, but about then the rest of the group started to wander in. I could pretend to be honoring the confidentiality of the group or something, but quite honestly all I remember is Jay reaching down to hold my hand for most of the session.