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And the funny thing is that she and I were friends first since we were classmates.But she said, “We’ll tell our son that Uncle Sasha exists but we can’t see him because he lives far away.” Like I was a character from a book. We were very close; we confided in one another, so I was caught off-guard, to say the least, by their reaction.We still talk every week, and they still ask me seriously when am I going to find a wife, or tell me that someday I’ll find a girlfriend and get married. And it was there that only a few months later I met my boyfriend, Max. I was interested for two reasons: First of all, because he was Spanish, and I wanted to go talk to him and practice my Spanish because I’d lived and studied in Spain for a bit. I said, "Hi," and we started to talk, and I didn't pay attention to Max. I’m what you’d expect in a dancer and a writer: “go with the flow,” free-spirited.The Spanish guy eventually introduced me, and the three of us spent the night together dancing, then ended up at Times Square, drinking hot chocolate and talking. I liked the way Max talks, he has the sort of voice you hear on evening radio.

Although he only cooks once in a blue moon, when it happens, the things he makes are delicious.Soon enough, it turned more violent and sometimes I'd get beaten up after school.This wasn't somewhere in Middle America: I grew up in Vladivostok, on the very eastern edge of Russia.Even Grindr, one of the most popular gay apps in the world, only showed about six people in the Russian far east.I eventually found one gay guy who I started to chat with.

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