Committed and gay

SLO County’s gay and lesbian couples find ways to openly, discreetly celebrate their love

By Stacey Warde

Jenny Adams met her current partner, Donna Jones, while struggling through a troubled marriage. They became close friends.

"I found myself attracted to her in a way I had never been attracted to a woman before," Adams says, adding that she had never previously experienced a lesbian relationship.

Adams knew her marriage of five years was in trouble. She and her husband had struggled from the beginning. Jones, meanwhile, brought a new dimension to Adams’ life. The attraction of being with a woman was strong, exciting, and comforting.

After leaving her husband, Adams agreed to a romance with Jones. It has has lasted seven years. They bought a house in Atascadero and recently purchased engagement rings. They’re planning a commitment ceremony soon in which they will make a public declaration of their love for one another.

They are one of a number of SLO County same-sex couples who seek openly and unabashedly to share the same joys and frustrations of love heterosexual couples experience. The love that joins and holds them together runs as deep as any loving bond between a man and a woman.

Yet in many ways their experience as long-time monogamous partners is markedly different from the usual gender-defined relationship between man and woman.

When given the opportunity to partner with Jones, for example, Adams hesitated at first. "I resisted committing to the relationship in the beginning because I wasn’t sure I could live up to that lifestyle."

There’s little societal support for gay and lesbian couples, she explains. That lack of nurturance from the community can make sustaining gay and lesbian relationships a daunting task.

Additionally, Adams was concerned about how her 2-year-old son, Levi, would respond to his mother’s relationship with another woman, and what impact it would have on his development.

Now 9 years old, Levi loves Jones like a mother. Adams says. "She’s really his third parent. He would be very upset if anything ever happened to her."

* * *

Marty Rochlin and Charles Myers have a very public relationship. They moved to SLO County eight years ago from Los Angeles in search of a quiet setting where Rochlin, a retired psychologist, could write, and both could enjoy the natural beauty of the area.

Less than two years after relocating, Myers opened Big Sky Cafe in San Luis Obispo. He had simultaneously operated three restaurants in LA; one of them, the Gumbo Pot, in Farmers Market, is still going strong.

Big Sky is a popular dining place for SLO County residents as well as celebrities and tourists passing through the area. Running the restaurant puts the pair in the public eye, and allows them to openly celebrate and yet remain circumspect about their relationship.

This balancing act of celebrating homosexual love while remaining discreet about it is common among same-sex couples on the Central Coast, says Rochlin.

"How you present yourself has a lot to do with how people accept you," he adds. If a gay and lesbian couple want to take an in-your-face attitude about their relationship, kissing and petting in public places, challenging the status quo in an obnoxious way, then they’re likely to encounter hostility or opposition.

Rochlin and Myers, who have been together 13 years, take a softer approach. They’ve allowed genuine interest in and support for their relationship to arise as a natural consequence of their participation in the community.

Same-sex couples need to consider an area’s political and social climate in determining how to present themselves, Rochlin says. In an area such as SLO County, you’re not likely to be out in the way you’d be if you lived in West Hollywood, a gay mecca.

But after the initial rush of liberation wears off even West Hollywood can become stifling over time. Eventually you have to get out into the real world and simply be who you are, gay or otherwise.

That’s where Rochlin and Myers, like most same-sex couples, want to live, thrive, and share their experiences—out in the world, where lovers of all persuasions can freely seek fulfillment and happiness together.

* * *

Bringing same-sex relationships into the open, however, poses a number of challenges not experienced by heterosexual couples who want to make their love public. And, like it or not, gay and lesbian couples will sooner or later have to deal with explaining to friends and co-workers that their partner is someone of the same sex.

Jones, a former police officer with the LAPD, is now an investigator with the district attorney’s office in SLO. Her partner, Adams, works for the Sexual Assault Recovery and Prevention Center.

"We’re both very out about our relationship at our workplaces, and at our son’s school," Adams says. "When we present ourselves, we present ourselves in a way that we don’t have anything to be ashamed of." When they do this, Adams notes, acceptance among friends and the community is much more forthcoming.

It's a little harder, though, when the couple participates in social events where families and children are unfamiliar with the nature of their relationship. Jones coached Levi’s soccer team last fall, for example, which put all three in the position of public scrutiny from potentially less-than-friendly individuals.

But the exposure didn’t seem to make much difference. There were no recriminations or hostile reactions from teammates or parents.

"We’re always a little nervous in the beginning, but people eventually figure it out" and adjust accordingly, says Adams, either by avoiding interaction or by accepting the Jones-Adams family unit as it is.

Only once was there a problem. Last year one of Levi’s schoolmates teased him about his family. Adams and Jones worked it out with the child’s parents.

"I don’t want him to be ashamed of his family," Adams says. He’s getting to the age where children can be cruel. But fortunately most of his schoolmates have been acquainted with him long enough to know that he’s in a good family, she says.

* * *

Another difficulty common among same-sex couples comes from the assumptions people make about them and the way they structure their relationship.

Jones and Adams, for example, get varied reactions to their engagement rings. Adams explains: "If I’m going to the store to buy medicine for Donna when she’s not feeling well, and the checkout person asks, ‘Is your husband sick?’ I have to think about how I’m going to answer that."

Does she say she’s in a lesbian relationship and that her "husband" is a woman? This kind of interaction occurs almost daily, Adams says. And the difficulty is magnified when her son, Levi, is with her.

When friends and acquaintances do finally get used to the idea of a lesbian partnership, their first question is likely to be, "So, who wears the pants in the family?"

No one, says Adams. Her relationship with Jones is built on mutuality. "We’re more equal. We don’t have the power struggles I’ve had in my relationships with men." The division of labor is based more on what each enjoys doing. "We get to define our own roles." Nobody does it for them. "It’s freer that way."

Observers often assume wrongly that same-sex relationships are based on traditional masculine and feminine gender roles, say Barbara Strauss and Carroll Leslie of Los Osos.

The couple own and operates Volumes of Pleasure Bookstore, in Los Osos, and Strauss, an ordained minister in metaphysics, conducts psychic readings and lectures on the practical application of metaphysical concepts. She also occasionally performs weddings. Strauss describes their relationship as a "power-sharing cooperative venture."

A lot of people tend to view relationships two-dimensionally, or as gender-based, she says. It’s not uncommon for people to think that one person plays the role of male and the other plays the role of female, not realizing that these gender constructs don’t always apply to same-sex or even heterosexual couples.

The focus of their relationship isn’t on roles so much as it is on supporting what each enjoys doing in life. "Barbara likes to cook and I like to eat," Leslie offers as an example.

Additionally, they share a passion for philosophy and spirituality, and make as much room as possible for one another to explore these interests on her own without autocratic interference.

"We support each other in everything we do," says Leslie, who adds that their relationship is based on mutuality and respect, not on a set of rules or expectations.

They experience the same frustrations and disagreements that any couple does, but over the years they’ve learned to negotiate their differences in democratic fashion. Each does what she does best and the other does all she can to lend support.

"In that sense, it’s like a feminist marriage," Strauss says. "There’s no leader; we make mutual decisions."

Caro Hall, a Los Osos resident and candidate for ordination to holy orders in the Episcopal Church, studies theology at the Episcopal School of Theology at Claremont. She hopes to create a ministry to the gay, lesbian, bisexual, and transgendered communities when she completes her studies and begins working as a priest.

Hall says the typical assumptions about who wears the pants in a same-sex relationship might best be answered by asking, "What does one wear at a holy union of a same-sex couple?"

Do both wear tuxedos? Or do they split down gender lines and one wear a femmy gown and the other a tux? The answer will usually indicate whether their relationship is based on equality, or traditional male/female roles.

* * *

Kevin Bourzac, 22, and Ron Nelson, 31, met four years ago, when Bourzac was a student at Cal Poly.

They have the typical arguments—who’s going to do the dishes?—but no set rules for who does what. The relationship "isn’t gender-defined," says Bourzac. "In one sense, we’re just a couple of guys living together. So, of course, the house is a mess."

More importantly, Bourzac adds, they love being together, having fun and sharing their mutual interests, even wearing one another’s clothes.

"He and I are good friends," Bourzac says. "Not only do we love each other, but we also like each other. We can work through our difficulties because we care about each other."

Bourzac says it’s important to be as open as possible with others about the nature of their relationship. The more contact people have with same-sex couples, the more likely they will accept such relationships as healthy and normal, says Bourzac.

Being a gay couple in SLO County has never been a problem. "I’ve just never felt threatened. I’ve always felt safe," Bourzac says. "But there are just some things you never do. Like, I’d never go to Bull’s Tavern and start making out with my boyfriend. I just wouldn’t do that."

As a student at Poly, Bourzac belonged to a chemistry fraternity, where "a lot of people had never met a gay couple before."

"I really liked bringing Ron to the social events" put on by the fraternity, Bourzac says. Initially, the couple received mixed reactions. "Some people didn’t know what to think and tended to avoid us," he adds. "Others kind of thought it was cool, like we were an exotic pet couple or something."

Being in public together, Bourzac hopes they can encourage more tolerance and acceptance. "We’re just trying to show that we’re a loving couple." Sooner or later, Bourzac explains, people will begin to see that it’s okay for people of the same sex to be in love.

* * *

Inevitably, when the love between same-sex couples begins to mature, questions arise about the nature of their commitment and whether to publicly declare their love for one another.

Strauss and Leslie, for example, haven’t made a public or formal commitment to one another, even though they’ve been together for 23 years. More important for them, they say, is "the joining of hearts" in daily commitment rather than in a formal agreement or ceremony.

For others, however, making a public demonstration of commitment to a lifelong partnership becomes very important.

Richard Marshall, an engineer who works for SLO County, and his partner, Paul Bouisvert, created their own "commitment ceremony," with vows and a series of spiritual readings. The service was performed at a blufftop park in Shell Beach in September 1999 by the Rev. Chuck Arnold, a minister of the United Church of Christ. The outdoor site was chosen intentionally as a way of making public their love for one another. The couple met in Santa Maria, and have been together just over two years.

"It is tough to meet someone in this area," says Marshall, "but if you wait long enough, the right forces can come together." A series of synchronicities brought the pair together. "It was worth the wait."

It’s never easy for any couple to stay together, says Bouisvert. "As we all know, coupling is tough, even for heterosexuals."

So it was vital for the pair to enlist the public support of friends and loved ones for those inevitable tough times. By having a ceremony, they could assure themselves of the support they’d need to get past the bumps in the road. Thus having the ceremony "was partly ritualistic, partly realistic," Bouisvert says.

"The commitment is something that happens internally between two people and the ceremony is a public declaration of that," he adds.

They wear the rings they exchanged on the middle rather than the wedding finger of their left hand. "We didn’t want people to make assumptions about us being married to people of the opposite sex," Bouisvert explains.

Hall notes that there is a big difference between legal marriage and receiving the blessing of the church. "It’s important to note the difference," she says, because committed same-sex partners, even those who have been joined in "holy unions," don’t share the same rights as married couples.

While some churches may bless a same-sex union, only the state can confer legal status with its consequent protections and fair treatment regarding inheritances, property rights, health care decisions, medical benefits, and adoptions.

For now, California doesn’t offer legal marital status for gay and lesbian couples. A group calling itself Californians for Same-Sex Marriage, however, plans to begin collecting one million signatures this summer to place a same-sex initiative on the November 2002 ballot.

"We are not [saying] that gays and lesbians should be entitled to be married in church, only that their civil marriages be recognized by the state so that they can receive the same benefits as heterosexual couples," said Tom Henning, a San Francisco schoolteacher and the initiative’s creator in an interview with the Advocate magazine.

The measure states, "Two people of the same sex may lawfully marry in California."

Hall and her partner, who asked to remain anonymous, were blessed in a service of "Holy Union "held at the Metropolitan Community Church, which celebrates traditional Christian services for gays and lesbians.

The Los Osos pair received the church’s blessing without the legal status of a marriage. "It was important for us to make a public declaration of our commitment to one another," Hall says. The ceremony provided an opportunity for friends and loved ones to show their support for the relationship.

Hall claims there are more breakups among gay and lesbian couples than among straight couples because "there’s not as much societal support for these kinds of relationships."

Her own church narrowly blocked the inclusion of a formal service for same-sex blessings in the Episcopal Church’s "Book of Occasional Services" at last year’s General Convention.

Hall points out that many same-sex couples would like to share the legal benefits of marriage as a way to protect themselves.

The laws supporting same-sex relationships are changing slowly, notes Bouisvert’s partner, Marshall. Businesses and government agencies are beginning to extend health-care benefits to domestic partners. SLO County’s Board of Supervisors approved a resolution for such a provision in its contract with county employees last December, making domestic partners of SLO County employees eligible for health, dental, and vision coverage.

Marshall notes that the state legislature passed a bill in 1999 that took effect in January 2000 providing that state employees can extend health care benefits to their partners. As an engineer who works for SLO County, he sought similar benefits for his partner, Bouisvert. His request, he says, led to the board’s resolution.

The gay and lesbian movement, Bouisvert adds, has matured over the years. It’s not as militant as it was in the early days. The movement has turned its focus from sexual liberation to other, more relevant issues such as domestic partners’ rights.

"In ’69, I think it was about sexual freedom. Now we see that relationships are important and need to be supported."

* * *

Marty Rochlin, the retired psychologist, says that perhaps the greatest obstacles to the public’s acceptance of same-sex coupling are the rigid gender roles imposed on all of us, including gay and lesbian lovers, by "authorities" and "moral guardians".

For some people, these limiting constructs create an unrealistic sense of security, setting up false dichotomies of black and white, good and bad, gay and non-gay, the right way and the wrong way of doing things.

But Charles Myers, Rochlin’s partner, says there are too many variables in life for a person to be defined and categorized by these one-dimensional stereotypes.

"We don’t really define ourselves as a gay couple," Myers offers.

"We’re a couple of guys who love each other," Rochlin adds.

"I define myself more politically than sexually," Myers says, "—as ‘left-wing’ " rather than as ‘homosexual’." He believes that such labels and definitions are limiting and misleading, and don’t adequately describe the whole person or personality.

A person is so much more than his or her sexuality, says Myers, who describes himself as a musician, a connoisseur of fine foods, and a lover of philosophy and the arts. Compared with "homosexual," these variables more adequately portray who a person is. Yet even they fall far short of the potentials and multifaceted dimensions that make up a human being.

"People’s sexual tastes really tell you very little about them," Rochlin says. Sexuality is only one dimension of the human personality. And even within sexuality itself, there is so much variety, there’s no one correct way to express oneself sexually. One can be gay or lesbian, heterosexual or pan-sexual, enjoying a variety of partners or practices.

So the labels "gay" or "non-gay" are really false dichotomies when viewed against the diverse ways in which people actually live, Rochlin argues.

"I’m just glad I’m gay because I get to love this lovely guy," Myers says, beaming at Rochlin.

As an example of the difficulty of limiting definitions, Myers points to the Showtime production of "Queer as Folk," which attempts to present the homosexual lifestyle in a positive way but fails, says Myers, because of ridiculous and worn-out stereotypes.

"Since seeing the program," he added, "we’ve decided we’re not gay," at least not in the way gays are portrayed in the television series.

One’s typical life experience, if one is honest about it, will itself contradict many of our cherished notions about love and relationships, says Rochlin. Over time, one learns that "it’s hard to make easy definitions" about who and what a person is.

Seeking security through stereotypes and one-dimensional thinking is not a helpful way to build a relationship, he adds. Life just doesn’t work that way.

"We don’t value security, we value circumspection," Myers says, meaning he and Rochlin encourage one another to pursue their loves without laying down false expectations.

"We value supporting each other’s growth," Rochlin says. "We’re not getting ourselves locked into one way of doing things. I think that—doing things one way, the ‘right’ way—comes from fear. The enjoyment of our relationship comes simply from being together because we want to be together."

Adds Myers: "When we have that underlying everything, then everything’s okay."

Myers turns to his partner of 13 years, who is 25 years his senior, and says, "I don’t think I’ve respected anybody as much as I’ve respected you." Æ

Stacey Warde is a regular free-lancer for New Times.