Growing up, my mother had a friend named Anthony. He was a big, beefy, Italian man, in his late 20s. Anthony used to babysit me. He would tell me fantastic stories of parties on Fire Island and orgies and sex dates he had at the Everard Baths. He would get me so excited with these stories that I would spend hours locked in the bathroom jerking off. When I told my mother that I thought I was falling in love with Anthony, she gave me a copy of Larry Kramer’s Faggots and told me that everything I would ever need to know was in that book.