When he reached Saudi Arabia, he found that the answer to his question was not quite as simple as we in the West often portray it. As far as he could make out, the answer really was both yes and no.

"How will I know you who you are?" I ask as we arrange a meeting time.

"I'll be wearing a red T-shirt," he says. "Believe me, no one in Saudi Arabia wears a red T-shirt!" he says about the conservative dress code here. In public, every Saudi woman wears the obligatory abayeh, the black garment that covers her body from head to toe. And while it's not uncommon to see men dressed in Western slacks and collar shirts, by far most men dress conservatively and traditionally, too, in the white, floor-length robe called a dish-dash, topped with a red checkered kifeyah headdress.

I enter the lobby at the designated time, on the lookout for the signature coloured garment. I spot "Haitham" immediately. (All the men I interviewed in Saudi Arabia asked that their real names not be used.) But even without the red signpost, gaydar would have quickly led me to my mark.

A 28-year-old architect, Haitham could be a gay man right out of Chelsea or the Castro. He's wearing red sneakers and tight jeans, and his hugging red shirt shows off a muscular body that is obviously a regular at the gym. A sharp jaw line cuts his angular face, and his eyes are dark and deep. The short, thick black curls on the top of his head are kept stiff with mousse.

Later, after we go to my room, the only place Haitham and the other men feel safe speaking openly, he tells me that his dress code is one sure sign to other gay men of his sexuality. But more importantly, it's a symbol of just how much the country has opened up for gay men in the past decade. These days, he says, gay men can be "out" in the way they dress. "If I wear a tight or flashy T-shirt, straight men just think I am trying to show off," he says, smiling. "But other gay men know."

The number one way people meet is through the Internet, he says, including several sites specifically for gay men in Saudi Arabia. "The government blocks a lot of sites," he says, "but if you know how to navigate the Net, you can get around it."

The opening up of gay life in Saudi society includes a network of private parties, at least one each weekend, attended by anywhere from 20 to 50 men, says Haitham. There are several cruisy streets that men drive back and forth on after midnight. (No one walks anywhere in Riyadh.) And Riyadh even boasts three gay cafes, two of which draw mixed crowds, but one of which is 90 percent gay.

Only after promising that I will not reveal it in my article, Haitham tells me the name of the gay cafe, and draws me a map of how to get there.

The next night, I convince a reluctant "Fahed" who I meet by chance in the hotel lobby to take me to the gay cafe. We arrive about 10 p.m. on a Wednesday night, and yet the place is packed, with most of the small, round chrome tables and matching chairs placed outside to take advantage of the warm night air. I am surprised that the men sit so freely in the open. Even more surprising is that most of the customers are clad in the Saudi dish-dash and kifeyah, rather than the jeans and T-shirt look sported by Haitham and Fahed. At first, I wonder how gay this cafe really is. But within minutes, I feel the heavy gazes of men cruising a newcomer, and all doubts melt.

Inside, the walls are painted a bright peach, and colorful strands of neon light overhead liven up the place. The waiters are mostly Filipino, and rush back and forth from the kitchen with trays of hot sandwiches, cappuccinos and French deserts.

Fahed, a tall, slim 25-year-old who drives his father's Mercedes, is a little nervous about being at the coffeehouse. He's been before, but not for a several months. The last time he visited, he found a note from an anonymous admirer on the car windshield. It freaked him out that a secret suitor knew what car he drove.

Like the other men I spoke with while in Saudi Arabia, Fahed is highly educated, speaks nearly perfect English, and is comfortable with himself as a gay man. His fears about coming out revolve almost exclusively around his family rather than the government or religion. All four men I interviewed, including Fahed, rolled their eyes and laughed when I inquired about whether the Saudi government executes men for being gay.

"Oh come on, please, that is so exaggerated," insists Fahed. "Americans love those kind of dramatic stories, but they are mostly lore. I mean, it's well known there are several members of the royal family who are gay. No one's chopping their heads off."

"Of course, there are no gay rights groups," he adds. "Political groups of any kind are not tolerated."

But more than fear of the government, family shame keeps gay men in the closet here, he says. "If I would come out," Fahed says slowly, shuddering at the mere thought, "I wouldn't just ruin my life. I'd ruin four other lives too," referring to his brother, sister, mother and father. His father who's a highly placed Saudi government official would certainly lose his job, and the family would be totally disgraced, he says.

So while things may well be easier today for gays in Saudi Arabia than in the past, he says, "There is always a limit. There will never be a real gay society here."

You can write to Mubarak Dahir at MubarakDah@aol.com.