In Joseph Hansen's work of gay noir, Backtrack, the narrator is looked after by a hospital orderly named Catch.
After that, he feeds me. For years, I didn't know there was anything for breakfast but sugar pops. These days, I get eggs turned over easy in deep butter, slabs of juicy ham, fried mush, porkchops, buckwheat cakes, country sausage, hashbrown potatoes. What I got yesterday was cornbread fresh out of the oven with melted butter and molasses.
"You'd think you wanted to marry me," I said, and Catch said, "You'd be right."