When did you know you were gay?
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Most folks have something about themselves have something they take pride in. For me it has been 'knowing myself.' Trying to discern the birth and evolution of what I think and believe: for me it is an axiom that physics aside all truth is personal.
Correspondence with gay guys who were working out if they were gay or bisexual when they were thirteen is sobering. Reading the weblogs of men who after years of marriage discover or decide to admit to their queer sexuality
My young self's ignorance of his sexuality can be spared the dunce cap. He was at ware with almost everyone around him. And the blindness had aspects of a blessing.
About eleven or twelve I had two or three I had largely abortive sexual experiences with guys about my age who were wiser in the purpose of their penis. How much unthinking social awareness kept me from thinking about them, how much ignorance I don't know.
I'd forget about that bad tasting first cock I had in my mouth for years. (Don't know what was wrong with it, not a fan of sweat, I do appreciate guy scent.) Had I come to know my love of other boys what would I have done. Isolated in my private patch of reality I could've been stupid enough to tell people about it. Daddy might not have knocked out my teeth as he had my mother's but I might've found myself in some brutal sexual reorientation 'therapy.'
If I'd heard of homosexuals I didn't know what they were. Not much later I'd hear a girl call her boyfriend "fag" but that didn't mean anything to me. Increasingly separate from other people the attempts at sex weren't repeated. I didn't think about sex at all.
A couple of years later I spent much of my spare time masturbating. The casts of my fantasies are forgotten. Maybe the few girls I did lust after. But not the tanned, blonde boy who when I first recalled him after I came out could still send a hot flush through me.
Eventually my two best friends came out to me by kissing one afternoon. Pretty soon I realized "Oh wow! I'm gay!" I'd become drunk on cruising boys, especially the pale fey ones. A close friend would tell me that I'd already said to her that I couldn't fantasize about women without thinking about guys first. I was blind.
No regrets. Hitting adolescence at eighteen seems much nicer than worrying about it when you are a prisoner of family and school. I moved to the big city and found myself in a neighborhood with plenty of nice, available gay boys.
I wonder what would've become of me if my friends hadn't kissed. Whatever my hand was doing when my parents away, even the drippy romantic poetry I'd written didn't leave me conscious of any sexual desire. With the hormonal vats overflowing I wasn't lacking in libido.
Discovering the beauty of guys was the catalyst I needed to escape the private concentration camp I'd erected around myself. It was an exhausting, wearying place. When I became a happy fag I evolved more than sexually. A never-ending work in progress to be sure.
What would it have been like to learn that in the back of my mind I'd been lusting after other guys at thirty? Or forty? How much rage would I have felt at myself for the years lost.
I started to as what would it have been to have been married, sired kids, formed a network of friends who'd reject me. But I can't see myself doing that. Don't think I'd've ever become lumpen bourgeois.
If you'd seen me on the street I might've been one of those self-absorbed horrors, muttering to himself and annoyed with you if you strayed in my path.
I could catalog the errors, defeats, petty damnations but given my place in time learning earlier would've have been a favor. To those of you who learned much later and have dealt with the grimness of telling your wife, your friends, your boss I honor your and wish you the best possible future.