For my gay readers…
When did you first suspect you were gay? When did you finally admit it to yourself? How did you react to this?
I’ll go first.
(if you don’t want to tell the world but don’t mind sharing with me, feel free to e-mail me: rob[at]bigrob66[dot]info)
When I was in junior high, I sat behind a kid named David B. in gym class (we were organized alphabetically for roll call). I remember being drawn to him for some reason. We never spoke, I don’t think he ever even looked at me, but I know now that what I was feeling for him was physical attraction. I don’t remember what he even looked like now, but I remember his tan, broad back very, very well.
I remember being attracted to a few different boys in junior high. There was David C., a Hispanic kid, that even in 7th grade was big and muscular. At the time, I had no idea what to make of this. I didn’t know what “gay” or “homosexual” meant until 8th grade, so I didn’t even have a label to place on myself. I was often called “faggot,” and beaten up, but a search for the word in the dictionary only revealed “faggot” as a bundle of sticks – to be burned, naturally. Whatever “faggot” was, it was not a compliment.
I asked my mom what a fag was once (because I was so often called that). She said, “a man that is attracted to other men.” That was it. A nice, clean, judgment-free definition. If she had an opinion way back then, she kept it to herself.
In high school, my attraction to other boys became more intense and stressful. I developed a crush on my best friend that ended with, well, it ended our friendship. He was completely oblivious to this, thank god, and his parents wrote it off to the emotional distress of my parents impending divorce. I once touched him by accident and felt like I was flooded with electricity. I wanted to touch him again more than anything in the world, but I knew I could not. If I didn’t understand my feelings, then he certainly would not.
It was because of him that I suspected I was gay. How could something so powerful be just a phase? It was very simple. I wanted him desperately. I suffered greatly, but the friendship had to end, and did so with much drama (from me).
I went out on dates with a few different girls. In retrospect, I know at least three of them had crushes on me. I would touch them, kiss them, and each time the physical contact resulted in a big zero. This was the worst. Getting a sexual charge from someone of the same sex was one thing, but getting nothing from girls – I was clearly defective somehow.
This was in Texas, of course, where young men were routinely beaten to death on suspicion of being gay. It was the early eighties when AIDS was punishment from God and the so-called “Religious Right” seized control of much of the country and used fear and ignorance against us. It was not the best place and time to discover one was gay – damned – simply because he or she was wired differently.
I fantasized about a few of the guys in my classes but otherwise suppressed it. I wished “it” would go away. I had to find a way to make it stop but couldn’t. Eventually, I developed a crush on a guy at the store where I worked. When he moved away, I found myself filled with despair. Not because he left, but because I felt I would always be alone. My life would be a series of unrequited crushes. I was…
* the only one
* doomed to a life without companionship
* hated by a society that didn’t even know me
* exclusively attracted to members of my own sex
I admitted to myself that I was gay. I didn’t know why or how, but I was physically attracted to my own sex. The idea horrified me.
My dad, like any good Texan, kept a gun in the house. It was a handgun and I knew where it was. One night after work, sometime after my 18th birthday, I sat on the edge of his bed (I don’t remember where he was) with the gun next to me. I was crying. I was miserable. I wanted the pain to end.
I stared at it. After a long time, I stopped crying and put the gun away. I never pulled it out again.
During my first semester at U of H, I made a stop by the university library. To my delight, they had an entire collection of books on homosexuality. I spent the rest of the day learning about how I differed from everyone else I knew, but was in all other respects the same. I discovered that I was…
* one of millions in America
* not sick
* yet still despised by a society that didn’t even know me
I was greatly relieved and soon came out to my friends from high school, many of whom asked,
“Have you ever had sex with a man?”
“No*,” I replied.
“Then how do you know?”
I asked my female friends if they had ever had sex with a male. None of them had. I asked my male friends if they had even had sex with a female. None of them had. So how did they know they were straight?**
“Oh, yeah,” they said.
* I first had sex when I was 19. I didn’t like it and waited some time before giving it another shot. Turns out who I had sex with, and the circumstances, made a big difference.
** My friends from high school were all brought up right. No sex. No drugs. No alcohol. No smoking. I remain grateful for them to this day.
When I think back, there were so many little things, when I was little, that hinted I’m gay: I always looked at this grade 6 guy when I was in grade one; I found men in bathing trucks very “interesting”, and I always like my male teacher better than female ones. But I suspected I was gay during junior high.
I believe I was 13. I was at a restaurant and one of the waitor winked at me when I had an eye contact with him (a few years later I found out he was one of my best friend’s brother.) Like you’ve said, I got this electric charged through me. I didn’t know what it was, but for the next few months, going to that restaurant was a big thing for me.
I had a few other “crushes” after that waitor guy, I finally admitted I was gay when I was 15-16. I had to admit it because no matter how popular I was among the females, I’m not attracted to any of them. In fact, the flirts and “love notes” I got from them even turned me off more.
Wow, another fantastic and insightful entry-to say the least.
I actually would have to honestly say I pretty much knew at 6. Yep, I was attracted that young to other hunky farmer men-grew up on a farm, so that’s what I had to look at. I was actually humping the foot stool in the living room and getting caught at 4-guess I was a horny little devil. Once I started grade school at 6 by the time I was 7 my one other school age friend(grade school out there only had 7-9 students every year) and I were horsing around on sleep overs. I managed to get my 10 year older half brother to let me give him the occasional blow job-but not too often as I played coy with him about it all. By nine another boy moved out there with his divorced dad who was one year older than me, but in the same grade. We became very close friends and finally did everything together including him riding me, which he seemed to enjoy a lot. His body matured faster than mine so by 12-13 he had some fuzz on his chest and stomach as well as whiskers-which I was pretty much wild about. My biggest score at such a young age was the hired help-illegal Mexicans up for summer work. One was 19 the other 27 and I seduced them both at different times and had my way with them-bummer it was only that summer at the age of 12.
Mind you all this time I fantisized about other local farmer men all the time-especially the one or two who had full beards and one who had the classic walrus mustache. One of the bearded farmers was Dutch and covered with hair-he was a wet dream. But that’s all they were-dreams. No luck scoring with a white man at that young age. I get a kick out of all the stuff you hear going on today with kids-where were they when I was growing up-actually, there’s probably a lot going on that we don’t hear about because young horny kids like I was want it. I know it’s warped of me to think that-but I was a super horny gay kid and wanted whatever I could get. Growing up on a rural farm that’s how it is. I never had bad feelings about it, I grew up with “Threes Company” and “Dynasty” with gay themes in them and even though I sometimes got called a fag I just blew it off and kept quiet about it. What happened between me and any other fella was only between us. I had play buddys and we kept it that way. High School was total celebacy as I went to a different HS from my friend in grade school and the small town of 5000-was just too damn small-Winnemucca, NV. What a horrible place to live, but I had to move away from home and room and board to go to school for four years. Home was 70 miles one way from HS. My grade school buddy an I got together one more time at 19-it was worth it. I always though he might be Bi, though. Last I heard he had a mail order bride from the Phillipines.
Well, college finally kicked my life into gear and I felt like I was able to live-Reno was and is a far cry from red-neck Winnemucca. And even though you and I are only a couple years apart in age I was fortunate enough never to have the self-loathing that so many suffer growing up gay. Nevada’s attitude I would guess is very different from Texas and you just keep quiet about it and no body will bother you. I never heard of any gay hate crimes till I started going to SF in the 90′s. But Utah has it’s share of gay youth that sometimes commits suicide because of the Mormon thing-however, the Mormon church is getting better about accepting gay family members-sort of. Thanks for the entry-it’s an interesting topic of discovery.
Steve
Wow – amazingly different stories than mine! Thanks for telling them. I wasn’t sure anyone would go on record with something so personal.
Much of the bible-belt runs through Texas, which explains the irrational homophobia and horrible politicians that the state excretes.
I can remember being strangely attracted to masculine images when I was very young. When I was 5, I was fascinated with a bare-chested man in the comics of the Sunday paper. He had a beard, was very muscular, and the artist had drawn three hairs on the guy’s chest. Apparently he was a one time character because I never saw him again. I still remember my disappointment.
That is so crystal clear in my mind almost 40 years later!
Wow – I loved your story here – I think we all have very similar stories, being from the same generation. I blogged mine :)
I knew at four or five. I can remember being at the local corner market with my mom and standing in front of the magazine rack and seeing the cover of Ironman magazine and getting that flushed feeling we all know so well. I also knew it was ‘wrong’ because I grew up in a lower middle class blue-collar neighborhood and I can remember my dad making disparranging remarks during a program that was on during the birth of the gay liberation movement and showed the guys cruising Christopher Street in Manhattan. I internalized the shame I thought I was supposed to feel about it and carried it for many years.
I too tried suicide at about the same age, but I tried it with pills and booze as the only gun in the house was an old bolt action shotgun that was longer than me and too difficult to use for the purpose. I can also remember getting caught with some muscle mags by my older brother, him basically calling me a fag and a huge fight erupting that ended up with my mom slapping me and me hitting back after she got in the middle of it. I took off and was gone from home for two days.
I never liked guys my own age, and in high school I always looked at the coaches and not the football players. I had the same girlfriend through most of high school but couldn’t put the moves on her as I knew it just wasn’t the thing for me. There was talk behind my back, especially by someone in the group I hung out with. He eventually got me to be pushed to the side but not completely out of the clique. I only talk to one of them anymore; and he and I have now been friends now for 28 years.
I played around but didn’t come out until almost 25 when a straight couple that were friends of mine declared it was time to come out and took me to LA gay pride in 1990. I have been out ever since and have not regretted it.
Hey Rob…
I love reading people’s stories of self -discovery and coming out. You probably have read bits and pieces of mine through my blog.
When did I suspect or know I was gay. In all honesty, with the sheltered life I had, my whole comprehension of the gay life really didn’t evolve, seriously, until my freshman year. It all came to be when Harvey Mile was murdered by Dan White in SF. Now if you were to ask me when did I think I may have been experiencing what would be gay tendencies or those “feelings”??? Hmmmm…Probably around 7 grade. I remember going on an altar boy picnic, the first time I really did anything with my friends. It was also the first time that I had been naked around other guys and likely they around me. An of course with some puberty was just kicking in. But strangely enough what really caught my attention, was the priest that took us on the trip. (FYI this guy was a ‘good’ priest). I remember being fascinated seeing this muscular body covered in hair and even more fascinated with his TOY. I literally was getting a hard on. And I just took my time drying off and getting dressed, all the other guys out of the dressing room for a while. The same charge continued in high school PE class. I literally had to bold into the shower and turn toward the wall because the ol’ pecker was wildly charged. Same thing right into college. In college I had a good friend, a then next-door dorm roomie. Every now and then after his shower, he’d come barging into my room on the way back to his wrapped in his towel. I generally was right at the sink shaving right next to the room’s door. What did he do on queue…flashed me. I remember my heart racing every time and wishing he would start wacking off in my room. Anyhow, enough there.
Now when did I admit to myself I was gay…well you know it wasn’t long ago. only two years ago. I signed myself up for an erotic massage and lets say I never looked back. I found I enjoyed every muscle he worked and the ‘means’ by which the masseuse did it. Of course, I am still working on the component of coming out to family though a few suspect based off of queues I have gotten. Only a few friends know at this time.
So there you have it in the event you didn’t pick up on some of it in my early blogging days of a mere 18 months ago. LOL.
I had no idea and was not even clued in when I met my first boyfriend. I had just split from my fiance when I was 20. I felt awful. I had this guy friend that I got along with – a little older than I, like an older brother I could talk to. I wouldn’t say he took advantage of my emotions, but he did show me what I knew was lacking in my straight relationship. And by that, I mean a sense of calmness and a great feeling of self. And really, even though I didn’t know, I knew right away. It all made sense.
What an interesting post. I have had an attraction for men as long as I can remember. Not boys, men. By the time I was 14 I was doing the nasty regularly with older guys. But I was also ashamed to admit it and come out. So I did what any good catholic from a family of seven redneck boys would do. Twenty-eight years later I’m trying to turn it all around. Have to admit it though, the same attraction for the same type of guy has never changed.
I had a huge crush on Captain Kirk when I was around 6, but sexually I was very sheltered. I didn’t really figure out what to call it till I was 17. Gay and fag were used often enough around high school but those were sick evil people, not me.
Hello Rob.
I was browsing the internet when I found your blog and it’s sad to know there are places where people can be so hateful to those that are attracted to their own sex. I enjoyed reading your blog and I hope that there comes a time where things will be different and where people will be less hateful to others and be more open to them. Take care..
A fan from across the globe ^_^