It seems like everywhere you look today, there's a new coming out story that someone just has to share. The internet, movies and television are littered with them. I guess this is good as it shows how people are getting more comfortable allowing the stories of these people into their homes. Perhaps it shows that many people know someone who is gay or was on the receiving end of those two difficult little words. Perhaps there is someone scared and insecure who is seriously contemplating letting those words escape his lips for the first time. So here is mine. Take it as you will. It's a pretty normal story, nothing too traumatic or scandalous ever happened. I don't expect it to change anyone's attitude or to provide a new perspecttive on this mystery called life. It's just my story. I think I wrote it more for myself than for anyone else.

First Pangs

I can still remember it fairly clearly, although it happened nearly twenty-five years ago. My excited brother rushed into my room with a huge smile on his face. I was six and he was eight. "Chris, come here," he called, turning my attention from the airplane I was playing with.

"What?" I asked.

"Just come here," he yelled with a motion of his hand. "I want to show you something."

My big brother was the smartest guy in the world to me at the time, so I followed him with no questions asked.

He led me to the dark and forbidden confines of my parents’ bedroom. "What is it?" I asked in a whisper.

"You don’t have to be so quiet. Mom and dad aren’t home," he told me. "Just come here."

He led me to the nightstand on my father’s side of the bed. He opened it and shuffled through the many books and papers on top. On the bottom, my brother grabbed something large and glossy. It reflected what little light was present in the room. With a smile on his face, he sat on the floor with his back to the bed. "You have to see this."

I sat next to him. "What is it?" I whispered.

My brother just smiled. "Wait..." He flipped the worn pages quickly to a group of pictures in the back. "Look!" he said as he pointed to a lady with a man behind her. I remember that the two were standing naked behind the horizontal shadows of blinds with the features of their faces barely visible. He pointed to the woman’s breasts and vagina, salivating like a hungry lion. I examined her body. She was beautiful. Her breasts were large and natural. Her hair long and flowing. Her body curved gracefully. And I was completely disinterested.

Then my eyes moved to the naked man. His strong features. His bulging legs. And everything else that makes a man a man. And I haven’t taken my eyes off men since.

The first crush that I can remember was in the first grade. His name was Patrick. He was the cutest guy in class and all of the girls liked him. In junior high school, I had the biggest crush of my young life. His name was Tim and we were inseparable for a year before we each started going to different schools. I’ll bet that Tim is completely gorgeous now.

I was seventeen when I first said those words to myself. Although to that point, only men had occupied my fantasies and had been the objects of all of crushes, I had yet to consciously realize what was going on. Then, one day, alone in my room, I said the words to myself. Out loud, even. "I’m gay." Then I went on with my day.

That Moment

I remember whipping through the streets of Honolulu on another sunny and warm September day. The top was down on the jeep as the wind ran freely through our hair. I looked over at him in the driver’s seat and tried to smile.

"Where do you want to eat?" he asked.

I didn’t answer. I was too deep within my own thoughts.

"Chris," he asked again.

I looked over at him. He was a California boy, 27 years old to my 18. He was beautiful, and looked like he should be dressed in a wetsuit with a surfboard in hand on the North Shore instead of sitting at the helm of our Catholic campus youth group. And I was taken back by his good looks and caring demeanor. My immature 18 year old head thought that I had fallen in love.

I had avoided him for weeks. I couldn’t look at him or even think of him without torturing myself over the thoughts I was feeling. Then one day, on a particularly long and slow bus ride home, I knew what I had to do. Something I had never told anyone before in my life. He was about to become a permanent fixture in my mind.

"Where do you want to eat?" I heard him ask again.

I finally looked over at him. "It really doesn’t matter to me. I, uh, just want to talk."

He nodded his head. "How about Wendy’s," he asked as we came to a stop at a red light.

Wendy’s, I thought. There would be crowds there. And the way my mind had always pictured it, we’d be alone on a long stretch of beach. The waves would be gently caressing our feet. There would be a gleam in his eye. Then, I would tell him. He would smile and pick me up, and we’d fall together into the white froth of the ocean. And he’d never let me go.

"How about Zippy’s."

I shook my head and I could sense that he was getting frustrated at that point. I was right. He slowed the jeep and pulled into a parking lot. It was a Burger King, I think. "What is wrong with you?" he asked.

I set my eyes on the dirty floor of his jeep. There they would stay for what seemed like the next twelve hours. My hands were cold and clammy there in the warm and dry Hawai’ian air. My throat quivered as I struggled to allow the syllables to escape.

"Are you okay, Chris? I mean, for the past while it seems like there’s been something really big on you mind." He paused for just a second. Maybe just to catch his breath. I felt his face move closer to mine. "What is it?"

I rubbed my clammy hands together and cleared my throat. I must have memorized every damn spot on the floor of that jeep by then. "I know that I’ve been acting distant lately," I finally struggled to say. "But I’ve just had a lot to deal with lately."

I felt his hand on my shoulder, and that didn’t help a bit. "What is it?"’

"Well, you know that I trust you..." I could feel him slowly nodding his head. "And I felt like you deserved to know..." I sighed again and tore my eyes from the jeep floor and into his penetrating eyes. "You deserve to know that I’m gay."

I couldn’t believe that those two words escaped my lips at all. My eyes watered up and my heart stopped beating. I looked at him for a reaction. Anything. But he was silent. He was almost stunned.

"Well..." I heard him say as I felt feeling return to my body. "I’m glad that you trust me, Chris."

I looked down again. "You’re the only one who knows," I mumbled.

"Now I understand why things have been so tough for you lately. But we can get through this."

I looked at him. "You don't hate me?"

He smiled and shook his head. And, to tell you the truth, I don’t remember anything more specific after that point. I was just so damned relieved that he didn’t hate me. Perhaps he was just too stunned for a normal reaction.

I got that a few days later...

Day One

It was a cold night in the abbey gardens at Saint John’s University. I thought about the past few months since coming out. The guy I came out to tried his darndest to straighten me out, but never let myself think that he hated me. To this day, I think his intentions were good. In his mind, I was headed for the fiery pits of hell. In my mind, I was finally free.

So there I was in the great white north, alone in the cold with my secret tearing me to pieces. My friends, my I’ll-bet-he’s-gay roommate and my girlfriend, they didn’t know me. I felt as if I didn’t know myself anymore.

My counselor knew. And he told me that when he needed something, anything, he would go to that garden. All I felt like I needed was warmth. But before I knew it and driven by emotion, a very non-religious me called out quietly, "Lord, please..." The tears from my eyes fell like ice to the ground. Then, it suddenly got bitterly cold, drawing me back to the relatively warmer confines of the abbey.

I walked behind the pews never taking my eyes off the crucifix. Even though there were no lights in the building, it still shined. I looked closer at it before I heard "Chris?" from the other side of the church.

"Yeah?" I said to the dark figure across from me.

We met face to face. "What are you doing here?" he asked.

"I don't know. Just trying to figure out a few things."

"This is a good place to do that. I do it every once in a while."

"Yeah." I said. I'd seen this guy before. He lived on my floor. But I’d never said more than your basic greeting to the guy. At that moment, though, he was my best friend.

"This building is a classic." He moved close to me. "Are you all right?" he asked.

I tried to hide the tear coming out of my eye. "I will be, I guess."

He looked up. "This is where I come when things get rough." I nodded. "What’s on your mind?"

I shrugged. "I guess just being here, where it’s so cold. I’m just so far away from home. I guess it all just gets to me sometimes."

He nodded there in the darkness. "I guess it can" He looked at me. "But there’s something else there, something that affects you more than anything you've already told me."

"How do you know?" I asked.

"I just can." He sighed.

"I dunno." I looked at him. "I think my roommate might be gay."

He shrugged. "Why does that bother you?"

I struggled with the words about to escape my lips. "Because that’s not the way it’s supposed to be."

He nodded slowly again. "I don’t think you really believe that." He paused. "Do you really want to know what I think?"

I didn’t say anything, but we both knew that my answer was yes.

"I think you're having trouble dealing with the possibility of your roommate being gay because you feel the same way." He looked at me. "You're a homosexual, right, Chris?"

I nodded.

"That’s all right. We all have our thing. Like me..." I listened closely. "I look at guys, nothing. I look at girls, nothing." He shrugged. "I think I might be asexual. I mean, I look at my girlfriend and she’s so beautiful and happy to be with me. But I feel like I’m cheating her. I’m just not as into it as she is."

"You're going to see a lot of shit in this life, Chris. A lot is going to bring you down, and a lot is going to lift you up." He paused and thought for a second. "Just remember this, Chris, don't worry about anyone else. Only two people matter to you. You and God. It's just you two. Mano y mano. Whatever anyone tells you against what you and God decide doesn't matter. It's just you and him, and he'll never do you wrong."

We left the sanctuary together that night, although we never mentioned that night to each other again. But when I passed him in the hallway after that the smile on his face let me know what he was thinking.

That night was it. I had my last girlfriend. I had my last days in silence. I was ready to come out to everyone.

Flag Waving

I was no longer afraid.

I stood in front of my technical writing class at the University of Alabama at Huntsville and stared at the many faces looking back at me. There were jocks and cheerleaders, frat boys and sorority girls. A real cross section of your average southern white college. Then there was me.

Since that night in the abbey, nothing had stopped me in my quest to shock, pester, and let the world know who I was. I wore my rainbow triangle necklace like a badge. I was out dammit.

And there I was in front of that class. They all stared at me, waiting for me to speak.

I had become involved in a local gay youth group that met at the local gay church. My life was dedicated to helping these disenfranchised young people feel better about their place in the world. I never wanted any of them ever to feel the way I did in the country-ass high school I went to.

My technical writing class required that we do a semester long project. I had chosen to do a website for the gay youth group. It was rough and anything but flashy; the opposite of my life. But I was proud of it.

And I was just a steaming heap of uninhibited pride by then. I had wasted too much time not letting the world know. And, boy, was I making up for it.

The technical writing class required that we do an oral presentation on our project at the end of the semester. Our professor could not stress enough how, in the very beginning of our speech, we needed a hook. Something to grab our audience’s attention and keep it with us for the duration of our time in the spotlight.

Believe me, by then I knew all about grabbing attention and time in the spotlight.

So I stood there in front of the class watching them watch me. I wasn’t nervous or reserved, but ready. Then I grabbed them. “I’m gay,” I said to all of the jocks and cheerleaders and frat boys and sorority girls. Their eyes never left me for the duration of my speech.

I don’t remember their reaction to my presentation. Maybe it’s because I just didn’t care. And that was how I felt about my being gay in all aspects at the time. I didn’t care what anyone thought. Just as long as everybody knew.

Then I got old.

A Decade Later

Not too long ago, a guy told me, after he found out that I was gay, something about my just coming out to him.

I was absolutely offended.

I haven’t come out in years.

My family knows. My closest friends know. Eventually those at work find out. But when I finally do tell someone, which is usually only after they ask, am I coming out?

No.

If I don’t tell anyone, does that mean I’m in the closet?

No.

I still have all of my rainbow necklaces and pride pins, but they’re all tucked away. I still enjoy man watching and acting catty with others like me, but no longer am I ever loud and obnoxious about it. Yes, that was fun at the time, but it’s just not me anymore.

I’ve gotten to the point where I’m just way past actually coming out. If I’m speaking to someone new, I feel no need to tell them about my orientation.

But if she happens to mention something about her past boyfriends, there’s nothing stopping me from telling her about mine.

Not too long ago, just after starting a new job, this woman and I were talking. Another woman, who I’d known for years, was talking with us. The subject got onto the famous summer of 1999. Every night was an orgy. Every morning was a mess. God, it was beautiful.

We had a joke about that summer and the girl’s house where most of the parties were spent. We’d joke that a lot of straight guys walked in, but very few walked out.

“What do you mean?” the newer friend asked.

I laughed. “They walk in liking girls, then walk out with a better appreciation for the same sex.”

She laughed. “What about you?” she asked playfully.

“What about me?”

“Did you, walk out...”

I laughed with her. “I never walked in straight.”

I do have to admit that I still enjoy the shock on people’s faces when they find out. In fact, this one straight male friend of mine still hasn’t seemed to have gotten over that shock and insists that I’m a closet heterosexual. I laugh at this. And I’ve offered many times to prove to him just how gay I actually am...

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