Closed-Minded Family

So I decided to test my coming out with one member of my family, the one I am closest to.

I told this person that I was bisexual and that I had found someone online that I was interested in.  I said that I had made plans to meet that person face to face within the next week.

The reaction was worse than I expected.  She had a panic attack, didn’t sleep that night and called in sick the next day.  Finally I was able to reassure her a bit and this is what she said to me:

“You can do what you want with your life, but I don’t want to hear about it.  Anything that has to do with your bisexuality, I don’t want to hear about it because I will never understand it.  You can talk to me about anything you want, but not about that.  It makes me panic and it makes me sick.  I love you and I cannot stand it when you say you want to meet new people, possibly for sex.  Nothing could hurt me more.  I am here for you, and you can do what you want with your friends but don’t tell me about it.  I don’t want to know because it hurts too much.”

I was surprised to hear that this person does not want to know anything about my sexuality and my private life.  I actually thought she was interested in me, but it is clear that she is not interested in this part of me.  And maybe it’s a good thing.  I feel free now.  Free not to come out to my closed-minded family.

It also makes me question the maturity of Christian heterosexuals.  The fluidity of their own sexuality scares the hell out of them.  Just like it used to scare the hell out of me.

If they wish to act as if sexuality does not exist, fine.  I can do that.  So if they ask me what I’m up to, I shall say this:  “I’m meeting new people.  Nothing sexual can happen because sexuality does not exist.  It only exists between a man and woman who are married.  Anything outside of this is sickening, perverted pornography.  Keep your blindfolds, I don’t care, but I’m walking out because I had enough of this shit.”

They won’t know what the hell I’m talking about.  But I will smile.

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The Mark of Infamy

My father said he would kill me if I ever turned homo.  I was 14 years old.  I wonder how much this has affected my sexual development.

That evening I swallowed half a bottle of aspirin.  I knew they were painkillers.  I was not in pain.  I think I was foreseeing the pain that was to come.

I didn’t know much at age 14.  I knew practically nothing of personal identity and even less about sexual orientation.  I was simply me.  But I learned something important that day:  A homo doesn’t deserve to live.

I didn’t think I was a homo.  I hardly knew what the word meant.  In my teenage mind, the word homo meant “like a girl.”  I was a boy.  So to be “like a girl” was abominable.

I could have been a thief, a liar, or even a murderer, and my father would have forgiven me.  But if I was gay, I deserved to die — to be killed by my own father.

To be bisexual was even worse.  That was the ultimate disgrace, the most perverted thing on the face of this earth.

I was bisexual.

The mark of infamy was on me.  I didn’t deserve to live and I didn’t deserve to be happy.   And if I was to ever succumb to my sexual desires, it would be the end of me.

I don’t think I ever got over it.  Even now, decades later.  My father is dead.  I am free but I am not.  He left something in me.  The mark of infamy.  I wish I could pluck it out.

How can I be bisexual and proud?

I AM proud of myself.  But I am not proud of myself in regards to THEM — my family.  Bisexuality is not something to be proud of according to Christianity.

Am I Gay?

Here is a brief history of my sexual preferences from age 3 to 25.  It contains some explicit thoughts and some dirty words.

When I was a boy (from age 3 up to 12) I was physically attracted to ladies only.  But when puberty started, my attention turned to my penis and its erections.  I was intrigued by the pleasure I got when I did certain things with it.  I was 12 or 13 when I had my first ejaculation.

At that time, I became curious about boys my age and their penises.  I wondered if they pleasured themselves in secret just like I did.  My interest in the male form (physique) started to awaken also.  I began to notice the difference between cute guys from the not-so-cute ones.

At age 14, I started having wet dreams.  This was a surprise and an embarrassment — to wake up in a puddle of sticky sperm every now and then.  But the content of my dreams was what troubled me the most.  In these lucid dreams, I was almost always in the school yard and I would pull down a boy’s pants, suck his dick and then force him to suck mine.  These dreams disturbed me because I would find myself so excited when I woke up.  I thought I was turning into a homosexual and I was horrified!

In the meantime, in real life, I would date girls only.  Girls were attracted to me and it was easy to find a girlfriend.  I had many.  I would discreetly look at guys from the corner of my eyes, but would only allow myself to hug, fondle and French kiss girls.  I wanted my interest in guys to go away, but the more I repressed it, the more explicit my dreams became.

At age 19, I decided to do something about it.  I went to see a counselor.  I was so afraid to speak about this issue that prior to seeing him, I wrote everything down.  I scribbled a 5-page letter, spelling out exactly what I wanted to say to the counselor.  I remember walking into his office, sitting down, pulling out my letter, and starting to read.

Basically what I was telling him was that I was gay and that I had never been able to admit it to anyone, not even to myself.  My dreams proved to me that deep down I was gay.  I read the letter to the end without stopping.  I was shaking.  To me it was like admitting defeat:  I had failed as a man.  I thought that I would never be a real man, that I was doomed, that I was a loser.  I was ready for execution.  I wanted him to pull out a gun and shoot me, right there on the spot, no questions asked.

I finished reading the letter and I sat there, staring at the floor.  I didn’t want to look into his eyes.  I felt relieved but at the same time totally extinguished.  I thought my life was over.  Finally I looked up at him and he was smiling and he said:  “Daemon, you’re not gay.  Dreams don’t mean anything.  You’ve never had sex with a man.  How can you possibly know whether or not you are gay?”

I was shocked!  His comment was so unexpected.  I could not believe my ears.  I was also a bit disappointed because it had taken me 5 years to gather up enough courage to finally admit to someone my most secret fantasies, proving that I was gay, and he tells me that I am not!?  I was so surprised, I could not speak.  I simply stood up, thanked him, shook his hand and walked out.

From that moment on, whenever I would feel attracted to a guy, I would replay his words in my head, visualize his smile, hear his gentle, caring voice say:  “Daemon, you’re not gay.”  I chose to believe him.  Yes it was a choice and it was also what I wanted to believe, so I accepted it.

My physical attraction to females was a given.  I was attracted to women by default.  No doubt about that.  So the years went by and I continued chasing women and dreaming about sucking dick and at age 25, I married a young lady my age.

To be continued…  (maybe).