Grace and I spent a lot of time together this week, owing mostly to the snow day. We'd hardly had time to talk since Sunday morning after that amazing night with Kale. I had to get to work fixing my thesis and shit, and she had a busy Sunday planned, taking advantage while the kids were with her ex. But on Wednesday, the big snow storm hit New England. Everything was shut down, the university, my work, almost every business except the big chain markets. So Grace invited me over on Tuesday, and we had a great dinner, amazing sex (which I may write about later, not today though). I met her kids, fraternal twins Dylan and Graham, and we took them sledding and it was a fucking riot.
But on Tuesday night, as we lay in each other's arms, Grace asked me to tell her how and when I realized I was gay, wanted to hear the whole story, and I couldn't tell her cause I started bawling. What the fuck my issue is with the waterworks these days, I do not know. Probably my strong feelings for Grace are stirring my emotional pot or some shit. Anyway, this started out as an email to Grace, and here it is for you all. Don't worry...there's sex at the end.
Seems like in the media, you hear gay activists talking about how they knew from birth or age three or some shit. That's not how it was for me.
I grew up a tomboy, but I never really played with boys. Just by myself rolling around in the mud, climbing trees, wrecking myself on my bike and skateboard doing (or at least attempting) stupid shit. I had girls as friends, and we'd play together too, doing whatever girly shit was in vogue that week. I always did sports, too. Soccer when I was a kid, then later cross country, swimming, and track. I was probably lucky, because my success as a school athlete probably helped deflect some of the shit that would have come my way in high school.
When I was little I always imagined a church wedding, a nice house, and all that shit, but I never thought about boys or sex really at all, that I can remember. I always had this general feeling that I was still growing up, and at some point I'd be ready and the thoughts of boys and sex would kick in. Everyone says kids mature at different rates, and some take longer than others, but we all get there eventually. I just figured I was a little behind with that stuff.
When I turned sixteen and my tits (such as they are) were developed, I had all the expected body hair and odors, and Auntie Flo and I were old friends, I started to wonder why I wasn't dating. Again it was just a vague sense that I wasn't ready somehow, that the time would come. But at that point I started thinking, shouldn't it be time? But it wasn't, apparently.
I still didn't think about sex per se, but sometimes during class I'd amuse myself with daydreams about going to the beach with some of the girls on the track team and splashing and laughing in our bikinis, but that was as far as my imagination took it.
All my friends were dating regularly by junior year. I'd been asked out, but always turned down date requests based on that vague feeling of unreadiness. Tried to talk myself into it. Shouldn't I be flattered and excited when a handsome boy asked me out? Shouldn't I go? But I never did. Eventually date requests dried up and a few hurtful rumors started. Ironically, those kids trying to be mean probably knew more than I did.
There was also a teacher at the high school, Miss Lorenzo. She was a rotating sub, would step in and teach any class whenever she was needed. She was young, in her twenties, sweet and dark and pretty, and often overwhelmed by the subject she was teaching. I think English was her specialty, so when she had to cover a math or science class, she was way out of her element. We bonded early in my senior year when she was covering for my calculus teacher and the class made a game out of stumping her and just being mean. By the middle of class she was near tears, and I felt so bad for her I helped her out, going to the white board and answering the questions the kids were throwing at her.
After class, a few kids called me a dyke and an ass-kisser. I told them to fuck off. I thought Miss Lorenzo would bust me for swearing, but she held my hand and thanked me, and that made me feel a lot better. I thought about that day often, and we always stopped and chatted when we saw each other.
