The suspense is Killing ME

No answer on my mail yet lolz....

Oh, and mother just called. Little brother is in hospital with kidney stones.... ouch!!!!!!

They are operating tomorrow apparently. She asked if I could go and see him this afternoon, then she will duty later this evening as she works full day today.

I remember when Trev had kidney stones. It's not fun seeing a grown man lying in the bathroom crying. I wasn't very sympathetic though, we were on the verge of breaking up lol....

So yeah, I cheated once (Cont'd)

Went out with Iain to the Rasta Style place tonight. Was actually a little on the boring end of things. Firstly it is fn cold, and even though they had the fire lit, the doors were still open and the draft was everywhere. The band arrived late and only started playing at ten. And Iain was in a depressing mood. So just got home, I left the heating on, so it is beautifully warm...

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So back to the story...

The taxi dropped me off in front of this place called The Bronx. Anyone from Cape Town will know the place. I guess it is THE first place to go to if you want a gay club experience in Cape Town. Basically, as I remember it (it was a good five years ago), it was a bar on a corner. I arrived too early for anything to be actually happening, and at first was a little disappointed. There were only a handful of guys just chatting quietly here and there, having a drink or two. I was already quite on my way after the afternoon's white wine, so I just kept going. By the time the place started pumping, I was pretty inebriated.

As this was my first real experience of anything gay, I kept to myself, and just got drunk. Slowly, but steadily.

At some point, this guy comes up to me, and says his friend really likes me, and could they join me for a drink. Of course I say...

So they come over. The interested boy is pretty much just legal drinking age, a light skinned latino looking coloured guy, tallish, pink t-shirt, tight low rider jeans, fake diamond in one ear, a smile that lit up the room, and lips I simply wanted to consume. I bought them drinks, then his friend mysteriously disappeared at some point. We drank and chatted. His hand was on my leg. We moved outside where it was darker.

As soon as we found a quiet place, we were kissing. It was consuming, desperate. I had more than a decade of pent up feelings, he was just plain horny.

He came back with me to the hotel. As soon as the door was closed, we were stripping each other off, lips never unlocking. I had him in my mouth, then mine in his, all the time breaking for breath and more kssing. His lips were sweet and soft, his body tight and ready.

All I wanted was to be fucked again. It was obsessive. I rode him till we both were spent and exhausted. I can't be sure how long it was, the Vodka blurred the hours. Cum on light chocolate skin. There cannot be anything better.

We fell asleep, interlocked, still breathing sex.

At about five in the morning, I woke with his lips carressing my soft cock. I pretended to be asleep, taking in the portrait of his closed eyes as he gently had me in his mouth. I was more sober then, and as much as I tried, I was getting hard again. He lay against me, realising I was awake. We kissed again. It was the thing I missed most; no-one kisses like a man.

Soon he was behind me again, his cock inside me was a symbol of everything I had missed. It was over too soon, and as I drifted off to sleep, I felt him slip out of me, felt the wetness on the sheets.

Too soon, my alarm went off. He was getting out the shower, had made me coffee which was still hot next to the bed. Soon his smiling face was in mine again.

"I have to get home to change and get to work."

And with that, all that was left was the smell of him on the sheets. No name, no number.

I never went back, the Bossman wanted to entertain clients. Girl was talking to me again.

Two days later, I was back at home. G and I were still sharing a bed, but our intimacy was long gone already. I lay awake as she snuggled in her sleep out of habit. I held her because we had had a good run, and kissed her hair while she slept.

Monday after the weekend

So my last post was amusing - even to me, but it really is how I felt. It's good to be a in a place like that every now and then.

So back to reality of course. My oldest brother called me this morning to thank me for paying him back so soon.

Some history:

I came THIS close to marrying his wife's brother. N is the same age as me, a brilliant architect, beautiful, funny, sexy.

He is also an abusive alcoholic, a coke addict, a liar and a leech. Pity I didn't know about all of these last things BEFORE I packed up and moved 1200km to live with him. That was eighteen months ago. Since then, he has basically lost is architectural practice, all his friends, and any support he had from his family.

So a couple of years ago, he bought his sister's BMW from her (well, basically from my brother I guess). My brother agreed he could pay him directly because (surprise surprise) he has a crap credit rating. After I moved down there, I found out that he hadn't been making the payments. My brother also paid the insurance, and N also owed my brother a bunch of money for speeding fines which brother had paid for him.

Just before I left him, he went off the road with the BMW in a drunken stupor. I was out with friends because when we were supposed to go out, he was too drunk to even pronounce his own name. He had come to look for me.

He still had the audacity the next day to blame me for 'framing' him regarding the car. he truely beleived I had trashed the car and blamed him because I knew he wouldn't remember. he clearly didn't remember. That night, he lost his wallet, phone and doesn't even know how he got back to the house from the accident scene. He didn't even know where the car was. I had seen it on the way home the next morning because he had locked me out of the house and I slept at friends.

So brother had the car fixed through the insurance, and took the car away from him. We used my car which was fine. After I left him, he begged brother to let him use the car again because without it, he couldn't carry on with his business. he relented, and gave the car back. Since losing his business, he hasn't made a single payment to the car. he now owes more money than the car is worth.

Last week, N trashed the car again. Not badly this time, but still a significant repair bill which he is expecting brother to pay and 'add it to his account'.

So brother NEVER discusses any of this with me because he is embarrassed about it. My mother often drops a tidbit or two even though she promises him not to say anyhting. So I was really surprised this morning when brother had a long conversation to me about it all. He told me he has instructed the repair shop not to let N take delivery of the car, and he is simply not going to give it back to him.

A little nasty of me, but I wish I could make the payments for the car, because I would love to go down and collect it from brother, and drive around the small town enough for N to see me with 'his' car. He needs a kick up the ass quite honestly.

I'm not one for revenge, but one incident I can never forget. I flew back from Johannesburg and called him before the flight departed to make sure he would be on his way to the airport to collect me. It's a two hour flight, and the aiport is far from the little town, so he had to leave at about the same time so we could meet there together. he was like "Of course, sweetheart, I was just about to leave"

When I landed, he hadn't arrived yet. It was winter and I was on the last flight in. As soon as all the passengers had left, they basically closed the airport. I stood outside in the cold for three hours, trying over and over to reach him on the phone. Eventually I had to call my brother to collect me, and also to tell them I was worried about N thinkig maybe he had an accident on the way to the airport. My brother came to get me (an hour and a half drive at midnight), while his sister and my nephew went to our place to see where N was. he had passed out in the lounge, was full of blood from breaking the bathroom mirror (wtf). They had to break in because they could see he was bleeding through the window.

And I still forgave him, and stayed for another two months before I just couldn't take it anymore.

PS.... Welcome to Doomed But Cheerful as a new follower. I would provide a link, but his blog is set to invitation only (drops hint)

Coming out... slowly does it

It was boxing day. The ex and I had already negotiated seperation. We hadn't told anyone, except the girls. We told them we are doing a trial seperation for now. It's the hardest thing either of us had had to do. There was always the fear that we are somehow going to damage them, but up till now, we both still think our kids are better off with us being apart. And they think that too.

She was with some friends with the kids, I was at Little Brother's house with family. The plan was we would start telling people a bit at a time.

I blurted out that it looked like her and I were going to divorce. There was a stunned silence. On the outside, we were the model couple. My cousin (female) was the most shocked. She had just married, and said after that her and new hubby had discussed that they would model their marriage on what the ex and I had managed to achieve.

Later, after many drinks and food, cousin and I were dancing, and I whispered in her ear that the reality was that I wasn't exactly straight. She giggled and held me closer and kissed my neck. She whispers back in mine: Oh shit!, There goes my childhood fantasy...

A gay friend of the family was also there. He left early, but left his jacket. I called him to tell him, and he said he was at a friend, literally down the road. I left and popped in to drop his jacket. I was drunk, and on a high from telling my cuz. I told the gay boy after a drink. His friend and I ended up snogging on the couch. It was amazingly liberating. Finally, I had told somebody within the circle (two people now), and there was just acceptance. And finally, I had deep tongue kissed someone known to the circle. No guilt. I went home and basked in the glow of knowing I had a new life ahead of me.

Some thoughts

Since my divorce (well some time before actually) I have come to realize that I was not alone in the situation I was in.

I have come to meet (mainly online) a lot of guys that are married, or have been married that are battling with their sexuality.

For me, I tried for many years NOT to be gay. The were a few motivations. The first was that because my first real 'gay' experience happened to be with a pedophile, and I had it in my head that being gay meant that I was or could end up being like that. The second reason was a comment by someone when I was really battling with my sexuality in high school. He said that I would always be gay, and I shouldn't fight it. In context, it was a hurtful thing to say, so I made it my quest to prove him wrong. Thirdly, I always wanted a family. With my own kids.

And then I met my ex-wife. She was smitten with me, and I enjoyed the attention. We went through the awkward throws of inexperienced sex together, and after living with each other for three years, we eventually married. Two years later, we had our first daughter, and soon after that, we found ourselves with a second angel.

Sex was never good. We lived together more as friends, sex occasionally happening when we were both horny, or after a good night out with a lot of alcohol involved. She always suspected my sexuality issues, but we were never a couple that could actually talk to each other about real things. We spent our time together trying to build the perfect family, with the perfect house, in the perfect suburb, with perfect kids. But we never spoke.

But, at some point, after twelve years of marriage, we began talking. In riddles mainly, hints...

Then we met a couple. After some drunkenness at a dinner we hosted, somehow we all ended up in bed together. There was never the intention, but somehow being with them was electrically charged. The conversation was always about sex. There were dares. We progressed over some weeks to touching the same sex of the other partners...

Needless to say, the ex and the other woman started seeing each other seperately, and the husband was very obviously straight. I think we were all subconsciously sabotaging our realtionships. My wife and I, after many weeks of silence and not being able to talk about what was happening (I never knew at this point that her and the other woman were having an affair), just decided one day that we are on different paths, and it would be better if we seperated for a while.

It has been an amazing journey. Yes, stressful, sad, emotional. But we remain good friends, all four of us. Our kids are friends, we all see each other regularly. The ex will call me when her and C are having problems and she will cry on my shoulder.

The two of them are not out to anyone except me. They live two seperate lives, but while I have the kids, they stay with each other. I am out to everyone, including my kids.

I have noticed over the last few weeks, that they are being a little more daring in their sharing, so I think that is good for both of them. I am proud of them.

I still love her in my own little way. But have never been IN love with her. I have no regrets - how can I when I have two beautiful, well balanced teenage daughters?

We have been apart for four years now, and neither of us have ever been this happy.

My mother said to my oldest daughter last weekend: When your father said he was going to marry your mother, I thought WTF? He's gay.... But thankfully he did, and I have two beautiful granddaughters.

My kids laugh at how different we are, and comment often that they don't know how we stayed together for so long. But we can laugh about it because we talk about it, and we never show regret, because we don't.

When good sex ends badly.... (Part Four)

Okay, so I am on a roll, forgive me.

Come October, two months have passed. I have in the interim consulted a lawyer. I have access to an account where we have put money in. He reads it that I should Invoice her for services rendered according to our agreement, and draw what I need. I do this. He advises a restraining order if she enters the enters the country.

I wake up one morning to find her callling out from the street below where I live. I have no choice but to let her in. We talk, try to get to grips with what has happened, try and figure away forward. She has flown here to try and make the business work at the very least. We are both still passionate about it. Not the money, the passion to do what we are meant to do.

It is Tuesday, she has a flight out on Saturday. My kids are with me for Friday. My oldest has a prize giving function I have to attend. I am stressing about that.

We see prospective clients. It goes well. I think we make a good business team, we compliment each other. We have some good prospects. I had already invited my mom for Thursday night. So she comes around, and I stock with some brandy - my Mom and I like a brandy or two. She buys wine for herself. She assures em that the only time she gets out of control is when she is not with me. We have a good time, and my mom goes home. She loses it about a half hour after that, telling me I am a cunt, and am using her, and I fucked her life up, and I am just like her ex-husband. Unbelievably, the only way I can get her to bed and to sleep is to have give in to her constant begging for my cock.

I feel dirty. Try sleep on the couch. I get up early, run some errands, keep calling her to see if she is awake, she doesn't answer. i collect the girls after school and go home. She is up and showered, and quiet.

I take her for a walk, and tell her that she can stay the night so she can catch the plane the next day, but that she had fucked it all up once again. Once she gets on the plane, I want the never to speak to me again. She agrees, and promises no more alcohol until she goes. I have to go to the prize giving, and my youngest opts to stay with the girl. I get assurance that everything will be okay. the prize giving is over, and I am nervous. i get home, she seems fine, and I send the girls to bed.

I open the fridge, and notice that the three beers that I had left were now gone. So is the rest of a quarter bottle of Vodka that had been there for weeks. the bottle is still there, but it is empty.

I confront her, freaking out because she promised not to drink, and she couldn't stay one night while my daughter was in her care. She goes totally over the edge, and lies on the floor, telling me she would rather kill herself than not be with me.

I give her a choice: go to bed, or pack her stuff and leave. Angrily, she packs her stuff. I get her into her car, give her directions to the nearest hotel, and she is off, but not beofre she is screaming and shouting abuse. I live in a quiet neighbourhood. It echo's.

Two hours later, she is back, hooting outside my place. I have no choice but to go out to her. Lights are starting to come on. I sit in the car with her. There are empty beer cans on the floor. She is incoherent, abusive crap spewing from her vocal chords. I sit with her, hoping she will pass out. But she has had much much more, and perhaps other stuff too. Eventually, at around 5am, she says she needs to pee, and I escort her to the bathroom, where she passes out. I clean up and carry her to the bed.

As soon as the sun is up, I wake the girls, and take them to my mother, explaining more or less what happened. I know she has to be at the airport at 2pm, so I decide to call her at one to make she is awake, and to go home to help her get there if needs be.

I call my best mates, and start drinking. We talk shite, and I am doing the best I can not to vent the anger inside. the alcohol keeps me sane, even lifts the spirits a bit. My mates agree that if i get too drunk, they will escort her to the aiport. but I don't, and at midday, she calls me.

Does this mean it's over? she asks me....

I can't believe she is even asking such a stupid question! Damn right! I say. She says she is about to leave. My mates drive me home, and do a recce to make sure she has gone, and that no vandalism had occured. All was good.

I get mails of accusations after that. I had stolen money from her, and she was going to call the police. And then conspiracy theories about me stealing her clients.....

So this all ended in October. She was out here in December, and called me to ask if she could see me just for an hour. I said no.

Two weeks ago, I get a mail from her, saying something along the lines of she can't breathe without me. I ignored it of course.

I know it is not over. She will be here in July again. And who knows what might happen then? I do know that it is over.

When good sex ends badly.... (Part Three)

We Skype, build plans for a venture we want to start together. I see no reason why I can't spend a lot of time with her once she is back. We discuss living together. I love her kids, my kids love her. I am not in a relationship. I am beginning to think that this may be my last chance to be with someone, to grow old with someone. And the sex....

I turn down a contract that was about to start as the timing would clash with our own startup. We both put money and time into putting everything together.

And then it hit the fan. I was out with the kids at my brother's place. It was a last chance for them to see their cousins before they flew back to the UK. My mother was ill. Money was starting to dry up on my end. We had disagreed on some issues in terms of timing and location. So she calls me, blind drunk. I had begun realising she had a drinking problem some weeks earlier. We would be Skyping, and then at some point, she would go off on a tangent, going over the edge of her alcohol tolerance. I left neville because of his alcoholism. It leaves a bad taste. And it was becoming more and more frequent.

So she calls me, drunk. The line is bad, and she is not making sense. She texts me, tells me to go home so we can Skype, she desperately needs to talk. I tell her it's impossible, my kids come first, and it is their day, it would have to wait. After that, I get text after text, telling me I am a cunt, I don't care, just like all men etc etc....

I am thrown! I try to act normal for my kids and the family, but they keep coming through, more and more abusive.

So when I get home, I mail her, angry. Tell her to fuck off, that my kids will always come first. Always. And not to call me when she was so drunk again, and if she did, I would turn my phone off. The next day, I get a letter of apology. I had some things to do, and when I get home later in the day, she Skypes me again. It's late evening where she is, and she's drunk again. I get angry, she's horny, and wants to see me naked, I tell her I am not in the mood, and she needs to sleep as there was work the next day. She launches into the abuse again. I sign off. I get more than twenty abusive texts. And emails in between. Until it was way beyond 3am where she is.

I copy all her texts and her mails into one mail, and once again tell her I don't need her abusive crap, and we should just call it quits. I don't need it in my life, and certainly my kids don't need it in their lives, as it was bound to overflow and affect them.

After more abuse via text and email over the next week or so, I shut my email account down, block her on Skype, Facebook, get a temporary mobile number. I have an appointment with my therapist, I intended discussing how to cope with being so happy. I mail her in advance the SIXTY SEVEN pages of mails between us.

When I get there, the good Doctor simply says: Stay away from this woman: She's a pyschopath.

When good sex ends badly.... (Part Two)

So during the year, we Skype a lot, talk about aspirations, regrets, experiences, lovers. Basically, we got to know each other really well. At some point, we start discussing her return to South Africa. She has spent most of her working life teaching at International schools, and since her ex husband cheated on her with another of her colleagues, things had reached an awkward point. She has this dream of opening her own school, but back home and close to her family here.

In July last year, she returns for her annual holiday and I go with her to visit her dad. He is an old school German with the driest sense of humour, and I love him to bits. They live on a farm some way out of the city, so we opt to stay over. We drink red wine, eat good wholesome food, and talk shite. Her kids love me, we go for walks, I spend hours with them, rolling around in the grass, climbing trees.

We share a bed that night, and things get a little intimate. She's drunk and horny. She says things like, if only you weren't gay, I could take you places. She goes further and further, kissing my chest, her hand taking me through my jeans. We kiss. She unbuttons my jeans and takes me in her hands. I am hard, but not in a good place suddenly. I ask her to stop. I don't want anything to happen. So things become awkward. She is embarrassed. We fall asleep, on opposite sides of the bed.

I had a therapy session the next day. I discuss it with the good Doctor. I admit that it made me feel like I felt with Trevor when I am with her. Stifled, wrong.

The girl and I don't talk for several days, she stays with her father and I return home. We had booked to fly to the coast to where her mother lives. She calls some days later, and apologises for sulking, and please can I come with to her mom's. I agree, and before I know it, we are off on a plane. We pick up a rental, and drive for three hours to the village where they live. Her Mom treats me like her son-in-law. The one who should have been.

There is nothing to do in this town, so we lay around in the garden with the kids, reading, drinking wine, soaking up the sun and each other. Over the three nights we were there, we were always intimate, always almost, but never going all the way. We leave a day early and book a room in the coastal town close to the beach. Spend some time playing in the sand. It's winter, but gloriously warm and the kids are brave enough to play in the surf. We see a dolphin show, visit the aquarium, laugh a lot. Drink some more.

That night, we had more than our usual couple of bottles of wine. We had spent some time next to the pool, ordering cocktails from the bar. Ater the kids were asleep, we were lying on the bed. We kiss. It's been a romantic day, people have been thinking I am the father, and we are a happily married couple. The mood spills over. We're naked and she is kissing my body again. Soon she is kneeling over me, kissing my nipples. She admits she masturbates while I am in the shower, imagining being there with me. She is so close to me, I can feel the heat of her through my cock. I can't take it anymore, and pull her down on me. She orgasms almost immediately, then takes me in her mouth. Soon she is back on me, driving me to places I have never been before. The alcohol has me enjoying the ride. She's a noisy lover, talking dirty, sometimes crying out involuntarily. She comes many times. After I am done, we collapse, exhausted. It's early hours in the morning. I awake later, she is touching me again. We sneak another bout before the kids come through.

We fly back to my place. The sex is endless. She can't stop. She is the initiator. The shower, the couch, all the beds. We go to movies. She guides my hand between her legs, I feel her orgasm, watch her bite her lip, choke back the sound that wants out. She blows me in the car.

I tell her it's okay, it's all new for me, it turns her on more.

She flies back home, a sudden lack of sexual noise in my home.

When good sex ends badly.... (Part One)

Or rather how we should not imagine that a past romance can be rekindled so easily.

She was my first real kiss. I was twelve, she eleven. But even then, we both knew that it was so much more than a kiss. If circumstances had allowed, we would have gone much, much furher that night. And we both knew it.

Ten years later, she was back in my life. She and her brother visited me when I was living at the coast with Trevor. Much to Trev's annoyance, the three of us drove up to a University town to an art's festival. The three of us had an amazing time. Her brother is gay and had been crushing on me for years, but he is so not my type lol.

Anyway, after they left, the girl and I kept in contact a lot. She was in the throws of a divorce, and we became close, even though we were apart by many miles. After a few months, I said we should be just backing off a bit. Though she didn't know I was actually in a relationship with the guy I was living with at the time, I was trying to break things off with Trev. It had developed into weeks of silence broken only by criticism of each other, but we were financially tied to each other, and until those issues were resolved, we were pretty much stuck with each other. I wasn't out to anyone, not even her brother. As far as anyone was concerned, Trev and I were friends, and business partners, and we shared a home.

So when I suggested we take it easy until I move back to Johannesburg, she put the phone down, and I never heard from her.

Trev was part of the reason I never wanted to be gay, well pretty much the whole reason I never wanted to be gay, but thats another story. He was stifling, possesive, and so fn paranoid that someone might ever find out he was fucking me.

So when she cut me off, I was hurt.

So for years, I got tidbits from her brother about where she was, and her life etc. I managed to call her once, and when she told me she was considering adopting a child, I admitted that if things were different, I would have wanted to be the father of her children. We never spoke again until two years ago.

Her brother intimated that she had spent several years self destructing, and in the process, destroying her realtionships with her family and anyone else who had been in her life. (Why the fuck I never heard the warning bells, I really don't know). While he was passing through, he spent the night at my place and he said to me she was divorcing the latest husband and having a hard time, and that she would be in the country in July. Perhaps I could talk to her. I was out to the brother already, and he had already told her.

So July came. Her mom called me one day, and asked me to talk to the girl, because she was in a really bad place. So I do, and invite her and her two little kids to come spend a couple of days with me before heading back abroad, and she does.

Well, we connect. Emotionally. We hold hands, take the kids for walks, reminisce, go to movies, eat out. Then she goes home. A perfect ending to a perfect four days. No problem. Except she falls in love with me.. Obsessively so. Without my knowledge. In a big way.

The Real Journey - Part Three

Trevor fetched me from the hostel early on Saturday morning. The drive to the airport wasn’t far. The school was in a small town, and had a surprisingly busy little airport. Busy in that there were a lot of owner-pilots and student pilots pushing planes around, carrying out pre-flights or listening intently to an instructor. I was in heaven. My father and his father were in aviation. It was in my blood. I wanted to become a fighter pilot. I wanted to soar up where the sky breathes, above the clouds where it is always a sunny day, or starry night….

The Cessna he had booked was a cute little red 172. It was my first time in a light aircraft. I had been in passenger jets, even flown a real Airbus and Boeing simulator, but never in something small. Yes, I was nervous, but above all, I was exhilarated.

After the pre-flight, we taxied out to Runway zero eight, and the old 172 rattled to life and trundled gently towards heaven. As the wheels lifted gently off the tarmac, I suddenly felt that meaning had come to my life. We flew about twenty minutes to where the flatlands met the mountains. There is a beautiful man made lake high in the hills, which we flew over, skimming the sails of lazy yachts and bored sailors. My little camera swallowed up film after film.

Perhaps it was the excitement, perhaps the low steep turns catching my inner ear off guard, perhaps the Welsh rarebit for breakfast, but soon I was puking my lungs out into a small brown bag. I was embarrassed, but we laughed at the suddenness of it all.

Once nice and level again, I took the controls, and did some lazy turns here and there, easing the nausea.

All too soon, the flight was over and the little red Cessna was ticking with warmth on the apron. We went to the flight school where Trevor seemed to know everyone. I was introduced all around, and met who was to be my future flying instructor, Big Bob. Trev bragged about how good a pilot I was already. It was cool. I felt good. I felt important talking to these pilots and pilots to be. It was as if I had walked into the Top Gun movie set. It was a good day so far.

More plans had fallen into place.

An exchange of letters

Ha! I decided to post this as a real feelgood piece. Some background: Nix was my 'girlfriend' for a large part of my highschool years. A couple of years ago, I was on a course in Perth and decided to fly over to Brizvegas to visit the girl I hadn't seen for two decades. We had been swopping mails, and I had come out to her already. We spent an amazing week together up and down the Gold Coast. neither of us expected how we were together that week. Anyways, below is a mail I sent her when I got home, and the mail she sent to me... It's heart warming and sad and happy. Just had to share...

To Nix

Ok, so we can dissect this thing a million ways, but really, we should just be celebrating the fact that we managed to get together after so many years.

Yeah, so chat is going to be really empty for a while, I know, cos suddenly we are two real people, with real issues and real feelings. Feelings which I never expected in a million years. When I was on the plane over to Brizzie, I kept asking myself: What the hell is going to happen? Why am I doing this? What is she going to be like? Are we just going to be two awkward individuals chatting about some small part of our lives in a past so far away? What are we going to do once we run out of stuff to say to each other?

Boy, I never expected the sparks, the connections, the mental (and physical) attraction that developed. What I never expected was the mutual counseling, the healing, the crying, the outpouring, the laughter, the feeling of being together for so long, the love, the confusion, the pain of leaving. The debates, the jokes, the holding hands……

God, I love to be surprised.

This week, has given closure to so many things. Holding your hand and kissing you with confidence, and without fear. I needed that. Sharing stuff that only my journal sees, I needed that. It was like I was in a safe house, where no-one knew where to find me, and I could confess and discuss, and cry. I needed that. The closeness and the honesty, I needed that. I have spent so much of my time, pretending to be this and that, all to make others happy, or to live out others’ dreams and expectations. Not even knowing I was doing that sometimes. But the honesty that leapt up between us, all of those pretences were gone, invalid, deleted.

This week, has also opened so much. I felt the ability to love and be loved, something which I thought I had lost. I have built so many defense mechanisms, they had closed off some really intimate channels. I felt I had met my doppelganger, my nemesis, my twin, my soulmate.

This week, I felt I gave back what I was getting in. I felt your pain, your healing, your laughter. I felt love being given and received.

This week, made the world feel a lot smaller. Made me closer. But also made me realize how far apart we really are.

I can easily regret going over, meeting you, welling stuff up that I didn’t want to see, feeling a connection growing that can only create pain in us being apart. But how can I regret feeling so good, seeing you smile, seeing you looking back in your mind, seeing the teenage Nix popping up in all the right places, feeling that knot in my stomach when we touched, feeling my soul stir when we kissed. So my fear of the physical between us is still there, but hell, we only had a week……

Nix, know this: I could grow old with you, I could be your neighbor, your partner, your counselor, your friend, even your lover.

I said this has been one of the best weeks in a long time. No, I think this last week is just the beginning of an amazing turn of events that will stay with me for a much longer time than that.

Yes, the defense systems have begun to kick in. The detachment, the denial, the putting away the feelings in a box somewhere. But the gears have changed, the seeds are planted, objectives and goals moved and re-arranged. Parts of my mind have been switched on, turned off, re-channeled.

I only hope that I have had the same effect on you, because what you have given me in such a short period, I can only wish I have given back to you.

******************

From Nix

When you said you were coming to Brisbane, I approached it with a mild disinterest and a little amusement because I felt detached from the world, incapable of feeling anything anymore. I knew that nothing you could bring to my door would shock me because I have been around and I've heard it all. I asked myself, "Why should your visit to Brisbane make me feel any different, after all, you are a perfect stranger to me". I thought, "It's odd that he should be so hell bent on seeing me. I don't count for much in anyone's books. Why is he even bothering, but I was curious to say the least."

Then you arrived. Surprised from behind by this grown man, so strong and attractive, full of smiles and laughter. Traces of the boy I knew the only proof that you are who you said were. I hugged you but surveyed you from a distance with curious amusement. Awkward conversation, the same like I felt when seeing my dad for the first time in 5 years.

In the taxi, my stomach knotted, thinking "How long is 4 days going to be" but I knew that once well-oiled I could have a conversation with a statue if I wanted to, so i relaxed. The first giggle when we realised the taxi driver knew what we were talking about... it felt delicious to laugh again.

That first night, I was watching you, talking and connecting but still detached... watching you all the time. Forgot about your birthmark.. then remembered, connect, bang.. Flashback... connect... your hand movements, mannerisms, animated stories.. slowly wakening the suppressed parts of my soul, remembering now. You shower me with gifts and I make a shrine, we take pictures..

Things seems to tick smoothly, universe conspires, great car... set to to enjoy.. I relax with you, not feeling threatened, afterall, you are gay.. we start to talk, i trust you implicitly, slowly i recognise you as part of me, my past, my soul starts to sway with happiness... there is movement but each time I slam my heart back down, thinking to myself.. nuh-uh don't let this run, there is danger here and he is not interested... don't make a fool of yourself..

Driving, talking, seeing nothing, laughing, swimming,drinking on the beach... I see the light in your soul, slowly opening.. we talk about dark things, you cry, i cry, we hold hands now..your gorgeous strong hands, it feels so comforting, like someone is on my side for a change.. i slam myself down, stop it, Nix, this is not what he wants..

Party at Jamo n Nadines. So good to see them.. I have missed them.. We talk, laugh get drunk, but now I feel an urgency.. in your touch, my touch..you leave with Jamie for a while..i feel bereft..i panic...lost... you kissed my forehead, i feel your adoration, i bask in the warmth of your sun. We sleep close, naked, touching but in denial.

Finally escape from Jamo's, need privacy to connect physically.. connect... Find ourselves at Le Beach, now I can breathe with you, explore your soul, your heart, find out where I left Sethy those years ago..we laugh till we cry, trust is manifested in conversations that are deep and meaningful, we kiss awkwardly.. not knowing each other's touch, you offer yourself to me but i feel you are sacrificing your identity. You trust me, i cannot allow you to do that to yourself, i refuse your offer of consumation..

Back home, you invite my ex-husband into our private space,i can see he is envious of what we have, suddenly i feel the contrast of what we've got compared to what he has and what he and i used to have, and I feel joyious to know that i have found my diamond and oh, how it sparkles.. you.

They go, we kiss, sweet music, this time, we find each other with comfort and ease, giving and taking hungrily, i think to myself, man, I could marry this man right now.. i detach, connect, detach, connect, bitter sweet, feel sexual and want to experience your inner being and you, physically.. fantasy frees our minds and eases you into a sexual being - I feel confident that it is possible, with time, to satisfy you in ways you never even dreamt of...

Our last private embrace burned in my mind, like a branded animal, never to be lost. You leave me with this image. We drive to airport, contained. We hold each other in the terminal, lost for words, kissing like lovers. You say, goodbye, i walk away, I come back, you say Go Now... an order, I walk off, fearing if I turn back, I will turn into a pillar of salt. I'm strong, i say.. I walk without looking back,just like in the movies.. I go down the escalator, mechanically stride out of the airport, the doors open, the warm air hits me and I dissolve into a thousand pieces, a nothing, a nobody, back to my invisible self. The sun is gone, it's raining, in my heart too. I can't walk,. I lean against the pillar, struggling for air. The tears falling like the rain, my heart the same colour as the grey skies. numb, can't feel. detached again.. floating like a wisp in the wind... released. you are gone, I am gone. Now i sit feeling like i have experienced a death. a second one. But my son says: "At least he is still alive mum" when he sees my tears, i laugh.. god that feels good to know that yes, YOU are alive...

You bring me closer than I was to B because we have history, deep roots in our culture, our background, our intelligence, our humour, and because we are both awkward with each other's sexuality..so much left to explore.. If you and B stood at the bar, and I were to choose which one to take, it would be you... i feel it is only the beginning...not the end. you could say another place another time but what we have is now.. not tomorrow or last week... When we meet again, we may need longer.. we may never meet.. but you know where i am and when you are ready, i know you will come and find me.. it may not be now or next year but you will find me when the time is right. It may even be too late, who knows. I leave that part up to you... I feel the same detachment and denial and reality checks but I am dreamer and since I feel that there is a small part of you that is alive to me, i guess i will always have a small glimmer of hope (pardon the pun, lol!). But if you find the body to match the mind and it is not me, you will always occupy a special place in my heart.. know that I love you. I love your whole being, with all the good and the bad, your awkwardness, you have a safe landing platform with me always...you are such a beautiful person and you are my shining star.

Nix

The Real Journey - Part Two

I was sent to boarding school for two main reasons. Firstly because my mother was a single mom with four boys, and finances were really tight. Secondly, future step dad had moved onto the scene, and I really didn’t like him so I really just wanted to get out of the house.

During 7^th grade, I had changed. Probably hormonal mainly. I matured physically quicker than my friends. I was in love with half of my male friends, and girls were irritating me. Sethy was a good looking boy, and top of the class, head prefect stuff. The girls all wanted a piece, and I was giving none. My first sexual experience was with a girl, the post is here. I really can’t remember how old I was when it first started to happen. I kept quiet about it because she was officially dating older brother who was already away at boarding school, so I felt crap about it. I was obsessed with wanking, but also thought it was an affliction and not aware at the time that everyone else was doing it.

When I arrived at the new school, I knew no-one except older brother – who I never really saw because he was in the senior hostel. Here I was in amongst a bunch of kids who had gone through junior school together, and I just felt out. I made a conscious decision not to wank. I thought I was doing something grossly wrong, and my cock had taken on a slight bias to the left, which I thought was horrible punishment for masturbation methods. Showers were of the group type, and I found myself to be rather larger than most of the boys, and was subsequently nicknamed accordingly. After two weeks, I couldn’t hold it any longer. I got up in the middle of the night to go pee, and ended up shooting my first real load all over the toilet in about ten seconds. I felt better already…..

Soon enough though, I made friends. More because after our first cycle tests, it became apparent that Sethy was a bit of the genius at the school stuff, scoring higher than everyone, and everyone wanted to be my friend. I started to get letters from girls. Valentines Day is a big affair at the hostel. The junior girls and boys shared a huge dining room for meals, so we were 300 kids at each meal. On valentines, all cards were delivered to the head prefects of the two hostels, and there was this whole ritual. The dining hall was decorated by the girls with balloons and hearts and stuff. After dinner, homework time (Prep) was cancelled for the ceremony of delivering all the cards and letters. Each one was read out, and the recipient had to walk up in front of the entire hall full of people to collect them. It was embarrassing, and it was meant to be. But fun…

So I was expecting about three or four. But ended up getting over fifty. And they let me sit down each time, then called my name again for the next one. So it was one of those things that legends are made of.

Then came the Initiation Concert (Groentjie Concert which literally means concert for the greenies lol). I was placed in a group of girls and we did three skiets. In the one, I was dressed in full scuba gear and had to sing “the Three Little Fishies”. It was a hit! My friends still talk about it today – twenty five years later. So Sethy was a bit camp back then, but because of my popularity, I didn’t really give a fuck. I loved wearing tight pants, and my hair was always longer than regulation. I could say stuff and get away with it.

That’s when Trevor first met me. He was the school photographer and had taken photo’s at the concert. I don’t remember him from then, but he told me about it after. He immediately made up his mind that he wanted me, and in typical pedophile mode, he started to plan. I can say that with absolute confidence, because I have seen him with other boys. The planning was meticulous. It followed a predictable path once you knew how it worked. There was always the confidence building. The building of trust. The ego strokes. The research into likes and dislikes. I saw it time after time over the next ten years. I know that his first response was love. The need for sex came after. I could see it in his eyes, in his mannerisms. He still firmly believes he has loved every one of his boys. I believe he did. But yeah, that’s no real excuse for sex with a minor actually.

A week after my thirteenth birthday, I joined the photographic club after my father bought me my first 35mm camera. It was a piece of shit, but it was mine. After the first meeting – run by Trev – he offered to get me a part time job at a photolab in town. He would arrange the necessary permissions with the hostel master. I felt special. Three days later, I was working at the shop with him, charged with film processing. I loved it. I got to spend a lot of time on my own in the dark, loading films onto a San Marco processor. I can still smell the chemicals and hear the nitrogen been pumped through the developer in short sharp blasts.

At some point, he found out I was crazy about anything aviation, and offered to take me up in a Cessna since he had just completed his PPL. I was ecstatic and I called my mother to get permission to go out with for the weekend so we could do some flying. She agreed and I could barely sleep the next three nights waiting for the weekend.

His planning started to pay off.

What a life changing weekend it was to end up being…

The Real Journey Part One

Bare with me over the next few posts. One of the reasons I am here is because I feel I have a small mission to accomplish. I am not sure how to define it. At first, I thought it was meant only for younger people, as a way of offering advice through telling my own story. But as I read and discover more through you good bloggers of varying ages, I think that perhaps we can all learn something from each other, and from each others’ experiences. There appears to be a common thread among gay bloggers; that is that we often feel isolated and alone in our plight. And for some – like me- it is a real plight. I never chose to be gay. For most of my life, I wanted to just be straight and ‘normal’. Early on, I never understood what it was that was happening to me. I thought I was a freak of some sort. Homosexuality was only referred to in derogatory terms. Fag, Queer, Fruit. Someone to fear, to scorn – and basically deserving of death by stoning. Every homosexual was a pedophile out to hunt school boys.

And of course, my first real experience as a gay person, just happened to be with a pedophile, so it reinforced every negative aspect I had imagined or had been taught through peer interaction. Up until just a few years ago, I lived my life with this dark specter following me around. I was afraid that if it ever came out that I was gay, people would hide their children from me, I would lose all my friends and family. How wrong I was of course. I blamed every thing that had gone ‘wrong’ in my life on the pedophile that ‘tainted’ me.

It was not until the middle of last year, when I finally forgave him, and understood his own plight in life, that I began to fully understand how wonderful my own life is – and has been. I had just chosen to believe that I was damaged goods, and could never be ‘fixed’. I am still on that journey of that self discovery. I learn something new every day, about myself, and about the universe around me. I am not religious in a conventional sense, but I have strong convictions about what is right or wrong. I believe in Karma, and subscribe to the Christ message of love and forgiveness. I also believe very strongly that one cannot love effectively without first learning to love oneself. You cannot accept others fully, until you have accepted yourself. You create your own universe. The rules, I believe, are simple: Use your power to create carefully. If it involves hurting others, it is going to come back and bite you in the ass.

So over the next few posts, I am going to go back in time a little. Back to that first time with Trevor the pedophile. It is his real name, the only real name I will ever use here, it is the only way that I can tell this story without turning it into fiction.

And feel free to express anything on your mind while on this journey with me. Tell me if you think I am being judgmental in any way. Ask me for my email address if there is anything you would like to discuss with me outside of this forum. I love to interact and debate.

The journey continues…..

I did a bad thing last night

hmmm.. last night the girls were here, so they both are into their gmail accounts and facebook and stuff, so for me to get back into my reader, i had to log in again. When I clicked on the username box, it opens up a drop down to choose recent usernames. And that's when I saw Neville's name...

Neville was my single most disastrous decision I ever made. I will post seperatley about the whole story, but the short version is that in August 2007, I packed up everything and moved 1000km to live with him. The plan was wedding bells and happily ever afters... He is/was an architect so our combined skills (mine is in 3D design) made a good working partnership too.

But after two months, it was clear he had a VERY bad case of alcoholism in its purist form. The sickness kind, not the 'i love to party' kind.

Needless to say, at some point, I just said I am leaving, and packed everything up and left.

So... back to the bad thing I did. I clicked on his username, and the password had been saved, so it let me into his mail account. I sat for about an hour going through his mails. I am not sure why, but perhaps I wanted to see if he had chatted to friends about me leaving to see if he laid the blame on me. But it was all work stuff..... Some emails from my brother who he owes money to, but that's not new to me. Brother and I talk about it from time to time.

Just disappointed to hear from my brother that Nev basically fucked up his architectural business (days at a time binging on vodka) and is now working at a local art gallery.....

And from the mails I read, it doesnt sound like its going well there either. Landlord threatening eviction, all sorts of legal mails wanting money....

I did love him, and can't help feeling something still. And one good thing came out of it - it forced me to come out to my daughters. And it has been the most frightening, yet best thing I have done. We now can have Wentworth Miller conversations :)

Ah well, the journey continues. And we learn.

My First Boyfriend

He was the boy in the one corner bed in our dormitory of eighteen. Quiet, diligent, neat, not part of the rest of us hooligans for the most part. We were all thirteen, or nearly so.

From 7 till 9 each evening was study time - or ‘prep’ as it was called. Most students were banished to the ‘prep room’ during this period. However, if you maintained first class grades, you were trusted to study in your dorm. So Aiden, Adrian and I studied in the dorm together. Adrian was a dickhead. So Aiden and I spent a lot of time giving him a hard time. So that’s how we became friends. We had a common cause. And I began to fall slowly in love with him. I didn’t realize it at first. I wasn’t really out to myself yet.

In the tenth grade, we kissed. It was my fifteenth birthday. From then on, we spent every moment we could touching each other, kissing. It was a time of madness actually. I was dating the future (female) prom queen. It was like having a mad affair. I spent several weekends at his house. The kisses were addictive, for both of us. The actual sex wasn’t amazing though. I have always taken long to cum, and he was a premature ejaculator. We did eventually work out a system where I couldn’t touch him until I was about to cum myself. So we spent a lot of time in foreplay. Sometimes hours. He lived on the edge of a forest. The soft needle bed of pine trees was our lovemaking nest. No disturbances, quiet except for the whisper of the wind through the trees. But I had to cum first or be perfectly timed to cum together. After he was finished, the guilt descended, and he would spend hours in silence.

So this pretty much went on for about a year and a half. In the 11th grade, we were seperated into different hostels, and it became more difficult to maintain the contact we had. I was having shit on other fronts, so weekends were no longer my own.

The prom queen broke it off with me, basically because I wouldn’t go beyond first base. And within a week, Aiden wrote me to tell me he no longer wanted to see me, as it was wrong, and he’s not a ‘homo’. I was devastated.

I traced his email address through a mutual friend about 3 years ago and mailed him a ‘hi’. We swopped about three non-comittal mails about two paragraphs each, and I have never from him again. He lives in the UK now, and runs a small vet practice with his vet wife and vet kids… or something.

Was just thinking how complicated life is. I mean this stuff seems like an isolated incident, but it was so interwoven with a million other things happening at the same time. I tried to commit suicide around this time, but not because he broke up with, or because of prom queen. It was a confluence of so many things, including Aiden and the Prom queen.

The reason I posted this today was because I found an old photo of the two of us. Kinda old school self portrait thing. I worked in a photo lab hehe, so I could print stuff like that. No digital back then. We were showing our cocks lol. Seems nothing much has changed over the last decade(s) or so.

And no… I don’t think I will be posting it. Call me old fashioned. And I have kids who have access to the net…. and so does he.

And that’s a valid point. If you are posting self pics now…. who knows how long they will be lingering through the ethernet to be found one day by kids, nephews, nieces… scary.

Would actually like to hear comments about that one…

You want me to put it where?

I started writing in the third person about my life experiences a few years ago, using a fictional character called Paul to represent me. It has been a revelation for me, because there are huge chunks of my life that I seem to have blocked out. By writing in the third person, I have found that memories return easier, and there is a flow.

It seems strange to me now that my first real sexual experiences was with a girl. As far as I can remember, when we started experimenting together, I had just started experimenting with masturbation, and can’t quite remember if I had even reached orgasm. Though by the end of that year - I was in 7th grade or twelve years old - I was achieving mostly blank orgasms on my own, but it wasn’t happening with the girl until the last time we were together.

I actually saw her again for the first time since I was fifteen only two years ago. I was involved in making a movie, and she happened to be cast as an extra. She is still gut wrenchingly beautiful (for her age), and sadly her entire feature in the final cut of the film was her behind for about 3 milliseconds as she placed drinks on a table in a restaurant scene.

Enjoy..

The first experiment with the girl was a disaster in adult terms. First of all, it was all quite a revelation that the reason he had a penis in the first place was to insert it into her vagina - who would have imagined? It was clearly a fun pastime, as the many participants in the magazine were very obviously enjoying themselves. After discussing her limited knowledge of sex for several minutes, she insisted on putting his penis into her mouth, to ensure a good erection she assured. Although he had no doubt he already had a good erection, who was he to argue? And somewhat perplexed, he watched as she put her mouth around the organ through which he regularly urinated.

Unaccustomed to physical contact with girls in the first place, the fact that their naked bodies had to be almost completely wrapped around each other before penetration was comfortable for either of them, was disconcerting in the first place. And not realizing that thrusting was required, it really was an awkward time for both of them. There was obviously no orgasm for either of them. And her insistence on kissing was not helping. The kissing was simply an act of putting one’s lips together, and provided no source of pleasure whatsoever. However, during the course of the year following, many such sessions developed their skills somewhat, and finally the day came for them both to orgasm.

It was at his house. Paul’s older brother was away at boarding school, and his little brother was with their grandmother, shopping for new jeans. The memory for him would remain vivid for the rest of his life.

What remained fixed in his memory of that day was the sound of the fish tank pump. Humming away, oblivious of the insidious deed that was taking place in its presence. They had been experimenting with other positions. His penis had mysteriously doubled in size since there first encounter almost a year previous. This had allowed more latitude than the earlier days. First they stood, then they tried doggy style. Finally, she being frustrated that he was not deep enough, requested him to lie on his back. She straddled him, facing his feet, and soon was involved in her own world, using his penis more as a tool for masturbation than anything else. Watching her from behind, he became detached from the act of sex, and imagined himself masturbating himself. Sooner than he thought, he was on the edge of climax. If he was indeed controlling events, he would have stopped then, allowing time to further savor the period before the orgasm. In fact, his habit had become to stop, allow himself to become completely flaccid, and start again. This method could allow him to masturbate for more than an hour at a time, sometimes two. But that was when he was in control. And she was thrusting harder now. He watched as she lifted her buttocks up and down, up and down. He tried to practice his multiplication tables in his head, but it was no good. He opened his eyes just as she reached and touched his stomach. It was no good. His stomach contracted, and he almost did a full sit up. Grabbing her hips, he closed his eyes and felt himself swelling and pumping inside her. She let out a small sound, which he later decided was a symptom of her own orgasm. Embarrassed by the whole thing, he lay back and endured another torturous two or three minutes, before she lifted herself off him. The small kiss that followed was the first that he could remember that honestly felt like a kiss that had caused his stomach to jump slightly. It was a kiss of gratitude, of appreciation, almost of love.

There was never another time after that. It was school holidays after that, the last before he went off to boarding school. Spending time with friends was infinitely more rewarding.

Reputations

My parents divorced when I was about seven I think - anyway, it was early enough not to have many memories of him actually living with us. He left my mom with $20 and the mortgage on the house. My mom had never worked before and her first job after he left was with a conglomerate as a telex maching operator in the mail room. Yes, a TELEX machine lol. Anyone remember what that was? She ended up staying until her retirement a few years ago - but not as a telex operator obviously.

She met my stepdad at work, and for some time, she was having an affair with him while he was still married. They ended up spending twenty-five years together until his death a few years ago. I always thought him to be an asshole. He wasn’t fond of kids, and we are four boys in our family.

As a result, we were all sent off to boarding school as soon as we were of highschool age. My oldest brother coped well in the environment, but brother number two hit the weed in 9th grade and mixed with all the wrong crowd. As a result, he was expelled from the school, and ended up living with mother for a year before returning back to the boarding school in the year I went into high school.

No-one remembered the good reputation of brother number one, who was a first team rugby player, a diligent worker and a prefect. I was left to fend off the reputation of brother two. It took me two terms, and top of the class scores to even begin making a reputation for myself. And this only really once brother two was finally expelled for a second time after a drunken insult to a senior master. My own reputation as ‘the gay boy’ caused my little brother so many problems, that he begged my mother to allow him to move back to our home town and attend a local school and live with my grandmother. I only found this out very recently, and feel bad about it still. I honestly did not know how deep the ‘rumours’ went in terms of my sexuality.

I had a secret (very closet bi) boyfriend in Gr11 and some of Gr12. When Aiden broke up with me, I was devastated. At the same time, I had a public girlfriend, who I adored, but on a different level. We were Mr and Miss Couple. I think Aiden in some sick way, confirmed the rumours that were already spreading among the boys that I was some sick pervert to be stayed away from in the showers that was later to cause major stress in little brother’s life. Hell, even I though I was some sick pervert. But by then, I was already damaged goods. Thanks, Mr peadophile. Girlfriend broke it off with me a few weeks before our equavilent of the Prom which takes place fairly early in the year, and went with Aiden instead. Yeah, dig the knife in and twist it.

That was about the time I tried to commit suicide. But that’s another post…

Why do i love the soccer boy?

So let’s start at the beginning shall we?

I have always been a straight A student since I can remember except in my final year in high school when I felt my life was falling apart - but that’s a subject for another post. Being at the top of the class, I always commanded a sense of respect from my peers. I also had all the girls following me around like sheep.

I have been asked many times by friends whether I chose to be gay; I was born that way; or did circumstances make me gay. In the 6th grade, my official girlfriend was Jill. She reminded me of Disney’s Snowhite. fair skin, jet black hair, and deep blue eyes. She was infatuated by me, and it suited me to have the most beautiful girl as my girlfriend. On Fridays, there was always a movie in the school hall, and we all piled in, sitting on the floor, or on loose chairs around the sides. It was an opportunity for the boys to get close to their girls. Jill always took the initiative - getting there early to get two chairs, making sure they were pulled close together and guiding my hand to hold hers.

It all sounds so romantic yeah? The reality of it all was that I was terrified. I would break out in cold sweats. I couldn’t concentrate on the movie, and I never knew whether I was doing the right thing.

You see, I was in love with the soccer boy. Alex was perfect. Blonde, athletic, popular… Eyes to die for, and a smile that would make me melt.

I never had a sexual attraction to him. I just knew I felt something for him, that I should have been feeling for Jill.

So my answer? I think I was born gay. During my later high school years and for years after that, I worked hard at not being gay. The reasons are for another post. But I cannot deny myself my ‘gayness’. Women are still attracted to me, and I am still terrified. It is so bad, that if a beautiful girl talks to me today, and I get the feeling it is a sexual advance, my top lip actually twitches lightly. Weird huh?

I met Alex at the beginning of last year by accident at our local pub. He is now a small time lawyer. He is balding, and has almost zero personality, though the smile is still there. I also bumped into Jill about three years ago. Our kids were both at the same birthday party. I had to introduce myself and tell her who I was, or else she would never have remembered me. It pissed me off, but made my daughter laugh.

My First Hicky

I guess I was fourteen. He about the same age. We met randomly. I never saw him again. I still don’t know his name. It’s on my neck by the way…