I have kissed a total of four men in my life. I realized after posting the story about my head-band, that I have never mentioned my sexuality on my blog before. I used what could be construed as derogatory or homophobic language in my story, and I wanted to explain my history with homosexuality. So, here we go:
I have often wished I was gay.
That’s right. I mean what I say. Gay people who have grown up dealing with controversy and ostracization might bitterly shake their head when they hear me say this. They might think I just want to be different, or I think it’s trendy to be a homo. But that isn’t the case at all.
I grew up in the theater. My elementary school teacher had worked as an actor, and made the annual class play an incredible production. My classmates had fun, and liked to dress up in costumes, but I felt a connection with the theater in deeper ways. I loved to give myself over to the character, to feel the ironies and desires and troubles of the character wash over me like a wave, leaving my true personality in a coma on the shore. It was the only time I didn’t feel the self-consciousness of being a human pressing on me. For I was the character.
When I left my elementary school, I chose my middle school because they had a robust drama program. I became involved with every production I could. I began encountering gay people before I could fully understand what it meant. I looked up to the leads in performances in which I played only in the chorus, and they were gay.
I then began to take dance classes. These were wonderful. I truly felt myself within my body for the first time in jazz class, the energy flowing from my finger-tips to my toes as I moved and jumped. And the teacher was gay.
One day I looked around. Everyone around me I respected was gay. I wanted to be like them. I wanted to be bright, loud. I loved everything that represented the homosexual stereotype, not only because it seemed to be a connecting link between the mentors I respected, but because it seemed to set me instantly apart from the conservative students of my Christian-influenced school.
I began to wear women’s smoking jackets and sparkly pants to school. I had always had a strange wardrobe, but now I added to it by wearing masquara most days, and coloring my hair bright pinks and reds. I watched shows like Will and Grace, and Queer Eye for the Straight Guy, and listened to music posted on Gay.com.
My parents didn’t know what to make of it. One day I was painting my nails pink as my mom was driving me to school.
“So…do you think you might be gay?” She asked me casually.
“Hmmm…I think I must be bi.” I responded.
Bisexuality was a popular topic at the time, and everyone had an opinion about it. Typically, the straight people thought you were just trying to get attention, and wouldn’t date you because you might be gay, and the gay people just clucked at you, assuring you that you’d come out one day.
Several times in 6th grade, I decided I was gay for sure. It felt like it would just be so easy in comparison to come out as a raging homosexual. In my fantasies I imagined myself getting excused from P.E., wailing over a broken nail.
“Oh, he’s just gay.” the P.E. instructor would probably say, “that’s just the way he is!”
Invariably, two days after my declaration, a girl I had never noticed would walk by during lunch-time, and I’d be back where I started. There was just no getting around my attraction for females. It was too pronounced.
But I wouldn’t learn, and in another two weeks, a new guy would join our dance class. I’d find myself inexplicably drawn to him. It was different then with women. Emotional, rather than physical. I would feel certain, once again, of my inevitable homosexuality, and I would make it clear to them that I liked men and only men.
A few times, they took the bait. They, it turned out, were also gay, and they wanted to take me out for a movie.
This scared me to death, and I would make up a reason why I couldn’t. I’d quit the dance-class and hide out, vowing that I would never confuse myself that way again.
I actually went as far as to force myself to masturbate to gay porn one day. It certainly didn’t disgust me, and I found the biology of it fascinating, but it didn’t turn me on the way straight porn would.
Time went by, and I was generally ‘out’ as bisexual. I dated a few girls, and would be physical with them. It was nice, and felt good.
But at the end of 7th grade, I got a real girlfriend. Her name was Jessica, and she was friends with all of my friends. She was an 8th grader, and, like the rest of our group, she was older than me.
One day, we were on a double-date with our friends Garret and Christina. Christina had been my friend for years, joining me in the cast of several musicals. Garret was her boyfriend. He was Japanese, and had a car. He liked to listen Backstreet Boys, and spoke in an unusually high voice.
We had all come to the county fair together, and had ridden almost every ride in the place. Before we ended the night, though, we knew we had to ride the Ferris wheel. We waited in line for a good 15 minutes, and when it was finally our turn, we eagerly took our seats in the small swinging cart. Christina and Jessica sat on the bench on one side, and Garret and I in the other.
We stared down at the fairgrounds excitedly for a few minutes, but after the initial adreneline had passed, we found ourselves staring at each other, bored.
“When we get to the top of the wheel, I dare you two to kiss!” Christina suggested out of nowhere. I looked at her and rolled my eyes, thinking she was talking about me and Jessica. But she was pointing between me and Garret.
I glanced at Jessica, verifying that she’d be okay with this. I had never kissed another guy, and liked attention alot. I knew this would get me some, at least for a few moments. Jessica nodded, indicating that she wouldn’t mind. After all, it was just a dare…she must have thought.
Then I glanced at Garret. He looked hesitant, but the tips of his mouth were curved upwards. I got the sense that he was pretty curious too.
The apex of the giant wheel came sooner than I would have guessed, and without giving myself time to think, I closed my eyes and leant towards Garret.
His lips were large and soft, and felt good against mine. Though it hadn’t been a requirement, we both had our mouths slightly open, and the kiss was moist as our mouths pressed against each other. The only remarkable difference from kissing a girl was the amount and texture of his facial hair on his upper lip. His stubble was sharp, and stung my skin slightly.
As soon as we had pressed together, we came apart. Neither of us moved to wipe off our mouths, like characters do in movies when they’re forced to kiss the same sex. But Jessica leaned in and wiped my mouth off with her shirt. She looked surprised that I had gone through with it, but not angry or hurt.
I had just had my first gay kiss.
No sparks flew between us, and I was not instantly converted. I continued to date and be sexual with Jessica. But the memory of kissing Garret haunted me. It must have haunted him too, because a few weeks later he called me late at night.
“Hey, I’m driving home from rehearsal, can I come over?”
“Um…I’m kind of tired. I think I’m gonna go to bed.”
“Oh, okay.”
Things were always sort of strange between us from then on.
Jessica and I broke up a few months later, and without the pressure of having a heterosexual girlfriend, I wasn’t sure what to say my sexuality was. I simply wasn’t sure.
I auditioned, and was accepted into the dance program at the Idyllwild Arts Academy, a boarding school in southern California, and before I knew it, my mom and dad were helping me move my things into my dorm.
My roommate was named Brad. We had met on MySpace over the summer, and had become close friends through phone calls and emails. We were both entering into freshman year at the Academy, and requested each other as roommates on the housing application. Our wish was granted, and though he bought new shirts rather than washing his old ones, we became a dynamic duo. We started websites together, convinced a friend that we had sold him on Ebay, and were a general terror in the dorm.
I can’t really remember the first time we began sleeping together (in the non-sexual sense) and making out, but it seemed to happen organically. Almost naturally. I remember thinking it was the most natural thing in the world.
“They don’t understand.” We would say to each other when people started gossiping that we were a couple, “we’re both straight. We’re just really close.”
The logic seems so fuzzy now, but back then it made perfect sense to me.
Like all couples, Brad and I began to fight. We fought long and hard, and could be heard screaming at each other about how our relationship (that didn’t exist) was going downhill, and how we should start seeing other people. He called me fake, and I called him a drama queen. Things came to a head when I decided to leave the school. Brad cried on his bed and literally kicked and screamed when it was my last night to sleep in our dorm. He slammed the door to our room so hard that it came off the hinges, and our RA told me I should sleep in a friend’s room for personal safety.
I would think of Brad alot after I left and returned to Maui. I’d tell stories about him, or remember something crazy we had done. Sometimes, I would remember the feeling of his head nestled in my chest as he cried. But I still didn’t think of him as my boyfriend.
It would be another year spent aimlessly wandering Maui, hitchhiking and sleeping on people’s couches as I performed in and wrote plays and musicals before I would feel a boy’s stubble again, and this time the game would be very different.
His name was Kameron. We had met at Baldwin Highschool where I had been invited to perform as a guest in their one-act plays. He had invited me to a party at a mutual friends house, and I had told him I would meet him there. I could tell he was gay, but he seemed as unsure as I was. His Philippino family was strictly against homosexuality, and I could see the pain of repression in his eyes.
I showed up at the party wearing a black button-up shirt and dark-wash jeans. Everyone else was in a bathing suit. Apparently, the host had a pool, and no one had decided to tell me about the dress code. When Kameron jumped in, I jumped in anyways. The weight of my clothes in the pool made it hard to move, and when I got out I was shivering uncontrollably. This wasn’t very comfortable, and coupled with the feeling that Kameron was purposely ignoring me, this seemed a good enough reason to head home.
My house wasn’t far, just a twenty minute walk or so. When I got home, I hung my wet clothes up in the shower, and wrapped a towel around my waist.
A few minutes later, I heard a knock at the door. It was Kameron.
“I just wanted you to know, I really do like you. I’m sorry I didn’t give you alot of attention tonight.” He stood in the cold of the night, his hair still moist from swimming in the pool. He looked cute, like a teeny-bopper pop-star you’d see on the Disney Channel. I felt strange, unsure of myself, like a young deer on slippery ice. But it all seemed right. Wasn’t this what I was supposed to do? I was a dancer. I was an actor. I watched gay movies and TV shows. I must be gay. Please, I thought, let me be gay. Then I could finally feel like my sensibilities and preferences and personality made sense. Then I wouldn’t be inconsistent.
“I want to try dating you.” Kameron said as he sat at the foot of my bed, “but…can we take it slow?”
I nodded, and took his hand. We laid down on the bed. I touched his face and leaned in to kiss him. I knew I was feeling more secure than him. I was probably his first gay kiss. It felt good to be on more stable ground than him. I asked him if he would be my boyfriend. He nodded.
That was all we did that night, was kiss. We laid there, stroking each other’s backs. Taking it slow. And in a half an hour, he said he should probably start walking home. I agreed, and he left.
The next day, I changed my Myspace orientation to gay, and my relationship status to “In a relationship”. But it wouldn’t stay this way for long.
I was at the theater, waiting to be let in to see a show when he called.
“I just wanted to tell you, I really like you, but I don’t think I’m ready for a relationship right now.”
He didn’t have to say the words for me to know that he was afraid of being gay. Afraid of being sexual with another man. Afraid of what his family and friends would say.
As I hung up the phone, I stared at the mountains in the distance sadly. But deep in my heart, I knew he had just done me a favor. Because try as I might, wish as I did, hope as I hoped, I just wasn’t gay.
I thought that would be that when I got engaged to Julie. Julie and I were very close, and I was sure that she was the one for me. So after three months of dating her, I proposed. She was even more crazy and delusional for me, because she accepted.
A year later, she moved to Germany for an internship, and I followed her. When we arrived, however, her demeanor had changed. She found me obnoxious and unattractive. She didn’t want to sleep with me, or even see me. She didn’t want me to visit her. So I stayed at hostels in various areas of Cologne. I went on a three-week trip with my mom to England. And I planned to head back to the U.S. We hadn’t broken up, but I figured it would only be a matter of time.
Three nights before I was scheduled to fly back home, I was sitting in the laundry room of the Station Backpacker’s hostel. This hostel had been my home for weeks, and I had made some good friends there. We had gone out clubbing and drinking, my alcoholism in full stride as I spent the last of my traveling money. I was sitting there in my long underwear, using them as a makeshift pair of pants while my real ones spun in the drier next to me. I was staring through the doorway, when a boy about my age passed it.
He wasn’t terribly good looking, but he wasn’t bad looking either. At first what caught my ear was his American accent, but what held my attention was the subtle alarm of my gaydar. I couldn’t be sure, but it seemed this guy was gay. It had been quite some time since I had met a gay American, and I made a mental note to introduce myself. It wouldn’t take long before I would have the chance.
When my pants finished drying, I carried my laundry up to my room. There were two new sets of luggage on the beds next to mine, and soon their owners entered the room. It was the American boy and a girl, who was apparently his friend. I introduced myself to them, and the boy said his name was Christopher, and he was from Wisconsin. The girl was named Timmi, and she was from Australia.
It was obvious from the way they acted together that they weren’t a couple. And to fulfill my curiosity, I asked what they were planning on doing that evening. They explained that they wanted to go out dancing, but they didn’t know the area.
“Come with me tonight then!” I told them, “I know most of the clubs around here.”
People had told me that Cologne was like Germany’s San Francisco, a city known for it’s gay population. As I walked down the main strip of clubs and bars in the center of the city for what seemed like the thousandth time, I still didn’t believe it. I hadn’t met a single gay person since I had arrived weeks before. And I wasn’t even sure if Christopher was gay. He said he knew a good bit of German when I had asked him, so I tried the direct approach using the German word for gay.
“Ist du schwul?” I asked him, tentatively as we sat at a resteraunt drinking coktails.
“Nein, iche bin nicht schwul.” Translated, this meant he was not gay. I stared in shock.
“Are you gay?” Timmi asked me.
“No…I don’t know. I have dated men and women.” Technically, this was true.
We tried to find a club, but the student club was closed that night. So was the latin club and the ‘funky-chicken’ club. Finally, we found a small club that had just opened. They were tucked away in a corner on a side-street, and we three were the only ones there when we first arrived. We took the opportunity to dance uninhibited, and were still dancing when other people began to arrive.
All the drinks we were drinking had gotten to Timmi, because soon after we arrived, she said she wanted to leave.
“You should stay and have fun Christopher.” she said to her friend. “I’ll be fine.”
She paid her bill and left.
Christopher and I ordered more drinks, and pounded them down. I began to feel pretty drunk, and I loved to dance, so I grabbed his arm and we went back to the dance floor. After a half-hour of dancing, he leaned close to me, “I am gay.” he whispered in my ear, “I just didn’t want Timmi to know!”
I smiled to myself in my drunken state, feeling elated for having figured him out. Instinctively and without thinking, I stepped toward him and put my hands on his hips. The alcohol surged into my bloodstream as we danced to the fast-paced trance music, and without realizing what was happening, we had begun to make out. We went at it, in the middle of the dance floor. People might have said something, or even backed away in disgust, but I wouldn’t have noticed. I was completely absorbed in the moment. It wasn’t even that I was attracted to him, but that I was attracted to his attraction to me. I didn’t want to lose that. I didn’t want to give up feeling attractive and desirable and edgy.
We made out and danced for an hour, in the middle of the dance floor. Surprisingly, no one stopped us or asked us to get a room. We were just there, exchanging saliva and wagging our hips.
At some point, he whispered that we should go sit down. I followed him to a corner of the club where a soft bench sat. We sprawled on top of it and made out even more violently to the time of the music. I didn’t think. I didn’t really even feel. I just did it. I felt as though I was completely gone. The alcohol had taken complete control.
At about 3am, the music stopped and the lights turned on. Apparently we had been making out in the corner for two hours straight. We paid our bill, and staggered out into the night.
I’m not sure how we made it home that night, but I have a distinct memory of limping through the empty marketplace near the hostel, arms over each other’s shoulders, supporting each other and trying not to fall down. He kept feeling my ass, and I told him to stop.
“Why!?” I remember him asking, his words slurred and empty, “It’s such a nice hard ass.”
I didn’t really have an answer for him.
“I don’t want to have sex with you.” I told him, and he didn’t respond. I didn’t know what I wanted. I didn’t feel ashamed or disgusted by what we had done, but I certainly didn’t want to take it any farther. Why had I even done that?
The next morning when I awoke, his bed was empty, and so was his friends. With bleary eyes I looked at my watch, downed a gallon of water, and descended the hostel stairs to approach the front desk. It was two in the afternoon.
“What happened to the guys who slept in from 510 last night?” I asked the guy at the desk.
“They left late this morning.” He responded.
I would never see Christopher or Timmi again.
This would be the last time I would kiss a boy. Two days later, I kissed Julie for the last time before leaving for the U.S. where I would inevitably break up with her over email.
Now I live in the Castro in San Francisco. The Castro is the gay mecca of the world, and rainbow flags wave from every window. Every morning when I wait for my morning subway train, a line of gay men and lesbians wait beside me. I feel completely at home.
But I am not gay. Sure, when a good looking boy walks by, I admire them for who they are and what they represent. But I in no way want to kiss them, or have a relationship with them. I want only Chanterelle, my soul-mate, and the love of my life.
Though most of my male friends are gay, I feel no insecurity anymore. Nor do I feel remorse or regret, shame or sadness, about the four guys that I’ve kissed.
{ 30 comments… read them below or add one }
I love this post! I love hearing about your life before me and I am so happy that I am now part of such a great persons life and that I can help them in any way. I love reading your these kinds of stoies.
p.s.
Happy Now?
Waddaya think folks. Supportive girlfriend, eh?
I’m continuously impressed with the vulnerability you accept by posting these stories. Much respect!
I think a lot of guys feel similarly. I would probably not consider myself to be 100% heterosexual. For me, it would probably be around 95%. But I didn’t think anybody would get that until you posted this. I feel a lot more comfortable with myself now.
Thank you so much for your comment Patrick. It’s very validating to hear your encouragement and agreement.
This is exactly what I want to do with these posts like this one, the hooker one, and the cheating one. I feel like most of this stuff isn’t talked about in a mature way, and because of that people feel like they’re alone in the way they feel.
Funny enough, it’s posting these sorts of stories and getting comments like yours that give me validation and the courage to continue writing.
Thank you.
I’ve always considered my self 93% straight XD
I think my number would actually be much lower. Something like 75% at the highest.
I love your authentic voice. It will encourage the rest of us to embrace the dichotomies that exist in us. Your work is so rich.
I love reading your entries. It’s so great that I get to know you through them. Of course, this one peeked my interest…I thought “hmmmm I wonder what he has to say about that…” The way you described your same sex encounters was so intimate that it reminded me of how exciting it is to explore beyond your comfort zones, and how truly gratifying the outcome can be. Thanks so much for sharing yourself the way you do.
Christian- I really adored this post. I never know how I feel about my sexuality and I really respect others who have it all figured out. Mostly, I’m so glad that you are happy and secure with who you are and I’m glad that people are able to discuss this openly.
All I can say is you would make on hell of a gay guy I mean that in a complimentary fashion, I am glad you are confident and assured of your sexuality because I was a little concerned that you may have been in denial of your own desires and were with my sister in order to convince your self other wise. My concern was mostly for her and that she may be hurt by your choices, which of course you know would make so that I had to beat you up, like I told you before. !) Not for being Gay just for hurting my sister, I too went through a stage in my life where I questioned if I was gay and thought it might have been easier to be. Mostly because people keep asking me if I was and gay guys kept hitting on me, but I never felt any attraction to another male nor have I kissed a guy. I really like women more than men in pretty much every way … physically, emotionally, intellectually not to say I don’t like guys just not as much.
You’re one in a million Christian. How goes the life in San Fran?
What a great writer you are. I admire your openness and vulnerability. I loved your sharing of your thought processes.
That’s very good and very well written Christian. Like a chip off the old block. Your parents are the most authentic people I have known. They are who they are. No cover ups. At 59 years old, I just learned alot from what you wrote reaffirmed what I know to be true. Thank you for being the real you. Namaste
PS. I know you mother transitioned but she is alive and well and is very proud of her son I’m sure.
Your entries continue to be beautiful and rich. Thank you for sharing these stories with me!
Dude, you’re self-absorbed.
Your name is either brilliant or a typo…and I’m not quite sure which!
I wish I was as sure about my sexuality as you are. I see a lot of myself in your posts, but almost in an opposite way, if that makes sense. It’s nice to see someone is at least kinda like me, I guess.
J, are you a guy or a girl?
Your depiction of what gay men are is stereotypical and kind of offensive.
Even when viewed through the lens of a 12 year old? That’s how old I was when I felt the way I did.
Finally someone talking about how bewildering it is to be bisexual in this world. I just wrote my big research paper on the bisexual paradox and how many in the gay community dismiss us and sometimes outrightly reject our existence. I learned a lot while writing and got more comfortable in my own skin in the process. Thanks for exisiting my friend!
It can be a tense scary place between those 2 poles but I’ve lived there my whole life! I was married to a man (who was also bi) and now I’m in my first real relationship with a woman. A great quote by Dvora Zipkin sums it up: “my past life is heterosexual, my present life is mostly lesbian, and my future is unknown.” (from Bisexuality and the Eroticism of Everyday Life by Marjorie Garber) Great book! Anyway, thanks again for talking about this so honestly. Take care..
Great to hear from you Kellye!
Your message made m. smile. I am glad I could speak to some of what you have felt. I have always been struck by how little is available on these subjects online.
Thanks for reading,
Christian
Very interesting story. Thanks for sharing!
Looking at my comment again I feel like it doesn’t say enough (to my defense I wrote it from my mobile phone).
I found this blog post refreshingly revealing. In a way we don’t see people normally opening up these days.
Totally awesome.
I recognize and respect you as a complicated human being
Beautiful post. After reading this, I read a few more of your posts, and I find myself strangely at peace after today. Not that anything special or devastating has happened, nothing did, just that this is the sort of thing I needed to read. So, thank you for writing this.
Do you have regrets of any kind? It seems like you may have toyed with the emotions of a few different guys just because you like the attention and power of being attractive.
Another viewpoint… Although I’m gay, I have to say that I know what a lot of this feels like. I think more of my coming out story in life has been to do with being comfortable with who I am as a whole, rather than being comfortable with just sexual identity. In the U.S., there’s an odd combination of things that people can’t seem to separate: cultural behavior and sexuality.
I guess, unlike your struggle, one of the easier things for me to figure out was that I was into guys– it was just obvious. What was tougher (and still is a weird source of trouble, even if I understand the whole problem) is coming to terms with that my sexuality has nothing to do with how I act, or the things I do. I’ve found that I’m just different from the majority of straight people like I am different from the majority of gay people. Despite this, I keep trying to fit in with the gay people because I’m gay, and that’s what makes most sense to me even if I know it’s silly to spend time around guys just because they’re gay. I guess there’s a certain comfort level, or a certain shared struggle at least; but, often it’s not quite enough to make a friendship.
It seems like you’re attracted to all these aspects of things people consider (culturally) gay, and since you were young had managed to tie sexuality in together with all of that. I’m sure you know it now, but you don’t need to. Just be yourself, it’s okay to be straight and like whatever you like just like it’s okay to be gay or bisexual and like whatever you like.
I found this reddit “IAmA” post relevant. The poster is genderless and sort of floats between masculinity and femininity on a day-to-day basis.
I like the story..I can relate..