The Mother of All Denials

Over the course of the last few months – my non-blogging period, I have started many posts in my head. They come and go, all seemingly important at the time but none quite so earth shattering in hindsight. But there are themes that keep recurring and last week I found myself again in a state of wonder. I once wrote a post called Flip Books, a story of how all the little pre-gay moments once strung together made some sense, to my friend listening and to me speaking.

Last week I was transported back to a moment when I was maybe twenty-five. The scene was simple enough – sharing a bed with someone a few years my junior, an out-of state guest. He likes to tickle and I passively enjoy his fingers dancing all around my body. It is summer, it is night and at best I have on a pair of boxers. After what felt like forever – my arms, my legs, my chest, almost all of me touched, I am hard. Lying there on my back there is no hiding it, nor any desire to, and he touches me, fingers dancing up and down. It doesn’t take long – I cum, cum very hard. Even now as I type the memory makes me hard. Once over, it is sleep. Nothing said: a brief encounter.

I share the story with my friend, a twinge of embarrassment in the telling. But that feeling dissipates quickly when my friend has the “punch line” while I am still setting the stage. (Yes, I talk like I write – a bit wordy). We laugh at my hesitancy but there is more.

It is one thing to look back and remember once having been unwittingly and comfortably in a gay bar or to recall thoughts of a circle jerk at age ten. But here is a moment: I was twenty-five or so, an adult out on my own. Clearly this was not a nuanced moment. Another man’s fingers dancing up and down one’s penis, the feeling of excitement, of cumming: this was very gay indeed.

Here I am a single man living in as gay friendly a spot as exists. The Stonewall is already history (not that I would have known). I have my own apartment, can come and go as I please. I do have a girlfriend but still I was not married, no children, nothing to stop me. It was not as if I made a policy decision: “Can’t be gay, too difficult.” Just total denial.

While sub-conscious, it had to be the fear, the fear of disappointing family and friends, fear of the unknown. It was, in fairness to me, a very different time for being gay, danger in all forms. But if I looked back and could remember a policy decision, an “I am gay but choose not to follow it” moment, it would make some sense.

My friend will read this and wonder as to the point and maybe there is none. It is just that I cannot escape the damage in my wake, the failed marriages, the broken homes and not wonder how much could have been avoided with a small dose of self awareness. I suppose this is all a good turn, having gone from wondering if I am gay to wondering how I missed it for so long. I suppose it comes down to my current feeling of comfort, but that is for another post.