Growing up gay

I wrote a few blogs ago about living two lives; one gay, one straight. This shall be tonight's topic. 

I don't feel that I grew up in an overly conservative environment. I'm not sure that staying in the closet had anything to do with that, yet it is an interesting concept that in order for a gay person to be him/herself, you need to announce who you are to the world. I don't know when I knew that I was different, there was no bells-ringing or defining moment. I always say that when you are 13 and horny, and you close your eyes when you touch yourself (or keep them open if you must), whoever you think of, is what you are. Bisexuality, in my opinion, is often an excuse for not, or slowly, coming out of the closet. Who ever heard of a 76 year old bi guy?

I had girlfriends at school and I did all the things that you are expected to do with a girlfriend. And I enjoyed it. At the time I thought that I would meet someone, get married and have kids, and occasionally play with guys on the side. I definitely wasn't the first to consider it, certainly wasn't the last to do it. I'm glad I didn't though because the consequences are not something I feel I needed to learn. 

One night I was out cruising the wrong place and met a guy. We went home together. And stayed together for the next 5 or 7 years. He was openly gay, I wasn't. I met his friends and was introduced as his boyfriend. In the beginning it was weird for me but I soon felt comfortable. He met my friends as a buddy. I have no doubt that my friends suspected something was going on but nobody ever said anything. On more than one occasion I was informed by my mother that he was obviously gay and trying to convert me. He succeeded. I was at University in Johannesburg and we moved into an apartment together, a two bedroom that was fully furnished but only one bedroom was actually in use. We were the happy couple to his friends, roommates to mine. 

My mother, sister and I went on an overseas holiday and my boyfriend was upset that I didn't invite him, but I couldn't because he was my roommate, not my boyfriend. But one night I called him from New York from the payphone in the hotel corridor and my mother overheard us talking. And she knew. And she didn't get out of bed for the next three days. I got back from our trip and he met me at home, sat me down, said "Welcome back, I'm leaving". He had met someone else, on the new internet thing, and he wanted to rather be with this guy who was not ashamed to be in a relationship. So he left. 

I was devastated and broken and I needed support so I called my friends crying that he had left me. And they came. And they didn't ask questions. And I told my mother why I was so upset and I told her to deal with it. 

I realised that the only person that had been in the closet was me. Everybody knew, and didn't quite give a shit. I am one of the lucky ones that did not lose one single friend when I finally came out; to myself. 

It's easier today, it was easier when I was a teen than it had been for Keith when he was. A friend texted me today and said she was hanging out with her cousin and his trans kid and I barely registered a response other than to ask how old the kid was.

Sometimes people ask me what my wife does and I tell them. Sometimes I tell them my wife is Keith. Sometimes I say I'm not married. I stopped needing to come out a long time ago, I stopped living two lives. 

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