About seven years ago somebody asked, "when did you know you were gay?" I wrote most of this then, saved it as a draft, forgot about it and have recently re-discovered it.
In 1976, I instinctually knew that my sexuality was dangerous for me to express. Well, OK, I had some help from disapproving peers: they used to point and chant, "Burridge got a boner!" during P.E., and those were the nicest ones. For the record, there wasn't any one person or persons turning me on; I just felt sexy, I guess--or more likely hormonal. With the power of twelve-year-olds, I invoked Mr. Spock and put a wall around my emotions and my sexual desires. This was a protective insulation that I kept wrapped around me for about twenty years. It made me want to be a particle physicist. It also kept me from emotional connections of all sorts. (I still find locker rooms uncomfortable.)
It never occurred to me that I was gay. In the seventies and eighties, the only gay people I knew were fictional. The fictional Jack Tripper, who only pretended to be gay on the television situation comedy "Three's Company;" the fictional Bunny Wigglesworth, the gay, whip wielding twin brother of Zorro--played by George Hamilton in "Zorro, The Gay Blade;" the simpering subjects of various jokes about fairies; and the eponymous queer in the football game "Smear the Queer." Oh, yes; The Village People... they didn't exactly count because because A) we usually only heard their music and didn't see them, B) it was Oregon, and the cultural significance of the Village was lost on middle schoolers, and C) we were too busy contorting into the letters Y M C and A to think about homosexual sex.
Because of this, I developed a persona that was "cute." It was my way of saying, "Hi. I'm harmless. Don't hurt me. I'm cute. Like me. Hey, I just want to do science." I would go on 1980's dates with my female friends--we were both Manic Pixie Girls.
In 1983, my first same-sex desires were furtive and I was drawn to them several times only to recoil from them. I wish my first sexual experience as an eighteen year old had been beautiful and affirming; instead, my first shared post-orgasmic words to my not-boyfriend-I'm-not-gay-fooling-around-with were "Um, that was kind of gross." I spent the rest of my college life serial crushing on romantically unavailable women (he transferred to another college).
Apparently, from 1983 to 1995, many people assumed I was gay and assumed I knew (which explains some awkward moments). Also, you had to hit me over the head with a clue-by-four if you were romantically interested in me (which explains some other awkward moments).
I came out to myself in 1995, after a highly symbolic dream involving a hallway of doors, hotel cleaning staff, message oil, crashing through a tenth story window, and women with Hair to Heaven singing, "Hallelujah, Amen!" When I cast the dream into prose form and read it during an open mic night at Arcosanti, I instantly became Mr. Arcosanti Gay Resources (in spite of the fact that I was still single and there were other gay men on site).
Back in Oregon, after a couple of fun-but-confusing sexual encounters, I'd say my first beautiful and affirming sexual experience was 1996... and then I promptly worried that despite various safe sex measures, I'd contracted something. My slutty stage was cut short when I met Mark a week later.
Mark is the first person I've loved who has loved me back (no pressure).
Postscript: I was very lucky. Around 2002, I was contacted by my college not-gay-not-boyfriend via a random e-mail. Once I was out to myself, I said to myself that if we ever ran into each other that I would say or write the following: "Hello. I wanted to apologize for my actions when I was eighteen. We were sexually attracted to each other. I was homophobic and I treated you badly. I'm sorry." He forgave me.
In 1976, I instinctually knew that my sexuality was dangerous for me to express. Well, OK, I had some help from disapproving peers: they used to point and chant, "Burridge got a boner!" during P.E., and those were the nicest ones. For the record, there wasn't any one person or persons turning me on; I just felt sexy, I guess--or more likely hormonal. With the power of twelve-year-olds, I invoked Mr. Spock and put a wall around my emotions and my sexual desires. This was a protective insulation that I kept wrapped around me for about twenty years. It made me want to be a particle physicist. It also kept me from emotional connections of all sorts. (I still find locker rooms uncomfortable.)
It never occurred to me that I was gay. In the seventies and eighties, the only gay people I knew were fictional. The fictional Jack Tripper, who only pretended to be gay on the television situation comedy "Three's Company;" the fictional Bunny Wigglesworth, the gay, whip wielding twin brother of Zorro--played by George Hamilton in "Zorro, The Gay Blade;" the simpering subjects of various jokes about fairies; and the eponymous queer in the football game "Smear the Queer." Oh, yes; The Village People... they didn't exactly count because because A) we usually only heard their music and didn't see them, B) it was Oregon, and the cultural significance of the Village was lost on middle schoolers, and C) we were too busy contorting into the letters Y M C and A to think about homosexual sex.
Because of this, I developed a persona that was "cute." It was my way of saying, "Hi. I'm harmless. Don't hurt me. I'm cute. Like me. Hey, I just want to do science." I would go on 1980's dates with my female friends--we were both Manic Pixie Girls.
In 1983, my first same-sex desires were furtive and I was drawn to them several times only to recoil from them. I wish my first sexual experience as an eighteen year old had been beautiful and affirming; instead, my first shared post-orgasmic words to my not-boyfriend-I'm-not-gay-fooling-around-with were "Um, that was kind of gross." I spent the rest of my college life serial crushing on romantically unavailable women (he transferred to another college).
Apparently, from 1983 to 1995, many people assumed I was gay and assumed I knew (which explains some awkward moments). Also, you had to hit me over the head with a clue-by-four if you were romantically interested in me (which explains some other awkward moments).
I came out to myself in 1995, after a highly symbolic dream involving a hallway of doors, hotel cleaning staff, message oil, crashing through a tenth story window, and women with Hair to Heaven singing, "Hallelujah, Amen!" When I cast the dream into prose form and read it during an open mic night at Arcosanti, I instantly became Mr. Arcosanti Gay Resources (in spite of the fact that I was still single and there were other gay men on site).
Back in Oregon, after a couple of fun-but-confusing sexual encounters, I'd say my first beautiful and affirming sexual experience was 1996... and then I promptly worried that despite various safe sex measures, I'd contracted something. My slutty stage was cut short when I met Mark a week later.
Mark is the first person I've loved who has loved me back (no pressure).
Postscript: I was very lucky. Around 2002, I was contacted by my college not-gay-not-boyfriend via a random e-mail. Once I was out to myself, I said to myself that if we ever ran into each other that I would say or write the following: "Hello. I wanted to apologize for my actions when I was eighteen. We were sexually attracted to each other. I was homophobic and I treated you badly. I'm sorry." He forgave me.
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