I'm Gay: My Coming Out Story

    I was about 5 years old the first time I started to notice women. Lori Petty. I was watching “Free Willy” for the first time and remember getting this weird feeling in my stomach every time Lori‘s character was brought to the screen. Butterflies must have been flapping their little wings all throughout me, rubbing against the most sensitive places and making the biggest smile appear on my innocent face. I watched that movie at least twice a day after that, just to see her.
    Thinking back, I try to envision all the possibilities before homosexuality. Was I infatuated because she was beautiful and I admired her and wanted to be like her when I grew up? Did I just think she was too cool because she had such an astonishing animal friend and such an amazing job and I wished I could do that too. But then I think further ahead to the 5th grade. Oh my God! Ms. Strauss. Beautiful, strong, her silky blonde hair flowing down her beautiful freckled face. The way she placed her strong yet soft hands on my shoulder and stood behind me while she gave me some extra help with math, made me so nervous it gave me goose bumps.
    Now I was 10 and I knew that two guys or two girls being together was called gay. I also knew gay was a word that mean kids call you when they don’t like you. So of course I forced myself to push that word and any thought of it way back into the deep crevices of my mind where it became entangled in the thick, sticky cobwebs that encompassed the area. She was just a really nice teacher that I like very much, in a non platonic way.
    Middle school was different. I, as well as my peers were maturing, going through puberty, curiosity began rushing through our heads, and if like me you were molested the summer before school started, you’d be all kinds of confused, vulnerable. There was a girl in my art class, she suffered a similar pain. She started out being my tambourine man. She had the hook-up. In that little baggie she had the power to make all my problems go away for a few hours at least. One day that baggie was dry, no weed, but she could get some from her older brother. We ditched school at lunch and went to her place. Yeah, he had the stuff and even better, a lot more expensive. We both took a few hits and to the clouds we went.
    Lying on her bed, relaxed, our eyes bloodshot and puffy, she starts caressing my hair, my face and my breasts, telling me how beautiful I am. It feels good, I want more. She asks me to take off my shirt, I do. She asks me to take off my pants, I do. I would do just about anything she asked of me right now, and I did. Every time I went over, I did. I never called her my girl. We never belonged to one another, we simply understood each other. I haven’t seen her in years, but she holds a very special place in my heart to this day.
    I’m 20 years old now, and as I grasp the concept of homosexuality, I realize we weren’t sent to this world to fight in unreasonable wars, but to love with all of our strength and it shouldn’t matter if I love a man or a woman, as long as there is love.

Author's Note

I'm a serious writer, please critique harshly, hold nothing back. I would really like to improve my writing dramatically.

Reviews

[Sheila Marie Carr]

What a beautiful story, I believe love is...no matter what, how or with whom love is love and the fact that you knew that there were something at a young age says a lot. I believe in being who you are and true to who you are, love has no boundaries and it is not prejudice
So live your life to the fullest and love whomever you please, just as long as you are happy

[fireblossom]

I am proud of you for coming through your growth experience to be such an open woman. I am also impressed by your writing. The structure was well done. I like the way you trace your growth. Your editing process is very well informed keeping things direct and clear tending toward the most simple way of saying things.

One line bothered me "Middle school was different. I, as well as my peers were maturing," I standing alone always feels troubled. Perhaps, "We were maturing, experiencing puberty. Curiosity rushed through our heads and our bodies. Having been molested the summer before school started, I felt confused and vulnerable....:

This makes the telling more personal. Perhaps you were pushing us away a bit by joining the crowd. I do that sometimes. :-)

Over all a great story showing a keen talent.