First time out

By the time I was eighteen, I was easily aware of my attraction to both genders. My same sex attraction never bothered me because I never self-identified as homosexual. My attraction to girls—my bisexuality—somehow eliminated guilt and discomfort I might have felt about being attracted to boys. I was so comfortable in my bisexual skin.

At any rate, I spent my teen years enjoying more male sexual contact than female because I was not very successful at attracting and dating girls. Furthermore, I attended an all-boys school where contact with girls was limited. Other boys undoubtedly developed strategies for attracting girls; I developed a game plan of sorts for initiating encounters with other boys. At that level, I liked boys more, but at the time I’d have enjoyed more heterosexual encounters.

Before I was eighteen, I had already experienced “adolescent” contact with several different boys, but recognized that I would have to lose my virginity to a girl. Naturally, this prospect excited me, and in my sixteenth year I pursued my goal with single-minded enthusiasm. Now attending a small co-educational boarding school, I established a relationship with a female student, and eventually consummated the act.

I remember my first heterosexual “lovemaking” as unpracticed and hurried fumbling in the dark. It was probably little different from anyone else’s first-time adolescent fumbling. The deal, however, was done, and I wore my new status with pride among my peers.

No question: I liked the sex and wanted more. The short story is that my girlfriend and I continued our trysts until we got caught and expelled from school. I finished high school at a public school where I enjoyed the cachet of mystery and rumor that surrounded me. The irony is that I got in more heterosexual trouble throughout my early life than I ever did homosexual trouble.

At eighteen I entered college at a time when the Vietnam War was sucking up young American men like a bellicose vacuum. A couple of years later I succumbed to a lifestyle that had little to do with academia and lots to do with skiing and partying. I dropped out of college which put me directly in the crosshairs of conscription and a potentially one way ticket to Vietnam.

I avoided the draft by being gay, which was my first trip out of the closet. I told my father, equivocating that I wasn’t really homosexual, and that I was only claiming the orientation to avoid the army. Still, I said the words out loud; the army psychiatrist believed me and wrote HOMOSEXUAL large across my paperwork. And I wasn’t even ashamed as I walked to the door past the drill sergeants and the poor saps headed for basic training and Vietnam.

I suppose it’s also ironic that calling myself homosexual led to my first overt and complete sexual congress with another man. I was always bisexual, never exclusively heterosexual, but now utterly and absolutely homosexual. It’s been a long, strange and I think unique trip. I wouldn’t change a bit of it.

Gay pride

I reconnoitered. I like knowing the ground before I enter a situation, especially one involving thousands of people. Denver’s PrideFest 2009 anticipated attendance by upwards of a hundred thousand people at Civic Center Park. Before I become part of a crowd like that, I want to know where stuff is located before it gets difficult to find.

I attended PrideFest on advice from my friend Brian, who recommended it as an essential component of my coming out. At first I didn’t understand why gay pride is so important, and thought it enough just to say I was gay. Now I enjoy greater understanding; enjoy is the active word. Being gay means helping other gay people come out of the closet, to accept themselves and expand that acceptance to family, friends and community.

My first impression on walking into Civic Center Park was of homeless people inhabiting whatever shady and comfortable places they could find. They contrasted sharply with more well-heeled vendors and gawkers like me. My thought was that homeless people don’t have the luxury of celebrating their sexuality; they’d be happy celebrating something to eat.

When I returned to the park the following morning, homeless folks were not in evidence. They were replaced by a full throng of gay and gay-friendly people browsing booths now stocked with all manner of services and merchandise. There were petitions to sign, causes to join, message tables, animal care and adoption offerings, psychic prognosticators, music and hundreds of mostly yummy food booths. Gay pride was paramount; diversity was the name of the day.

But the most striking thing to me was that here there weren’t—didn’t need to be—any closets. Everyone, from gawkers and tourists to vendors and practitioners, were either gay or gay-friendly. They assumed I was gay or that I accepted gay as viable identification and lifestyle. Freedom and authenticity were liberating. I could be who I am and meet with not just acceptance, but approval. I wandered among my tribe.

Although I had fun almost beyond description, my experience of “outness” and continuity taught me being homosexual is my personal orientation. Being gay, however, brought me together with a community of like-minded people. It was inclusive, enclosing and accepting; it was all okay, it was all good.

We gays have come a long way in terms of public acceptance of homosexuality. A hundred thousand gay people and allies walking openly and blatantly through Denver streets, demonstrates that times have changed. Yes, as a community of gay souls we still have much to do. We may not have it all, but as community we have it all together. Boy did it feel wonderful.