When did you know?

“When did you know?”

“When did I know what?” is probably what most people would say in reaction to the first question. But for me and others, it’s something that we immediately know. The topic was brought up over at Zionide and some other bloggers responded and answered the question. If I ever get the courage to tell my family, I think that I will give them a copy of this journal and maybe one of their biggest questions will be answered here.

So when did I know. Well, there was never a specific event that I can tell you. It wasn’t as if there was one day that I made the realization. Although, the date of my acceptance is actually documented here on this journal. To put it simply, deep down, I always knew. It’s always been there. It just is (not was or will be). It just intensified as time went on until one day I had to finally admit what I truly am.

The first hint probably came with my fascination with the penis when I was probably five years old. You’re probably thinking that five is too young to be thinking about sex. You’d be right. I didn’t know about sex then, much less gay sex. Hell, I didn’t know what gay was then either. But I remember looking at a porno picture of a naked man and was in awe at how big they were and wondered why mine didn’t look the same. [ahem, don’t read too much into that last sentence.]

It was also around this time that I kissed a boy. Well, I’ve kissed two boys. There was one that lived across the vacant lot from us and who was a bit older. Then there was Jon who lived a couple houses down in the other direction. The older one was the first. He came over one day which surprised me because he never really hung out with me before. But I was glad to have someone to play with that day. We went into the house where after a little while, we were underneath the couch cover—probably playing fort. But I remember that he asked me how I wanted to be kissed. Loud, which entailed smacks that I would give my mom or silent, which involved frenching. I chose silent because I knew, even then, that it wouldn’t be good if nanay or my parents found out. So we made out for quite a while. And that was that, he didn’t seem interested after we had quit but I liked it. Jon was just a natural extension of that but that didn’t last long either.

Let me tell you what is probably more pertinent to the question even though it doesn’t directly answer it. By the time I moved to Idaho, I had a fair idea of what was really going on with me. I knew by then that my fascination with other boys was somehow different. I remember lying down on the floor of the living room while Dad was watching the news. There was some story involving homosexuals and heterosexuals. I had figured what they were but I wanted to ask Dad anyways.

“What is a heterosexual?” I wanted to avoid the word “homosexual” so I just used the opposite word.

“It’s what you are.” It was at that moment that I built my closet. Right then and there, I knew that what I truly am… is something that my father didn’t want and I knew that I had to try and be straight. And that pretty much leads me up till today where, while I don’t butch up my mannerisms, I still act like a straight man. [In some ways, it’s a blessing, but I wondered maybe if I hadn’t then it would have been too obvious and a coming out wouldn’t be necessary.]