Sick of Waiting

I’m suffering so much that I actually catch myself smiling. Sounds odd I know. But before I go on, I want to warn you that this post is about my sex life (or rather the lack thereof). But it definitely may be TMI for you.

Masturbation and pornography suck! Lately I’ve been thinking, “Been there. Done that.” While they both serve a function, I get no real satisfaction out of it. As early as last year, they were enough for me to get by. Now, it’s just available and I approach them with an attitude of, “Eh, why not? I’ve got a couple minutes to spare.” Sometimes, though, it actually highlights my frustrations. The reason why is because I am desperate for some sex. Dear God, I’ve regressed to a sex-starved teenager and it’s new to me.

After coming out to myself, I eventually did end up with some interesting dreams about other guys. I was dreading that it was going to escalate into wet dreams—a sort of return to puberty or perhaps making up for lost time. This was not so. The dreams were more relationship centered rather than about sex.

So sex really hasn’t been in my life. But now that I’ve let myself flow with my emotions, I am getting a bit twitchy. When I see the Centennial Guy or Ryan, I want to hit them with my club and drag them back to my cave. And as much as it hurts to know that I can’t do that, I laugh at myself at how utterly ridiculous I must be. To my horror, I’m acting like some horned up teen.

I used to think that I would wait until I was in a committed relationship before having sex. It’s getting to the point where I’d do it with the first gives me a once-over. While I may not wait for the man of my dreams, I definitely don’t want my first time to be with a stranger.

Ugh…where’s my porn?

I Bet She Knew It All Along

If you’ve read my other blog, you probably know that my Nanay (actually, my maternal grandmother) died recently. Her death has prompted many hours of reflection on the time that she spent with me. I have long suspected that she probably had me figured out. I think she knew I was gay.

In the late 80’s my father was stationed in the Florida Keys. Our home was in Key West. (Imagine that.) My sister was born while we were there. Since both of my parents worked, my mom brought over her mother to help. Nanay took care of my sister and I through the Key West assignment and through the next.

It was in Key West that things happened to me that would probably make people think that I might like guys. There was boy in the neighborhood. He was a little older than me and we didn’t hang around each other much. In fact, I remember him being a little bit of a bully sometimes. One day, I was playing all by myself which was very unusual in those days. The rest of my friends weren’t home for some reason or another. My parents were gone too. It was only my Nanay and I. I remember I was outside on the driveway. Which meant I was either playing with sidewalk chalk—or frying ants with my magnifying glass. The kid came up and wanted to hang. My friends weren’t around so I guess I was happy to do whatever with him.

I couldn’t tell you why it happened but we ended up under the couch cover in the living room. I think we were trying to play fort or something. Anyways, as we lay side by side, he asked me how I wanted to be kissed. I chose the French kiss because it was more quiet. We moved to a bedroom where we got under the bed covers and had an extended make out session. I can remember how our teeth sometimes clanged together and the sound it made. It got hot and heavy until it ended when he asked me to suck his dick. I didn’t. Pee-Pee came out of that thing! I probably would have but the mood was effectively killed.

I must’ve looked like a mess because when we emerged from the bedroom, we ran into Nanay. She must’ve been in the kitchen working during all this time but she did not look happy. I tried to read her face and it told me that she knew what we had done.

A year or so later, we were in the Philippines. Apparently I was quite the effeminate kid because the new neighborhood kids called me bakla. Basically they were calling me queer or fag. I still didn’t know what queer was. To me, they were calling me a girl. Boys calling each other a girl was something I grew up with even in the States so I didn’t care about it too much. There were some days when the teasing was a little harsh but I still didn’t get the connection. But because I didn’t understand was truly meant, doesn’t mean that Nanay didn’t.

If I really was throwing off signals, why didn’t my father notice? He has said to me that I used to act like a little girl. He probably saw me kissing Jon on the dock that one day because he yelled at me. Jon told me the next day that his father said that Jon and I couldn’t kiss anymore. By the way, don’t think I’m a slut because I’ve only kissed two boys my age. Jon and the other boy. But if he knew I was probably gay, why would he say things that would make me feel so horrible? Why would you make a child feel that love was given on condition?

I knew that my grandmother loved me. I was her grandson who, because of distance, time, and culture, could be a virtual stranger. But I was hers and that’s the way it was.

The end is still the same.

I know that I’m jumping a number of steps but let me post about children. I say that I don’t want them. I’m honestly petrified of picking one up. But I’m totally into them and I won’t let anyone know that I am. I thought the dream of having my own family went out the window when I came out to myself. Now, I’m glad to say that I’ve regained that dream.

While I have accepted that I may not find a guy to love or kids to raise, it doesn’t mean that will happen that way. Running through imaginary numbers in my head, I had resigned myself to a life alone. Yet, the net has done wonders to battle my pessimism. I’m reading blogs about guys who are in great relationships. If you don’t mind a plug, one of my favorite blogs to lurk around is The Brian’s. When he describes his son doing things that should make me cringe, I get goose bumps as well as envious (the good kind of envious). I eat it up. I want it so bad.

Should I ever get this law thing started, one of the fields that I am looking into is family law. In particular, I want to get into adoption. Mostly though, I want to help other gay couples fight through a system that is stacked against them. I’m not going to let the gov’t discourage me and other from forming a relationships and starting families.

I’m 24 now. In some ways, I feel old and the time is slipping by. In less than a year, one of my first life goals will pass. I’m not going to be getting engaged to a girl. Nor will I be marrying her when I’m 26. That baby at age 28 isn’t looking likely either. In another way, I feel like I’m half my age. I’m a twelve year old just beginning to have “feelings” and waiting for that first kiss. (Really, I haven’t been kissed yet. I’m in a Drew Berrymore movie or something.) Dating? I keep telling myself that I’m not ready for a relationship. But another part of me says that if the opportunity presents itself, I’m going to grab him and run. It’s scary and exciting.

So, no, don’t know what is beyond the end of my nose. That’s okay with me because something better has to be on its way. I’m crossing my fingers for a guy and a baby. The house and dog would be nice too.