My Coming Out Story - 1. Chapter 1

Accepting that you might be gay and making that life-altering decision to "come out" is never an easy one, although it is much easier now than it was ten years ago when I was still in high school. Looking back now, it was probably in middle school that I first noticed a physical attraction to boys, although, at the time, I didn't associate that with being "gay." I knew what that word meant, though, and that it was something you didn't want to be. Starting in 7th grade, I started noticing boys while changing in the locker rooms for P.E. class. We didn't have to take showers then (damn!), but we had to change into our gym clothes. I would always look at the other boys wearing only their underwear, paying particularly close attention to their chests, the way their briefs hugged their tight little butts and slender hips, and whether or not they had started growing any hair under their arms.

I also remember having a huge crush on a boy name Mike who was in my band class in middle school. He was really hot, but a total asshole (although not to me). We were friends, but not really close friends. I remember always wanting to see him with his shirt off, but since we didn't have P.E. together, I never got the chance. One day in eighth grade, we took a school trip to a public swimming pool and I finally got to see him shirtless. He didn't have a particularly great body or anything, and still had a little bit of baby fat, but to me, he was the most attractive boy I had ever seen. Even through high school I had a crush on him, but after middle school I didn't dwell on it because I knew that my feelings wouldn't be reciprocated. I harbor no illusions of having "loved" him. Like I said, he was a total prick. But I definitely lusted after him.

In high school, I continued to check out the boys in the locker room when changing for P.E. (again, no showers, unfortunately), and even though I was aware of the fact that I was consciously checking out other boys, for some reason, I didn't make the connection with being "gay." Thinking back on it now, it seems pretty stupid. As high school continued on, I started to very, very gradually develop the inkling that I might be "gay" or "bi," although I did not like the thought of it and tried to fight it as much as possible, even dating a couple of girls along the way.

But, it was always the boys who really drew my attention, and over time, it became harder and harder to ignore, consequently making my internal conflict more and more intense. I think psychologists might call that "cognitive dissonance," which is the discomfort felt at a discrepancy between what you already know or believe, and new information or interpretation, which results in the mind having to come to grips with accomodating these new ideas. Pretty heavy stuff, right?

By my junior year, a couple of my best friends (both girls, by the way, and one of which I had had a fairly long relationship with), I think, both pretty much figured I was gay, or at least bi, because I couldn't help myself from pointing out really hot guys when I was around them. For some reason, doing that didn't make me feel uncomfortable or anything, and I even admitted having "crushes" on certain boys. I guess we were close enough that I knew they wouldn't judge me, but even through all of that, the word "gay" never came up between us.

They never asked me if I was gay or told me I was gay. I kind of wish now that one of them would have sat me down in a chair, tied me up, and said, "Dude, you're, like, totally gay! Accept it and deal with it!" But they didn't, which probably delayed my final acceptance and coming out for a few more years. But hey, we were only like 16 years old at the time, and they weren't exactly professional therapists (although one of them now, ironically, has an M.A. in psychology).

My junior year in high school was also probably one of the most defining times in my life. That was when I met Eric, the first boy I ever truly fell in love with. He was fourteen years old, a freshman, and the younger brother of one of my classmates. When I first saw him during band auditions the previous spring, it was literally one of those "love at first sight" moments (for me, at least). He was the most beautiful boy I had ever seen in my entire life, and still is to this day. He had short, curly blond hair (we used to call him "brillo head"), bright blue eyes, a very cute and innocent face, braces, medium height (although he grew quite tall later), and a thin but pretty well-defined swimmer's build. I couldn't get him out of my mind all summer, and knew that I had to get to know him when school started in the fall, no matter what it took.

He was an extremely shy and introverted kid, and also a genius (literally!) and a brilliant musician. He only had one real friend that I knew of (who was butt ugly, too!), and always sat by himself during lunch, never really speaking with anyone (us band kids always ate lunch in the band room because our cafeteria was always too noisy and crowded). I was always pretty outgoing, so one day I just walked over to him while he was eating lunch by himself and literally dragged him over to where my friends and I were sitting (which consisted of the two aforementioned girls and a few other good friends). They were also very outgoing (and strong-willed), so we basically told him that he was going to be our friend and he didn't have any choice in the matter. At first, he looked absolutely petrified, but eventually seemed to be really flattered that we would want to be friends with him.

After that first day, all of us would hang out and talk during breaks, lunch, band practice, and after-school rehearsals and stuff. He didn't actually talk much, but the more time he spent with us, he did start to open up a little more. Of course, every day that went by, I fell more and more in love with him. At this point, my closest group of friends had to know I was gay because all I talked about was Eric, mostly about how hot and sweet he was.

Anyway, one day I got the idea that I would make him a "mix tape" of my favorite Elton John songs, because I'm a total Elton John freak, and thought that it was my mission in life to convert the entire world into Elton John fans. He was very surprised when I gave him the tape. I don't think he understood why anyone would want to give a gift to him. Despite the fact that he was hot, brilliant, and totally sweet, he didn't have much self-esteem. I knew he pretty much only listened to classical music, so I figured he probably wouldn't listen to the tape, until about a week later when his older brother (who was the same age as me, but not cute at all, and a real prick) came up to me one morning and started bitching at me because Eric kept playing that Elton John tape over and over and over again in their room (by the way, they slept on bunk beds ... how cute!).

By the time the following spring rolled around, I was no longer content with the "group" thing, and wanted Eric all to myself. Selfish, I know. So, I called him one day and asked if he'd like to go to a movie with me. I think he was pretty shocked that I wanted to hang out with him outside of school. We had a really good time together, and just the two of us hanging out was a lot of fun. He opened up a lot more when we were alone, and he had a really goofy personality, completely different from his public persona.

A few weeks later, I decided to take the next step and invite him over for a sleepover (no, those are not just found in cheesy internet stories -- GASP!). He agreed, after he checked with his parents, and I nearly went apeshit from excitement. We hung out in my basement, which my parents had converted into a kind of rec room (very nice, actually), watching videos and talking. I then got the brilliant idea to play a two-person game of "Truth or Dare." To make a long story short, obviously the dares I gave him involved getting him to take his clothes off. Yes, I know, I was evil. What shocked the hell out of me was that he didn't even protest one little bit. As soon as I dared him, the clothes came right off and he stood there as naked as the day he was born, his 5 1/4" cut cock pointing straight out (well, actually it was kind of curved ... and the measurement is exact, since I helped him to measure it).

As time went on, and spring turned into summer, our time spent together increased. He spent the night at my house nearly every weekend, and I always ended up getting him naked at some point. We also started cuddling, holding hands (both at my house and when we went out to the movies), and fooling around a little. For whatever reason, we never jacked each other off or had sex of any kind, just a lot of groping, cuddling, and kissing on the cheek. I think we were both terrified of the implications of what doing more would mean.

I definitely wanted to do more, and there were a few opportunities, but I never took them. He offered to let me suck his dick once and a couple of times he stuck his bare butt out at me and told me I could "stick it in" (and he had a REALLY cute ass, the kind of perfect, cute, pert little bubble butt that you read about in gay stories online). But I wasn't sure if he was just joking around or serious, so I chickened out. Perhaps if I had a computer and access to a place like Nifty back then, I would have been a little more daring. But I was satisfied with what we had going.

There were also some really intense emotions involved, sometimes too intense for either of us to handle. There was a three year difference in our ages (I was 17 and he was 14), and he could be really immature sometimes. But he was also one of the sweetest guys I've ever met. He was always extremely concerned about my feelings. He was also very sensitive. If he thought I was upset or frustrated with him, he would break down crying ... he did that a lot, and I always ended up holding him, rubbing his back, and kissing him on the top of the head. The way he would just melt into my body when I held him like that was incredible.

I knew I was in love with him, and I told him I loved him. He said he loved me too, but I'm not sure he really understood what that was. Afterall, he was only fourteen. To this day, I don't even know if he was really "gay" or just experimenting. I have a strong suspicion that he really was (everyone at school thought he was). But his parents were ultra-religious nuts and extremely controlling and over-protective of their kids. So even if he is gay, I think he'll probably end up staying in the closet for his whole life.

One of the best memories I have of that summer was when my parents took Eric and I to the beach for a long weekend. We had our own room at the hotel and, of course, slept in the same bed. We usually wore boxers and a t-shirt to bed, but somehow he usually ended up naked in the morning, which I can't say that I minded. It felt great to cuddle naked with him. His skin was so soft and our bodies fit together so perfectly. He was the epitome of innocence at that time, and the way he seemed to look up to me so much made me feel really good. Maybe that's one of the reasons I never went any further with him ... I really did love him and didn't want to mess him up. At that point in my life, everything in my universe revolved around Eric. He may have looked up to me, but I totally worshipped him.

During our time at the beach, we did lots of "romantic" things (at least that's the way I interpreted them). We played miniature golf several times a day, went to an amusement park (where he nearly threw up), rode a two-seater bicycle together down the boardwalk, went swimming (of course), and even took walks together along the beach at night. It was perfect.

That summer, I also got him a job with me working for a husband and wife who were renovating an old Victorian house. I didn't like doing grunt work and getting filthy, but it meant I got to spend even more time with Eric, and he would come over to my house almost every day before or after work while my parents were out at their own jobs, which invariably led to many more opportunities for cuddling and fooling around. And he loved being naked. When we were home alone, he would run around the house naked all the time. I think he must have been a "closet nudist" or something.

Unfortunately, towards the end of the summer, his ultra-religious parents obviously suspected something was up, thinking that we were becoming "too close" (this is what I heard from the girlfriend of his older brother), so they told him that we couldn't hang out together anymore. They even made him quit his job. Needless to say, I was absolutely devastated, but there was nothing I could do. His brother watched him like a hawk, and we never got the chance to talk alone, and of course, his parents never let us hang out or have sleepovers again.

I could hardly eat or sleep for weeks and weeks. Eventually, my parents made me go see a psychiatrist, but he didn't do much good. The way I talked about Eric, he should have realized I was gay ... thinking back on it, it really wasn't hard to figure out ... and he should have made me face it and deal with it ... to this day, I really resent that he didn't. So the "therapy" didn't help at all.

It was actually my best friend/ex-girlfriend's dad, Barry, who helped me to get over it. He was one of those really spiritual, hippie-type guys, and he spent long hours talking to me about love, relationships, and feelings in general, and gave me a long list of books to read about finding balance in my life, not letting my emotions go into extremes, not becoming co-dependant, etc. That was what helped me to move on with my life. He taught me so much about myself and about life, and there was no way I could possibly repay him for how much he helped me during that time.

Unfortunately, Barry passed away about two years ago. I still keep in touch with his daughter (my best friend/ex-girlfriend from high school). She's probably the one person in the world who understands me completely. I've sometimes wished that I could be straight just so I could marry her. She helped me just as much as her dad, and even though I thank her almost every time we talk, it just never seems like enough. So, Brooke, if you ever read this, THANK YOU so much for everything you did for me. I love you!

Flash forward to college ... I continued to hide my sexuality at the beginning, but eventually it got to the point where I couldn't take it anymore. I knew I was gay by then. I was certain of it. But I was just too scared to try to meet other gay people, let alone come out. I was firmly entrenched in the proverbial closet. I had pretty much decided that even though I was gay, I didn't have to lead a gay life and would just try to suppress my feelings. Obviously, that wasn't going to work, and I have no idea how other people do it.

Things eventually came to a breaking point, and I couldn't go on like that any more. Unfortunately, I didn't know who to talk to. Sure, I had my best friend from high school and her dad, but they weren't gay, so they couldn't completely understand, even though they were extremely supportive (and told me they knew long before I did). Anyway, that year Elton John was planning to come to play a solo piano concert at my university (in February 1999), and I bought a ticket to go see him. I figured if anyone could possibly understand what I was going through, it would be him. So, I wrote him a long letter, telling him everything that I was feeling. I never expected to actually have the chance to give my letter to him (my seat was located in the nosebleed section), but just putting my thoughts down on paper were somewhat of a cathartic experience for me.

I got to the concert venue very early, as I have done each of the seven times I've gone to see him in concert. I went and sat down in my seat, and hardly anyone was there yet. As I was sitting there by myself, glancing through the tour program, a guy with an "Elton John Tour" badge walked up to me and asked me if I was there by myself and if I was a really big fan. I had heard about this guy before on some of the Elton John newsgroups online, and knew that Elton sent him around before each show to pick out some "cute younger guys" to sit in the front row. Anyway, he asked me if I "would mind" sitting up in the front row. I was so excited, I nearly pissed my pants. Deciding to press my luck, though, I said that I wanted to sit right in front of Elton, and he said "no problem."

Needless to say, I was practically shitting my pants sitting up there in the front row waiting for the concert to start, literally only five feet away from where Elton would be sitting at his piano. When he walked out on stage, I was screaming and hollering, I couldn't contain my excitement. He was (and still is) my idol, not just because of his music, which has always touched me like no other musician has, but also because of who he is as a person, how he cleaned up his life, and decided to give something positive back to society, taking on gay rights issues, and of course, the Elton John AIDS Foundation, which is the largest privately-run AIDS organization in the world.

After he performed the first few songs, I remembered my letter, so I held it up in the air. He walked over and took it from me, and then continued on with the show, frequently looking at me and smiling or winking (the warm, compassionate kind ... no sexual innuendos, so get your minds out of the gutter! hehe) When he went off to the side of the stage before his first encore, he read my note. He came back on stage to sign a few autographs before doing his encore, then walked right over to me, knelt down, took my hand, and said, "Thank you, David, I read your note," and gave me a big smile. I nearly fainted at that point. Elton John held my hand and actually spoke to me ... he even said my name! Everyone around me was freaking out, too, like I was some kind of celebrity.

A few people later told me that the whole scene had been shown up on the big screen that was above the stage, which was a little embarrassing, because I know that during the whole time I was jumping up and down and screaming like a total fag! I couldn't believe what an amazing night that was. Not just the nearly three hour concert, just him and the piano, but everything else that happened, too. It was a dream come true.

For the next few days, I was on cloud-nine. That was certainly one of the highlights of my life. What I didn't expect, though, was that a few days later when I went to check my mail, I found a hand-written letter from Elton, giving me all kinds of advice on how to accept being gay, how to go about starting to meet other gay guys, and coming out. He also said that I was "handsome!" He even gave me his home address in Atlanta and told me I could write to him anytime I needed to. I was totally blown away by that.

That experience, plus the letter, finally gave me the courage (or whatever it was) to finally and completely accept my sexuality and come out. Within a span of about only two weeks, I had told all of my friends, some of my professors that I was pretty close with, and my parents. Everyone was totally accepting and supportive, including my parents. I even had a few straight guy friends who were beyond cool with my sexuality, and very hot, too! When I was feeling down or lonely, they would come over and hold me or spend the night. Nothing sexual ever happened, because I didn't want to violate the trust in our relationships and I respected them too much.

So the moral is, not all coming out stories turn out bad. I've never had a bad experience coming out to someone in my entire life. I've had quite a few friends who have had very, very bad experiences, getting beaten up or thrown out by their parents, ostracized from their friends, etc. I was one of the fortunate ones. I just wish I had had the balls to do it sooner. I realized that all of the fear and anxiety that I had was just in my head.

After that, I started going to the gay student club at my university, made tons of new friends, started going to gay clubs and all of that fun stuff. As many young gay guys do when they first come out, I made some poor choices, and did a lot of pretty crazy stuff during my last two years of college. However, I don't regret any of it, because it was those experiences, and the people that I met with during that time, that helped me to become the person that I am today.

When I graduated in May 2001, I made the choice to re-locate to Taiwan in order to further my education, and have been living there ever since. The gay culture in Taiwan is very different than in America, and Taiwanese gays have many more obstacles and societal pressures to face than we have in America. However, that is another story entirely.