Most guys have an interesting coming out story. I feel as though I don't. I knew I was attracted to boys (men, actually) at a very early age. The earliest I can remember is around 4 years old.

I remember a TV show that I liked; it was called "Voyage to the bottom of the Sea." This show was fascinating to me. Did I like the men that today I'd think were cute, like some of the shipmates? No, I liked the Admiral and Captain, who were MUCH older than I was. I would get excited when I saw those guys.

In my pre-teens, I also remember looking at a picture on a Christmas record album we had and becoming very excited. This particular picture was of a then extremely attractive male African-American singer. He dressed in a skiing outfit. To this day, a skiing outfit is very exciting to me, and so are black men!

Perhaps because I was rather involved in the church throughout my younger years, this kept me from doing much in the way of having a boyfriend or in coming out. The threat of being "sent away" for "curing" was always there. Back in the 60's and 70's, the medical profession felt as though they could "cure" homosexuality. This threat tended to keep me kind of quiet about my sexual orientation.

I even had a "friend" in junior high school who was about as obvious as one could get, and he turned out to be a real flamer. We never did anything. Funny when I think back on it, I wasn't attracted to him at all, even though he was Polish, blond and rather cute. If we wound up going to the same high school, I'm sure something would have happened, as we would have stayed closer friends. Steven died of a heart attack in his early 20's, not a great ending for a very nice guy.

I was always attracted to the jocks in high school (and I still am, actually) but I never acted on this attraction. I had some major crushes on two of them. I would dream about them at night; oh these were messy dreams... But still no boyfriend.

One of those jocks was a neighbor of mine. When Walter came near me, I'd about faint, as I was so attracted to him. He'd be so nice and come up and talk to me and I'd have trouble breathing and getting the words out when I answered him. I know I was embarrassed too; I had to be red in the face.

During high school, I'd had numerous guys come on to me, and because I was rather naïve, I didn't act on it. One comes to mind while I was fishing off a bridge down the street from my house.

This rather cute looking older guy, of perhaps 17-18 years old (I was around 13 or 14) walked up to me. He was looking at me kind of funny then asked me if I ever fished for men. The story in the Bible where Jesus said to a fisherman, come with me and I'll make you a fisher of men, came to mind. I thought for a long moment then came to the conclusion he wasn't talking about Bible stories.

I said to him that I didn't fish for men and he smiled and walked away. I watched him and thought to myself, what a nice ass he has. After he was out of sight, dawn broke over Marblehead, and I figured it out. Yup, a dope-slap to the Rowman.

I got out of high school but never had done a thing about my sexual desires; but now I knew what I was. Funny though, I had one girl friend, but nothing ever became of it. Perhaps I would have married her if things were a little different, but they weren't (thank goodness!) We're still friends to this day and we stay in weekly contact. I still feel very strongly about her too!

There was a time when I had a little trouble dealing with my feelings and what I could have done makes me sick to my stomach. I was either 19 or 20 at the time.

I had been out this particular night by my self. I would normally go out by myself, as I didn't have many friends. I guess I was basically a loner. It was after midnight when I pulled into the diner our family regularly ate at. I sat at the counter and had a great big glass of milk and a thick, lovely piece of cheesecake.

I was sitting there in my own little world and this older guy came in and sat right next to me. Even though there were plenty of other seats at the counter he could have taken. I got funny feelings from him. Now, I have to say that I knew what I was, I liked sex with guys, but I wasn't a faggot; no fucking way.

Well, I was feeling very uncomfortable with him staring at me with the eyes of a wolf. He appeared to be much too faggy for me. I was also nervous as our family ate at this diner very often; I didn't want "word" to get around. I finally finished and headed out to pay the check. When I got to the door, he was right behind me.

I almost ran to my 1969 Dodge Dart, all the time hoping no one was watching this whole event play out. By now, I was seated in my car, door closed and locked. He came over to the window, so I rolled it down a bit. He started talking to me again and said that he thought we might have something in common... Now I was rather flustered and I said, NO WE DON'T and took off, pealing rubber. I was soooo butch.

When I got around 1/2 mile away, I became even more pissed, pissed that that old faggot had the balls to try to pick me up. I looked on the floor of passenger side and saw a 15" Crescent Adjustable Wrench. I fully intended on going back and "talking" with the guy.

Well, thank goodness he was gone when I got there, as I don't know what I would have done to him. It sickens me now to think I even thought about that kind of violence, but I did and it's a part of my past.

I thought about that for a while and actually didn't sleep well that night, I was sick to my stomach. I'm not a violent person; I wasn't then or today. Why did I do it?

Enter my early 20's. My sexual desires brought me to one of those places where men hang out looking for action. Yeah, I know, a tasteless way of meeting someone, but you don't generally meet gay men in church; at least the type of church I went to. I did, in fact "meet" a guy. He was a Colombian and was so sexy and nice and, well, warm. He was my first boyfriend!

I gave him my home phone number (this was before Cell Phones.) He said he'd call the next morning around 10:00. I waited till the last minute to shower before work, and he still hadn't called. He called while I was in the shower. When I got out, my mother said a guy named Joe had called; he had an accent and had asked for me. Well, I almost died (they had to see this in my face!) I did call him right then and arranged to see him later, after work. I was in heaven all day at work, walking on air.

My parents met him and loved him. I had told them I met him at "work." What I didn't tell them was I was "working" on finding a boyfriend, so it wasn't a total lie. Well, Joseph and I had a kind of fiery relationship, as it can often be with a Hispanic lover. I had fallen in love and had to see him all the time, and did.

He had a job in computer programming and was in the middle of getting his BA in it. Since I was a good typist, I ended up doing most of his papers. I learned and forgot more about the different programs used than I care to even think about.

Joe was, as they say, my "first" boyfriend and was the typical Latin. He always wanted it. One particular time I'll never forget. This all happened while typing one of those papers.

We were set up in the spare bedroom working away on my father's desk. It was near dinnertime on a Sunday afternoon. I don't know who started it, but we got into a little necking. I never could refuse that sexy guy. Well, push came to shove and I was on my back on the carpet.

My mother came to the base of the stairs and yelled "Hey you guys, dinner will be ready in a few minutes." Joe froze; there was a look of horror on his face. I held him in fast with my legs and put my finger across my lips in a "shush" sort of way. I promptly replied "We're just finishing up, Ma, we'll be right down." Well, we did finish up and then had a wonderful roast beef dinner. She never knew, and yeah, we did finish that paper with a smile on our faces.

Joe would come and stay at the house every weekend in the guest room upstairs, adjacent to my room. Needless to say, he would sleep in my room, in my bed. I'm sure that more than once, my parents heard bed springs as their room was right under mine.

Memorial Day Weekend, Saturday, 1983, Joe was in my room, we were laying in bed thinking about what to do on the long weekend. All of a sudden, we heard the sound of my father coming up the stairs. He went in the spare room to get something out of his desk. The cat, as they say, was out of the bag.

It was December before they asked me.

It was quite simple. They asked me to sit down they had something to talk to me about. I sat right down, and well, I basically knew what they were going to ask. I've always been rather perceptive. "Well?" I said. "Are you and Joe lovers?" My mother asked. "Yes", I said, as simple as that, with no glitch whatsoever. Well, my mother was all upset and almost started crying. "We can get help," she said. I quickly shot back, "That's why I NEVER said a thing about this earlier in life, ma!" We talked it over and all was well. I then headed out to a bowling match, which I won, by the way.

An interesting little story from this was that my father was seeing a psychiatrist for another reason at the same time I came out. They talked to him about me being gay, et al. What the psychiatrist said was this. "Is he sure of himself? Does he want to change?" and most of all, "Is he happy?" They answered, yes, no, and yes, to those questions. "Then, what is the problem here?" the psychiatrist wanted to know. Everything was dropped at that point. I just wish I had come out earlier, as my teenage years would have been MUCH calmer, I'm sure. Love has a tendency to do that.

The way I see it, the more we get into the future, the easier it will be for parents to accept their gay kids.

Proper education is the way. People have to learn that gay kids aren't freaks. They love the same things straight kids do. For instance, I spent most of my weekends working with my father doing electrical work or cutting firewood, and a whole host of other things. The only thing that might have seemed odd about me then was I preferred a boy in my bed rather than a girl.

Sure, some people will never accept it. That's just the way they are, but most people come around. I've always been very independent, and both my parents knew that if they didn't accept me, I would be out of there and wouldn't bother with them.

Sure I'd be hurt, but I'd get over it. It would be much better to cut loose than to endure the pain of mental or verbal abuse all the time.

My older brother and his whole family know about me. His children call Tim, "uncle". My younger brother would have been cool about it too. I never had the chance to really get to know him though as he died at 18 years of age. I can pretty much guarantee that he would have been cool with it either way.

My advice to kids today? If you feel as though you have to tell everyone of your homosexuality, then do it, but in my very humble opinion, it's none of anyone's business if you're gay or straight. Have you ever seen a heterosexual wake up one fine day and pronounce his "straightness"?