Anthology - Part V:
Coming out is not a standard procedure kind of thing. On the surface, it sounds like this shared experience that every queer person goes through in the same way, and to an extent this is the case. But every coming out is different, because it involves so many variables that it would be mathematically improbable for two queer people to have the exact same set of circumstances. For me, coming out was a unique experience, and it started with myself. The first thing I had to do was to come out to myself. To look at myself in the mirror and say to me: you are gay. You like men. You are different from other males. And that’s ok.
Once I came out to myself, I had to come out to everyone else. Maybe “had to” sounds a bit heavy, and I understand that some people might not have that option. Or that they prefer not to share this bit of their lives with some others around them (or whatever it is that they prefer to do through the process, because as I said, it is unique to each person). But that’s not who I am. I am someone who cannot function if my friends and my family are not part of my life, every part of my life. I am too out there to be able to hide my sexuality at work. And I can’t really be someone else - believe me, I tried. Once I had that conversation in the shower, at new year’s, and was kissed by the guy in the red speedos, I knew that there was no return for me anymore. The secret needed to come out. That didn’t make me less terrified, though.
I told a few girls I was friends with, I told my sister, some people at work. But my dad, my brother and my male friends were a different story. They would be the biggest challenge for me. At one point, I even considered never telling my dad and my brother. I did eventually, and I am glad because they both accepted and embraced me - but that's a story for another time. I knew though, that the "never telling" option was not available for my male friends. We couldn’t continue to be friends with me lying to them about who I was. And I was genuinely concerned that they would, I don't know, be afraid to be alone with me in a changing room, or even walk away from me for good as a result of me telling them. It would hurt me deeply, but this was a real possibility. Thankfully I was mostly wrong, and that speaks volumes about the quality of people I always choose to have in my life.
I had a really good friend at the time, male and straight, and he offered me nothing but love and support. I think a part of him was a bit disappointed that he lost the guy who was his wing man with the ladies - we already established previously that I was a bit of a player at that age, and that was especially true with girls, mainly because I never found satisfaction from them, so I always kept looking for more. That friend, and many other male friends I had or made along the rest of my twenties, straight or gay, started to show me something completely new to me: there was a third option for the men in my life. I could have a male figure around me who would neither be an object of desire, nor someone I feared. I could find love with other men, without having the lust. Coming out allowed me to love and be loved by other guys, and that included the instances where sex was entirely and unequivocally out of the question.
Both amongst my gay and straight friends, one thing remained the same: I surrounded myself with the regular guys, I befriended the fats, the fems, the not rich and cool, or basically anyone who were a bit like me. And I stayed away from the popular and muscled ones. There is an argument to make about them not being interested in me, even in a friendly capacity, but I guess this category was also still locked into the lust or fear duality for myself. I dated a few guys here and there, and I had something that blurred the lines with a friend from a different state, further away. He was the first bear whom I loved and lusted over. He showed me that big, hairy guys give amazing hugs, are clever and care. We are still friends to this day, and he’s one of the few people I try to see every time I go to Brazil.
Between coming out and moving to Europe, I had 2 long term relationships - but not at the same time! Given my prior player reputation, I think a clarification is needed here. The first was a regular man, and we stayed together for a year. It was a nice relationship and it worked out for a while, but one day it didn’t anymore. We broke up with no drama, and we still have a good friendship to this day.
In between him and the second LTR, I met a sculpted boy who was in the military, and that boy threw me again deep into one of the lowest points of my life up until then. I thought I found my dream again, and we started well, but suddenly that became an abusive relationship, where I think of me as the abused. I did everything for him, and he treated me well when he was interested, or when he was lonely. When that was the case, I had to stop everything I was doing to be devoted to him. When that wasn't the case, I was not worth his time and energy. He eventually started dating someone else whilst we were together, but kept me wrapped around his finger because he knew how much in love with him I was. Fucking Newton with the whole action and reaction theory. Or, in layman's terms, karma is a bitch.
Looking back, I wasn’t in love with him. I was in love with the idea of dating a hot army person, I was in love with telling people my man wore a uniform, with the idea that amongst all the other more interesting people around, he chose me. I was in love with what he represented. The illusion that I could do it again, and this time it would work out. Unlike how it went down with red speedo guy.
He dragged me on until the day I told him no, not anymore, and he forced me to have sex with him. And I said yes. This time though, my yes was not because I wanted to, but because I was scared of him. Ultimately though, I was disappointed in myself, for allowing me to let it get to that point. It helped me draw the line, even though it was after he crossed it. I stopped seeing him romantically, despite his attempts to continue to pretend that he liked me. I was stronger and I stood my ground. And I am proud of myself for that. We remained in contact then, he needed a friend and I stuck around. But the boundary was set, and we never went over it again. He later moved away, but we still follow each other on socials. I don’t hate him, and I like to see this experience as something which made me stronger, and helped me be the person I am today. Of course, my view of it is biased towards my feelings. He might tell you a different account of what happened. He might have a reason for doing what he did. But this blog is not about the truth, these here are not facts. This is just about how I feel.
My other LTR was with another younger, sculpted guy, this time working as a policeman. Yes, I had a type. It was also a long distance relationship, and we really lusted over each other. When the lust started to go, I started to understand that we would be great as friends, but he wasn’t someone I was in love with. I also knew that a countdown started on my Brazil clock, and it was not an option to have him by my side when I eventually moved to Europe. He went through some tough shit, and I stayed by his side. I helped where I could, and when he pulled through, I sat down with him and told him we were good friends, not boyfriends. He was upset at first, but a month or so later he also understood and agreed. He showed me something that no man has done before: that I could be loved by a jock. Or, maybe putting in better terms, the way someone looked or how popular they were had no impact on whether I could be loved by them. He also showed me that jocks are not the bad guys I made them to be. They have feelings, insecurities and issues like everyone else. And the fact that I perceived them like the antagonists of my story had much more to do with me, than with them.
He later found the love of his life, and they are still together to this day. It’s been years, and he is happy. And I am genuinely happy for him. I also like to think that we helped each other become better versions of ourselves, and find our happy endings.
Before leaving Brazil I met someone else, someone who almost made me change my mind. He was also a regular guy, and I fell in love with him less than 3 months before my flight - which was already booked at this point. And non refundable. He knew that I would have stayed for him, so he decided to end it. Maybe he didn’t feel the same way I did, maybe he didn't want to have that kind of responsibility on his back. Maybe both, or maybe something else. We follow each other on socials, and he once told me that learning to come out to himself was one of the best advices he's gotten from someone. He got that from me. I would love to fuck with him again one day, but he also told me he’s in a closed relationship. And I respect that.
Sometimes I think that he might have been the right guy for me, and he would have made me happy. And then I think about how moving to Europe was the right decision for me, and how that made me happy. Ultimately, there might not be one single path to happiness. And there is probably not only one possible happy ending. Happiness can be found in different outcomes, by making different choices. Besides, I don’t tend to waddle on what ifs anyway.
I'll be your light - Kristine W (Jack Elliot & Mac Quayle Club Mix)
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