I seen it coming!

It was inevitable that every sexually confused lad I knew would come sniffing around for a “safe” way to explore their pubescent urges.Not having that many male friends and being safely under the cool radar it was deemed o.k. for certain guy’s to approach me in a quest to so it gay style!There a quiet a few times that I can tell you about but for the sake of space and boredom I’ll keep it light, for now at least! There was one guy that always made me feel more than some sexual play thing, his name was Martin – yes we’ll call him Martin it seems fitting. The usual kind of teenage boy. Fairly popular with the Irish country hick troop, tall with a slight build, dark blue eyes and his worst feature was his red hair. This wasn’t that meagre red either, it was flaming ginger, of course if it were today I doubt I would look his way but when your hormones are screaming “chance for sex” you tend to look past these things, or close your eyes at least. The first time we ever admitted anything for each other was when I was babysitting. I used to babysit for a lot of the local mothers, you know the type, lots of kids and no fathers to speak of, I’m not judging them, hell I praise them, I earned a lot of money from their nightly prowls away from the nest. One night though, picks any in a million of nights back then Martin knocked the door. I was sitting two children, fairly young so they were asleep early, I always defend the fact that they knew nothing of what happened that night but what do I know, they could have been sat on top of the landing listening to everything been said.

Well if they were they never mentioned it, and I was in a head rush at the time so I really didn’t care. When I opened the door I have to admit I was kind of shocked to see him there, yes we always said hello to each other and gave embarrassed little smiles every now and again but I always put it down to the fact that he had heard I was gay and no longer knew how to treat me or react to my presence. “Hi, Martin, eh . . . What’s wrong?”, for some reason I always think something is wrong when someone knocks a door, even to this day I really don’t know why! “Hey Tom, eh . . . how are you?” and then for the next five minutes standing at the door we exchanged the usual, I just wanted to call in to see how you are, what have you been up to lately, did I hear you were gay? Now this question sent alarms off, I knew there and them what he was after, remember this wasn’t the first time this had happened to me, but it was the first time with someone I actually liked. “Yes Martin, you heard right, why? Is it a problem or something?” I had to show defence of my sexuality because shortly after coming out I got a lot of questions and comments through
at me so one had to assume it was an attack whenever you were asked a question about it.

“No problem Tom, I just wanted to ask you what it was like.” What it was like – there it was the question that cemented what his true intentions were, he wanted to have sex with another guy and he was side stepping around me to see if I would. I gave to usual statements, that I couldn’t explain what it was like, I had just come out, I hadn’’t experienced much bullying (I had really but would never admit it) blah bah blah! Half an hour lately we were sitting on a sofa discussing how he always suspected but that he never had a problem with it, like I needed his approval or something I was more thinking when is he going to make the usual move about wanting to kiss me just to see what it was like, that was the usual state of play. Then something new happened, something I wasn’t prepared for, he leaned over and kissed me full and hard on the lips, and yes he used his tongue. Up until now it had been pecks to my lips, but this was full on kissing, I still remember he tasted like cola bottle sweets. I kissed back, my hand on his chest and he wrapped his arm around my waist, my heart started thumping. This was all so not expected, usually I was wanted to suck a guy off or be felt up but this intimacy, the first time I had felt it – and I liked it. He pulled away and said sorry. I was shocked, why had he stopped, why was I feeling light-headed, horror of horrors did he actually see me as more than a sexual being to be used and forgotten. “Sorry Tom, I just had to, I’ve wanted to do that for years, sorry, I thought it would be, oh fuck, I screwed it up”. I felt extremely humbled by him; he had shown me that I could feel more than sexual high’s, I could feel emotional excitement to. “It’s o.k. Martin, I liked it, I like you, I always have”. He smiled and asked if he could come round the next time I was sitting, I agreed. For some reason I knew nothing was going to happen that night, and so did he but it was o.k. he liked me and really like him. Watching him walk down the driveway he turned smile and waved, I waved back. Returning to the sitting room I sat and a tear escaped from my eye. I don’t know why I was weeping and smiling all at the same time, I was only a teenager after all and the first pangs of what I though was love but was merely lust had started, from that day to
this I still can’t kiss a guy fully without thinking of him, we did eventually hook of course and it was every bit the fantasy I had in mind, but that’s for another chapter, for now I had learned a great lesson – being gay didn’t just meant loud obnoxious sex of sordid affairs, it could mean having a connection with another that went deeper than sexual consequence.

My First Stand.

As most gay men will tell you, fear is our greatest enemy, the amount of bullying, abuse and violence in gay history is well-known and documented but at the tender age of the teenage years, I for one was not aware of it and I fought back in the only way I knew how – sheer luck. I was sitting outside the principal’s office, waiting on Mr Crane, the school’s guidance councillor. I wasn’t in trouble you see, I had left school after my junior cert for those who don’t know that was after my third year because I had this radicle idea of making it on my own without a higher education. My Mother god bless her was in “let them learn from their own mistakes” mood at the time and let me do it. I got work as a kitchen porter in a local hotel called “The Wexford Lodge”, it was neither a lodge or hotel, more a big guesthouse. I worked there for about three months and it wasn’t all that bad really, you know the type, a staff high on cocaine and a lust for each other that rivalled the Playboy mansion. They were all good to me, merely because I was a new guy that would finish all their work for them when they had better things to do i.e. each other. It tickles me to think that after I left the place closed down, a day later! Apparently it was in the works for a while because it wasn’t making money., all because the
owner and boss was an alcoholic that wanted to do the door men rather than her job – but I like to think it was because of me, if anyone ever asks tell them it was me – don’t forget now!

There I was sitting on a plastic chair in a freezing hallway waiting for a teacher to tell me if I could or couldn’t return to school, it was fairly certain I could but these things need to be followed officially. While waiting and releasing my boredom by making up stories in my head that I would tell people if I was back in, you know, how I made loads of money, that I got promoted after just days I was that good but had to leave because I believe in education when walking towards me was Stephen. I hadn’t much to do with him for the first three years I was there
but I knew him and his reputation. His entire family prided themselves on the fact that they were the real Irish country folk. The type that hate all things non catholic, non-Irish, non-straight. Not his fault that his family instilled qualities that a Baptist minister could be proud of, but he used it to their full extent that day. Walking on by, I heard a snigger and a whisper – the smell of sweat and stale urine wafted in the air, from him or the close bathrooms he just exited I don’t know, I choose to believe they were from him let’s face it as a man’s man, personal hygiene didn’t rank high on the daily agenda. “I said the fucking faggot is back”, in the deepest country accent and with a speech impediment that ran his words together it almost sounded funny! I watched in amazement as he left his grin on and sat down at the far end of the hallway outside his class, clearly thrown out for some type of disturbance, I looked away and though, Jesus Christ” this is what passes as entertainment in a school – to make fun of gay people with the word faggot – I thought at least they could have come up with something new and better but no faggot it was. I opened my mouth to retaliate, with what I will never know because at that stage Mr Crane came round the corner and said “Thomas, sorry to keep you waiting, shall we go in?”, waving at the office. Following him in I thought maybe this was a mistake coming back, but I was here now, I might as well hear what he has to say.

“Now Thomas as I understand it you want to come back to us?”, “Yes Sir, if I can”. He leaned forward in his chair, frowning as he did. I gulped, he looked like he was about to lecture me on the inconvenience of all the paper work and reintegrating into school life and that they weren’t sure about this. The office didn’t help much either, one of those white walls and brown desk and chair jobs with a huge filling cabinet in the corner, strangely no computer and a tiny little phone on the centre of the desk. “Of course you
can some back Thomas, we would be delighted to have you”, I was in shock, it was no secret I wasn’t the greatest student, I had erratic behaviour and smoked and led others to protest against school rules. He even offered to let me go back to where I left off, meaning I would skip a year and go straight to the end year. I was tempted but I decided to go back into the current fifth year instead. You might ask why, but that was my first stand, it would take longer than a year to get under the skin and into the minds of all the “Stephen’s” in this school and I was going to do it – drag it into 1997 if it killed me. I thanked Mr Crane and told him I would be back on Monday, and that I would make him proud, I didn’t particularly want to make anyone proud but myself but I felt I had to. He smiled and nodded for me to go, I knew Stephen would be still out there. A little nervous going to the exit door I could feel his eyes buried into the back of my head. I turned, he seemed a little startled by the turn around, which caught him off guard, bonus for me. “Yes, Stephen I am coming back and trust me this faggot is coming back fighting – Bitch”, I smiled at him and left, I imagine he sat there with his mouth open or maybe he laughed but I felt I did my duty as a young gay man. I may have to teach the entire school
that being gay wasn’t an abnormality or a disease and that it can be a strength, that day though I felt on top of the world for every faggot everywhere I had done something brave, stood up to a red neck teenager that couldn’t tell the difference between a homo or a hetero!

My First Angel.

Have you ever heard the expression you can choose your friends but you can’t choose your family, well for the most part I believe this to be true, but sometimes nature or God or genetics whatever you choose to believe sends you that extra special person which happens to be blood related as
well. Speaking of family, in National school, for anyone not Irish reading this National school is the time spent in education during the ages of 4 – 12. When I was there for those delightful years I remember most of my friends were amazed at the size of my extended family. My Mother came from a very catholic, deep country people who believed in fulfilling their duty to the Lord and had 16 children, I like to believe it is a testament of the love they had for each other, god bless them, and not their religious views. I did have a point here didn’t I, oh yes, sorry you’ll find I digress quite a bit so bear with me thanks. The other school kids always found it amazing, odd or plain freakish when they learned of all my aunts and uncles and cousins, at the time I didn’t understand, years later it hit me. When I was being conceived so were all the other children, which yes you might say I’m the president of all things DUH! However it was the 80’s, at the time the country village got a brief “In Style” moment and all the town peeps migrated the eight miles to where my parents lived. As the town all be it a very small, was much more liberal and forward thinking than the country where my parents came from, had no such ideas of huge families. So most of the kids in my class had one or two aunts and uncles and here I was cream of Catholic family life with the equivalent of the empire state building of families amongst them all. As you can imagine with aunts and uncles there comes an assortment of cousins – when I think of them in one place, which I don’t think has happened in recent memory I visualize a jelly bean bag, there all basically the same but each with a unique colour and flavour – some you love and some not so much.

Fast forward to Secondary school, that’s the jail where they keep the education between the ages 12 – 18 for all you non Ireland residents and I was all about my gayness. I know these things usually steer in the direction of how I get over the constant gay bullying, and there are some stories I might get into later with you but for this little chapter I’m going to leave bullying of all types where it truly belongs – extinction. I am going to tell you however about a very significant moment in my life just after I came out, literally the day after I came out! There was a lot of pressure;
after I told my parents the next thing were my friends and the others in school. Irish schools are the worst when it comes to different people and those who the hang out with, trust me it isn’t like the American version you see on television  where people stay in their respective cliques and refuse to interact with anyone else. In the Irish schools there generally aren’t that many students maybe 100 – 200, at least back in the 90’s when I was there and everyone knew everyone. So much so, you couldn’t fart without the entire school knowing within 2 minutes of it happening. I remember this one kid, this one will have to remain nameless purely due to the fact I can’t remember it, but he did leave a lasting impression on a lot of us due to the most natural thing in the world for a 16-year-old lad – he got an erection in class, you know the kind you get when you’re
bored, I can’t blame him, double Irish and our teacher was falling asleep at his desk, that’s how bad he was, so boring he puts himself to sleep. Needless to say I seen it, told my friend and cousin as it happens,  Lucy, and then the rumour mill got to working. He was so tortured by it for the remainder of that school term he didn’t return after the break – I used to feel bad about it until I released it could be used as a “school boy fantasy” – at that age you perverts, I never think of it now!

As you can imagine then I thought when I tell everyone I’m gay, I could be looking at a new school and a whole new set of embarrassments! That was all true until I came out to that cousin I mentioned – Lucy. Ah Lucy, an angel as I came to think of her and still do, she has a family of her own
now and a beautiful one at that. In school though Lucy had it all, beauty, intelligence, popularity and confidence. It was amazing to be her company, you know, she had that kind of spirit that made you feel you’re the only person in the world, I always felt like I was on a pedestal when we hung out together which was every day at these steps across from our school, the only place you could relax about smoking and not being caught – yes I was and am a smoker, it’s my thing, leave it alone. The day I told her, I decided to wait until school was out and we had out ritual meeting at the steps while waiting for the bus. Walking the five yards over I was nervous, would she hate it, would she accept it and just phase me out of her life or simply through her arms around me and utter the usual, “I’ve always known”, “Why did you take so long to tell me” or
my favourite, “so now that out-of-the-way – who in school do you fancy”. Thank Cher none of these happened, when I got there I began my rehearsed speech, “Lucy I have something to tell you” she stopped me by putting up her hand. I knew it; she wanted nothing more to do with me, me a gay person, a freak, so not a part of her world! Then an angel was born, in my eyes anyway she told me she didn’t need to know, I think I frowned at the word “need”, everyone needed to know this didn’t they, so they could decide if I was worth their friendship. Lucy turned to me and said I was to stop feeling I had to conform to other people, I was gay yes, but to her that was a part of me a small part of a person who she loved and that others loved and I didn’t “need” to do anything but be the person I was, that was enough for her and she said if the rest of the world needed more from me then they really aren’t worth my time. Did I mention she was 16 too, such a wise soul in one so young. This slip of a girl had thought me my first lesson of self-discovery, in the end being gay is your sexuality, it’s not your life and it certainly not something you need to justify to others. Lucy if you ever read this I want to thank you, for being so damn cool back in school and for being so wonderful to me and all your friends, truly you were and are an inspiration to all young teens, whether it’s a free or all Ireland or a click in the states.

The First Time.

That was so much easier than I had thought, damn my parents were easy. I had become quite the expert at manipulating people into doing
anything I wanted, and at sixteen there was one thing I wanted most of all – sex, any sex would do, rough, smooth, quick or slow, what did I care, I was a virgin with hormones to spare, my one criteria was it had to be with a man. Having been openly gay for a year already, I thought myself an old hand at the matter and maybe I was, I was the only gay person I had ever known so to me I was the pinnacle of self-knowing. At the time cell phones were relatively new and dating through them even newer – yes it may have been 1998 but this was Ireland and I came from a poor family, living in a backwater village which considered being pregnant before marriage as an outrage. You can just about see my parents faces when I said I was a student of cock – yes I used that phrase, it took them nearly 10 minutes to realise what I was talking about. I had hoped for a bigger reaction, disgrace, shock or even a broken jaw at the prospects of no grandchildren or rich wife’s, but know my parents loved me to much – damn
them and their non-verbal acceptance. A year later I had to experience this sex, I heard others talk of it, mostly boys from the jail, I mean school, it was all very usual and nondescript – you know the talk, “her tits were this big”, “I see under her skirt” and my favourite “man I was so hard”, maybe things would have gone better had I had at least one curious friend who wanted to bend me over the science desk and give me their best “damn you’re so tight”, but it wasn’t to be. I like many others in my condition I imagine were banished to the library of gay erotica, the internet had become popular so at least I got to see some cock – all be it down a telephone wire which parlayed into a blank screen for
thirty minutes as I eagerly awaited an image to masturbate at – I can’t complain really, it worked, I seen grown men screwing their brains out and I always felt satisfied, but as most people know there’s no substitute for the real thing.

My plan was simple, at 16 I felt I had a mature head, on my shoulders that is anyway so I started going on this “James Date” thing through
the phone. The kind of texting potential partners through a service which was free and you could get each other’s number then and text directly, naïve as I was then it never crossed my mind about all the paedophiles lurking around every digit of the phone – but I had made my mind up. The first guy that I got interested in me, which took longer than I’m willing to admit was Eugene. Sickens me to think I actually found that an exotic name, now it lurks at the bottom of geeks or us shopping bags. He was older, much older than what he told me of course but those were the ways of sex addicts back then, manipulation was key – I may have had the balls to trick my two darling parents but I was no match for the sordid gay under belly that was the Dublin scene. After a night of pleading, crying and exposing my parents to the harsh reality that I was growing older and well capable of going to the capital city alone on a train to and I quote “experience a city” as I had never been – god they really were gullible
back then. At the end of my tyrant assault on their mind, they stayed defiant and refused to let me go – but I knew better, I had shamed them into thinking that they were repeating their own parents rules and examples, which were good ones I suppose but didn’t exactly fit into my plans for being fucked each and every way I could get this guy “Eugene” to do! The following morning, I got the call, my mother bless her cotton socks gave me the news. “Son, we are trusting you with this, we’ve had a talk and we agree, you are mature enough to do this”, images of gay bath houses rushed across a hormone soaked mind, “just as long a you stay by your phone at all times and talk to no one, understand?” Of course
I understood, and let me tell you that was the quickest bath and dress to impress I have ever done, yes you snobs we didn’t have a shower at the time! Waving goodbye to my father’s blue Opel corsa and looking up at Wexford train station I could feel it in my bones and let’s face it in my erect teenage penis that this was the day I became a man – a fag yes, but a man!

Standing outside the G.P.O waiting for my new and only lover, I was nervous, not much but enough to get the hundred people passing by to look at the child standing still on a busy pedestrian street. I don’t remember much before he came along, only people seemed to know what I was doing, waiting to be taken by an older man, my face must have said it all really, or maybe this happened all the time and of those strangers the parents
were secretly grieving for my own mother and father because somehow they knew that I was about to lose my innocence, either that or I was a complete idiot and paranoid at the prospect of it all. When he arrived I don’t know what I was expecting, but not a balding 35+ year old man, short and dressed like an undertaker, but that’s what I got and beggars can’t be choosers, a lesson from my mother and who was I to argue with tradition. The next two hours were a wash of memory block. It wasn’t a bad experience but looking back it was just right down there with the seedy side of gay sex. Eugene took me to a bar called “The Out House”, which I found funny, a bar named after an American toilet. Clearly this wasn’t his first time doing this because he tried to ply me with drink – raw rum if memory serves, I was having none of it, I played it down as I hated
the taste, truth was id suck the alcohol out of a deodorant stick but I knew mama and papa would be waiting at the train station in Wexford and the smell of rum on their sweet sons breath just would not do. The worst thing, besides his need to get me drunk in order to have sex and drink himself of course was that we barely spoke to each other, just hello, nice to meet you, I live here, I work at this, how’s school are you sure you want to do this – the usual crap, but he could have been married with ten children for all I knew at the time. He took me to a gay sauna, aid for both of us to get in, ah what a gentle man and the rest, well it went quickly and in true homo style. Shower, with a lot of older men looking on, just looking mind, my alarm bells were ringing a little but I told him, I wanted him no-one else, I think that made him proud or happy, maybe both. Then onto a tiny leather clad room which had that intoxicating aromas of sweat, cum and KY. It was over very quickly, I went down on him, he returned the favour, I came quickly and then he fucked me. Not very exciting, quite painful but that the name of the game really – I bit into a black leather
cushion and fifteen minutes later it was all over, I was no exhausted and no better off – this sex thing so wasn’t what I had hoped for – then again it never is, is it? We went on to the steam room, he told me I’d like it, I got the sense that he sees it as a reward for letting him do pretty much what he pleased, which wasn’t a lot but at least I got that awkward first time out-of-the-way. Then shower and back to the station to head for home. The whole experience wasn’t all that bad, yes seedy and a little perverted considering our age gaps, but in fairness to Eugene I had instigated the entire affair and he fulfilled his end of the bargain – breaking me in for want of a better pun! I never spoke or saw the man again, I deleted his number and the two texts he sent me asking for a hook up again – the train ride home seemed longer, I didn’t feel different or more grown up, just tired and disappointed in myself. Yes I had wanted it to happen and I don’t regret it, but I knew deep down somewhere that it was an awful first time that I never got back nor ever will or could for that matter – I wondered if my mother or father would be able to tell if I had changed because I certainly couldn’t, they didn’t seem to either. Years later I asked my mother and she said no, but she said she had a feeling I
wasn’t going shopping that day!