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Saturday, October 1, 2011

Realtionships - Part I


            The other day somebody asked if I could give my opinion on relationships. My motto: ask and you shall receive. So I guess it’s best to start at the very beginning.
            I have always been an exhibitionist, even before I can remember. My parents sometimes joke about my persistence in removing all of my clothes and diaper as a young toddler; they started duct-taping my diaper on, but even then I figured out how to peel the duct tape off and do away with the clothing norm of modern civilization. “Viva la Freedom,” I must have thought. One time, I sufficiently embarrassed my sister at her 13th birthday party when I came running out naked, asking for cake like nothing at all was out of the ordinary.
            Some of my earliest memories consist of me and my preschool friends getting naked in my room just to see what’s going on down there, a playful comparison of parts. That was the first time I saw some other guys and girls junk that was not my mothers or fathers. We knew that we couldn’t tell our parents about it, but it was educational and informative nonetheless.
            In preschool and kindergarten, I had already absorbed enough to know that girls and boys kiss, so I tried it a few times with some girls my age, and I enjoyed it, but it never did anything for me… Not because I’m gay, but because I was 7 and 8 years old, duh. Anyways, I’ve always been sensually and romantically curious through out my latent sexuality. And this is why I think nobody really knows if they're gay until they hit puberty. I was pretty sure I liked kissing girls until I started jerking off to my guy friends in 6th grade, but now I’m getting ahead of myself. Back to 2nd grade.
            One valentine, I went all out on three girls, I just liked playing with them and I felt that I spent about the same time with each of them so they all deserved something special. I bought each of the girls a cheap gold locket and greeting cards from CVS. By the way, my mom was always supportive and a great resource in carrying out any of my nice gestures. I’ve have a lot of love to give and I thank my mom for helping to foster that virtue.
            I also had a small stuffed Lisa Frank dog (just a little gay, right?), that I named Mikey after, what I think was, my first gay crush in latent sexuality. Mikey was a good friend of mine that lived close by. We took the same bus to elementary school and we would often play together after school. Mikey would go on to be an all-American football jock who went to a private high school and yes, date girls. Still Mikey was one of the nicest, fairest, smartest, good-looking kids I knew at the time, and I respected him deeply as one of my first best friends. So I guess I channeled my platonic love for Mikey into the yellow stuffed dog I named after him. That dog was attached to my hip; I took him everywhere, made up stories and adventures for him, even coddled him like my own baby feeding him and empty bottle.
            One time I told my mom “I think I’m gunna feed Mikey his bottle on the bus.” My mother responded, “I don’t know if that’s a good idea, the boys might tease you.” To which I haughtily replied, “Well, then they aren’t going to make good fathers,” turning away as I held the bottle against the stuffed animal’s lips. My mother knew from that moment on that I was going to do just fine in this life. Already, I was confident about who I was and who I wanted to be.

(to be continued…)