When I read about people who are gay, they often say “I was born this way” which is fine, perhaps I was too, but I suspect I weighed things up and preferred to play for my own team.
I treat things very much like I do when I’m buying an appliance, I think very carefully about what it does, how it functions, reliability, brand and cost, and my sexuality was no different.
Now this post might make me seem like a woman hater, which is certainly not the case, because I like to think I’m a lovely, cuddly sort of personality, and I care deeply for my female family and friends.
But these were my reasons, laid out bare for all to see.
My Sister once tried to suss me out, she thought I was “squiked out” by a womans body, and for some reason I never really told her the truth, which I’m upset about (Jan died two years ago due to ovarian cancer).
When I was at high school, I had a friend called Arthur who was a randy bugger, and would look at nearly every womans bum and say things like “phworrr, look at her arse!” and I just didn’t see it.
Some of the boys had porn, and I saw that, and that wasn’t bad, I could relate to nudity, but somehow not to clothed bodies.But I’d never approach a girl, I’d be too scared, girls were aliens, weren’t they?
So firstly there was fear, and there was nobody there to clue me in.
Secondly the other fear was about what happened if I did manage to have sex with someone, and she got pregnant? What would I do? I can’t look after a baby, Mum would kill me, what if she had an abortion… it’s my child too?
(Our high school wouldn’t show us a film with penises in it, without parental permission, but was quite happy to show us an anti abortion film which freaked me right out).
So a wall went up.
Secondly, I’m a lazy person.
Mum would happily get up at sparrow fart, but Dad was a night person, and I followed suit. I hated getting up first thing of a morning and finding myself in the school yard, freezing my arse off and still not quite awake.
One of my aims in life was to sleep in more often, and stay up late, there was no way that I would marry someone and have a child, only to get up EARLIER than the child and get them off to school… NO NO NO NO NO.
The other thing about pregnancy is that I was terrified that I would put the Mother in danger, I didn’t want to feel that pains, and potential death might be all my fault.
Yes, I realise that may have had a partner who had a good pregnancy and would wake at sparrow fart and get the kids off to school while I slept in and did a radio program in the evenings, but it all seemed so unlikely.
Mum was shocked when I stated that I didn’t like babies, the look of them, the smell of them, the sound they make… Dad said it’d be different if it was mine, but I wasn’t going for that.
No less than five straight relationships what I knew of had crashed and burned, I knew of people who were beating each other, and swearing at each other, and I remember buckets of tears, a great advertisement right there.
Yes I know that sometimes a relationship could be lovely, but I didn’t like the odds. Though I didn’t know of any gay relationships, at the time the only gay person I knew of was Mr Humphreys from Are you being served, and maybe Boy George (but that’s probably just an act).
Being “a poof” was some sort of mythical thing, nobody was really gay, were they?
I never met an actual gay person until I got online in the 90s, that’s true.
And I think that part of me just couldn’t entirely grow up, I feel like the eternal child.
I’m still somewhat surprised at 47 when a kid in the park points and says “That Man” or when someone on the phone asks for a “Mr”, Who? Me?
I’m “The Son” not “The Grown Up, or “The Man” and never “The Father”.
As far as sex goes, I think 90% of the time, I’d rather imagine it, I have tried it and never really felt all that happy about it… but my imagination is very very good. Reality contains too many icky bits, fantasy rarely does.
Now it’s pretty much over as far as sex goes, I think the cancer treatments virtually neutered me, so there’s no urge any more, which is sort of a shame.
The cancer treatment has made me, for most of the time, stay at home, which I really don’t mind, as it allows me to stay awake to the wee hours, and wake up when I want to, and not when an alarm goes.
Then I can spend the rest of my time with Katie, My wonderful dog, who is much better than a child anyway, she doesn’t ask for much, she almost never had a life at all as she was to be put down in 2005 because nobody wanted her, but I did, and still do.
And I can spend my time being creative online, and making friends, which I do all the time.
I’m not sure how I feel about my life, have I let myself down by at least partially choosing this path, or is there just a lot of peer pressure to breed and work?
And do I, via my writing and daily interactions have any effect on a world that I care so deeply about that I worry constantly? or does nothing I do matter a jot?
Could I just get myself a small boat and float around in the Yarra all day with Katie and not worry about anything, ever?
I’ve spent many years analysing myself and I’m still not quite sure who I am yet, but I feel too small to gain the wonderful dreams I have had.
One day it will simply come to an end, and life will go on without me.