1 The triplets reunite at Cell Block. pix by Brian
2 Chillin' with Cyn at Circuit. pix by Alison
3 Keeping a breast of the situation with Caitlin at Jackhammer. pix by Hal____
Near as I can figure, the genesis of my homosexuality can be linked to my bathtub hard-ons as a small boy. Guys, you remember that phenomenon: your little one-inch cock would get all hard as a rock after a good soak. Sometimes it might stay like that for up to 20 minutes. At the time, I had no idea what it meant or even that the penis could be used for anything but pissing. But I do remember one fact: I was always trying to get my mouth on it. It wasn't for another three or four years that I realized the penis had anything to with sex ( the story of my first cum shot is another column altogether ) .
After repeated failed attempts to get my lips around the little sucker, I must have figured, being the logical fellow that I am, that if I could get other boys to stick their dicks in my mouth, then I could gladly return the favor. And voila, another homo butterfly emerges from his cocoon.
Imagine my shock when I realized that all of this dick-rubbing while envisioning the cocks of all my classmates lodged in my throat was what sex was! I had always been told that sex was a thing that a man and a woman did to make a baby. That was it. Having surmised that squirting my dick into another boy's mouth could never achieve such a feat, I was stunned. Coming from a repressive Catholic upbringing, this realization was the beginning of many years of dread and self-hatred as I realized that I was ONE?OF?THEM and that, through no effort or option on my part, I was bound for the fiery furnace.
I tried to stop. I would think about boys while jerking off and, at the crucial moment, swap in some image of some unassumingly mild female classmate in order to reprogram my orgasmic response. I would feign crushes on obscure females I assumed were sexy; I once convinced my sisters that I was secretly in love with Joanna Kerns, the mom from Growing Pains. But the faƧade was crumbling. The truth had to come out.
The year after my senior year of high school ( I took a year off before college ) I had a poster of Jason Priestly on my bedroom wall and carried a keychain that actually said, 'I?LIKE BOYS.' I played it all off as a hilarious joke. But I was sick to death of joking myself out of the happiness I knew I wanted and deserved.
After a particularly eye-opening weekend visiting my friend Cathy at UIC, and staying with her two lesbian friends Jen and Andrea, I knew that the time was right ( or as right as I could possibly hope for ) to throw open the closet door and begin to live my life as myself. Before leaving for work one afternoon in November 1992, I composed a very concise letter ( Just so you know, I'm gay. I'll be home at 8 ) and left it in an envelope on the piano in our living room. Driving to work that day, I knew my life had changed indelibly.
And I wouldn't go back for all the money in the world.
Happy Pride!
kirk@windycitymediagroup.com