It happened to us 16 years ago on April 25. I shall begin with a bit of history.
Back in high school, I went on dates with the same girl from homeroom from my sophomore through senior year. She was easy to talk to, fun to be with, and enjoyed many of the same activities and groups that I did. She didn’t demand sex, and I wasn’t interested.
I didn’t know then that I was gay. I thought I was supposed to date girls, so I tried. But because I was born gay but didn’t know it yet (or accept it on a conscious level), I went through the common rituals of high school (or tried to, anyway).
This female friend and I went out on lots of dates. But at the end of the evening, it was always a quick peck on the cheek, and I’d be off. Later in life, we remained friends and it was only through a conversation we had a few years ago that I realized that she was hoping for more… (sexual stuff) … with me, but I never even thought about it, much less try anything.
At University, I poured myself into academics and into campus activities. I became a BMOC while maintaining a stellar academic standing. I was active with various student groups and a college fraternity, even becoming President of several of these groups during my tenure as a student. I walked out of there 5.5 years later with a BS, BA, and BSE awarded Magna Cum Laude.
With all that going on, I had little time to date. Again, I went through some rituals of taking women out to fulfill certain expectations, but nothing ever happened. Because I was so busy, I barely had time to breathe. Did I keep so busy because I didn’t want to acknowledge my sexuality? Only my subconscious knows the answer to that question.
After undergraduate school, I began to teach in public school. As a teacher, one had to keep one’s personal life very private. That I did. No dating, either. (Though I did have my first experience with another guy one exceptional weekend, so I finally figured it out.)
While attending graduate school, I left teaching and got a full-time job in a non-teaching profession. I bought and renovated four single family homes in five years. Again, no time to breathe, much less go out and meet anyone.
Once that all calmed down, more degrees awarded, etc., I settled down. I decided that I wanted to ride my motorcycle with a club whose members liked to wear leather, like me, and who were gay (like me.)
I joined a club that was just forming. That was great since I wouldn’t have to endure hazing which was the reason why I joined a newly-forming college fraternity back “when.” The first club meeting that the man I lovingly refer to as my partner and I attended together is when we met, and frankly, never parted. I honestly have to say that he was the only guy I ever went out with on dates. I never dated anyone else. We both just “knew” that “he is my man.”
We have been though a lot together. Good times, extensive interesting international travel, building our own home together, and bad times, too. But through thick and thin, he’s my man, my love, my hunk, my one-and-only to whom I am committed for the rest of my life. And I know he believes the same in me.
I am a very fortunate and blessed man. I didn’t have to go through the heartbreak of meeting someone and being let down. Of getting into a relationship and perhaps living together only to find out later that it’s not a good fit, or to have him steal from me, lie to me, or play behind my back. I know these things have happened to other guys. It hasn’t (and won’t) happen to me. I love my man, and he loves me. THAT, my friends, is what it’s all about. Come back tomorrow to read my anniversary tribute to the man of my life.