I’m Here, I’m Queer, but I’m Still Not Used To It!
When will my reflection show who I am inside?
Okay, show of hands! Raise your hand if everybody at school knew you were queer before you did. Ah, okay, I see some hands… mine’s up too.
During summers, I remember spending more time in the locker room than in the pool at our local park, fascinated by all the naked men. I was probably around seven years old when I first noticed, and I don’t think I necessarily felt anything sexual. I just kind of really liked what I saw, and wanted to keep looking at it. And looking at it. And not wanting to look away.
Is that wrong?
I hear murmuring amongst the trumple-christians (you know, those horrid, evil little demons that try to steal your children at the border). I guess I’m sick,
warped, disgusting and deviant for admiring naked men. Tough shit. Guess what? I STILL love looking at naked men, and STILL enjoy ogling a pretty cock. And I am not ashamed of it. God made it fascinatingly attractive for a reason. So sue me.
In the following years, in junior and senior high, I did everything imaginable to ignore the naked guys around me in the showers and locker rooms. They were already calling me a fag, so I didn’t want to give them anymore ammunition, even though it…
