28 & ?? – Oh Stuff it…

Twenty-eight years, and… Oh who gives a fu*k how many days

I was reminded of something while writing my last post, that I’ve never really blogged about before.

Namely, that it’s been a long LONG time since I’ve had any physical contact with anyone.

Throughout my teenage years, even though completely repressed and unable to even acknowledge my own sexuality, I had quite an active (but monogamous) sex life.

I split from my first fu*kbuddy when I was 15. He was about to transfer to the same school as me to study for his A-Levels. There’s no excuse for what I did when I discovered this. To this day, I don’t really know what came over me that day.

We’d been friends for over 10 years having met at primary school back in the halcyon days of my childhood in the mid eighties. We’d been the oddballs, the misfits… the middle class clever boys at a school of council estate kids and farmers; we somehow sensed a kinship even in those early days. So we drifted into our own little clique with a few others.

We were the kids that were picked on; taunted and tormented. It was in my last few years of primary school that I was first called a gay. I had no idea what it was at the time, but riled against this severest of playground insults. I hated it.

Aged 11, we sat the 11+ (grammar school entry exam) which I passed, and he didn’t. This meant that the next year we’d be going to different schools. Me a Grammar School in the next town over, and him the local high school. I can’t really remember when it happened, but we’ll assume that over that transitional summer when we spent a lot of time together, we became more than just friends .

Our friendship continued on after the summer, we would see each other most weekends to play, and well… the games became just a pretence to meet.

Meanwhile in my new school, I’d had an epiphany. I knew what being gay was, that I did not want to be associated with it; remembering the taunts and the bullying from primary school. It’s when I started repressing everything – I did everything in my power to shake this gay tag that I’d picked up at the end of primary school. I was in a pretty safe environment; most of the kids I went to school with were geeks just like me, and the school was fairly obsessive when it came to maintaining discipline.

But our secret trysts continued… Until we were 15.

When he told me he was hoping to come to “My” School; I panicked. I didn’t want him anywhere near the safe zone I’d created for myself at that school. I’d shaken the”gay” tag that got pinned to us both in primary school, and didn’t want it back.

I told him we couldn’t be friends at my school.

He was hurt, I couldn’t explain my reasons to him. I left.

I’m glad to say that he stuck to his guns, came to my school, even ended up going to the same university as me. It reminded me on an almost daily basis what a cu*t I’d been.

We never spoke again. I still feel like a bastard 13 years later and probably will, quite deservedly, for the rest of my life.

There were a couple of others in the years that followed, but none as significant to me.

There is a great deal more to the story of that particular friend and I. Most of which I’m not going to write about here, It’s still too raw, and too personal even after all these years.

The reason I brought the story of my early love-life up is that of late (read: last *few* years) it has been non existent.

Recently I’m beginning to see a few opportunities to break my self-imposed celibacy. But the problem is, it scares me silly. One half of me craves the physical contact; but as I discovered with some recent flirtations, the other half of me wants to run a mile.

Who knows; Maybe I just need to meet that someone that I trust again, and we’ll be off fucking like bunnies.