Kissing the boy next door...

I've known I was "different" since kindergarten. Instead of having a first crush on the little girl across the street, I wanted to kiss the boy next door. One mid-summer afternoon when he and I were alone behind the garage, I grabbed him, pulled him close and planted a quick one squarely on his lips. In return, he slugged me in the stomach and ran home crying.

"Sweetie, I'm Gay"

We had been married for nearly five years when I first confessed the secret of my life. In a fit of frustration and loneliness, I whispered as I lay beside her at the end of a long and difficult day, "Sweetie, I'm gay." In those early years our hormones ran hot, but we kept our intimate fantasies to ourselves. As a result, my wife was surprised by the revelation and failed to grasp its implications. "This shouldn't be a problem," she responded with a yawn. "You love me, right?" "Yes," I said, "I love you." "Then it will all work out," she concluded and fell gently into my arms and an easy sleep.