Channel SelectorChannel PComing-Out Story

I came out between the age of 13 and 18.

There have been periods in my life that I've not ever talked about, for one reason or another. By writing my coming out story, I've managed to re-examine what's important in my life, and see why. If you can learn something from what I've done, great. If you find it interesting, even better. But that's not my aim. Doing this was an exercise for myself, and as such, it has already served its main purpose.

School & Friends (1990)
I went to a school in central London at the age of 13, where I met Dilbert. We were both in the same class, joined the swimming team and quickly became best friends. The following year I met Andy. I didn't have many classes with Andy, and it wasn't until probably I was 17 that he too became a best friend. Dilbert and Andy didn't ever become friends, although I'm sure they got on. They were two separate friendships.

A first Relationship (I am NOT gay) (Winter 1991)
I had my first relationship when I was 14. Now this is a very tricky point, because the guy involved was my age, but he made me promise at the time never to tell anyone. So I can't venture into much detail at all. He was at school with me, which made it very awkward for us. I would see him every day, and we'd both pretend that there was nothing going on between us. In fact, we're weren't really friends at school in front of our other friends. When we were alone once, he'd mentioned that many of the pupils thought I was gay, and asked how I felt about it. The crazy thing is that for the whole of the first year when I was seeing him, I didn't realise that I was gay, so I told him that there are always stupid rumours in schools. Nevertheless, he didn't want people to suspect him of being gay, so we didn't hang out together other than in private. When we were together and alone, at one of our houses, we immediately and always got intimate. After a few months of that, we had sex. Well, I say sex, but I realise that my definition is not the same as everyone else's. Let me just say that president Clinton wouldn't have called it sex. I do. But I convinced myself that it was only because I didn't have any girlfriends that I was resorting to see a guy, if only I could meet a girl, I would be happier. He thought the same thing, and we regularly told each other that. It was reassuring to tell each other that. I really believed that being intimate with another guy, and being straight were not contradictory.

Well, for one reason that "relationship" ended after nearly 2 years. I found it very difficult to deal with, and didn't feel comfortable with missing him. After a long denial stage, I was starting to realise that I was gay, and didn't like it. I can remember many a sleepless night during that period.

Not coming out to my mother (1992)
My mother and I are really close, and always have been. I wanted to tell her about the guy I had been seeing but I knew she'd be disappointed. I wanted to avoid that. Which I suppose is a natural thing to want. It was a difficult decision that I had to make. We were close so I didn't want to hide anything from her. Yet, telling her would make her sad. In the short term it was a no win situation. But that would never change unless I did tell her, and we got past the difficult stage of her getting used to the idea. But I still couldn't bring myself to tell her. Besides, I really didn't want to accept that I was gay. Telling her how I felt would be a step towards admitting to myself that I was gay.

The Gay Switchboard (March 1993)
I called the Gay Switchboard a few times just to talk to someone. It was weird realising I was gay, yet not knowing anything about being gay. I didn't watch Eastenders, and had never seen a gay person/character to be shown in a good light. The press and more specifically my fellow school pupils made it seem as if being gay was the worst thing a person could be. The guy I'd seen for 2 years didn't admit he was gay. I was realising what I was, and yet I knew I wasn't a bad person; I found it difficult to reconcile these two facts. Calling the switchboard helped, and I was given a phone number of a psychotherapist. I half dialled his number many times. Many many times. Eventually I finished dialling the number, and he answered almost immediately. I just couldn't deal with what I was doing at all, and so hung up before saying a single word. Damn. There I was, wanting to talk to someone about the mix of feelings I had inside me, and yet was terrified of the admission that I was making. By hanging up it felt for a few moments as if I wasn't gay. As if I was choosing to be "normal". What a relief, I wasn't gay after all. Yeah right. So that feeling passed within minutes and I was left feeling crap, and stupid next to the phone. I know; I'll wait 30 minutes and call again, and pretend it wasn't me the first time.

Speaking to the Psychotherapist (May 1993)
10 minutes passed, and Impatientp picked up the phone and tried again. He answered again, but took a little longer to answer. I had time, in those few seconds, to think that he'd gone out since my first call. I felt angry and disappointed as well as relieved. So many feelings in such a short time. But he was in, had said hello, and it was my turn to speak. What should I say? I didn't want to tell him who I was; yet that is how you're supposed to start a conversation. Why hadn't I planned what to say? A deep breath in, and a nervous breath out. "Emmm", a long pause.
"IwasgivenyournumberfromTheGaySwitchboard". I couldn't have said it any faster, even if I'd practised. But he understood. He has a very calm voice, and I managed to calm down enough to stop the words from running out of my mouth and bumping into each other. I told him about me, and he suggested we meet after school to talk face to face. Now this felt really bad, but I supposed it would help. I was going to have to make up a lie as to why I was going to be late home. But I said yes, and we agreed a time. Dilbert and I always took the tube home together after school. The psychotherapist lives in Wimbledon, which would mean taking a different tube line from school. Dilbert would obviously notice, and ask why. that would have to be a second lie. One to my mother, one to my friends. Meeting him suddenly didn't seem like such a good idea.

I tried to get Dilbert to go to the tube station without me, saying I had to repack my bag, and that I'd catch up with him at the station. But being the good friend that he was, he said he'd wait. Shit. I took as long as I could, but he waited. So my bag was repacked, and I couldn't think of a reason to delay any longer, so we went off together. I got off at my usual station as if to change lines to go home, but as his train left the platform, I just stayed there, and got on the following train. My heart was beating so quickly. What if someone from school saw me? They'd wonder why I was on the wrong train. It was as if all of this was a big deal, when it shouldn't have been. But at 16 years old, you go home after school and study, you don't go out with your friends on a weekday, and you don't go to Wimbledon when you live in north London and have homework to do. I broke out in a cold sweat, and thought I was going to throw up I was so nervous. What if something happened to me, what if this guy was dangerous? Shit. Shit. Shit. I wanted to cry. What on earth was I doing? Me, a good schoolboy, having arranged to meet a total stranger, to talk about being Gay. No, this really wasn't happening. But it was, I had chosen to do this, and I had to deal with it. I could have gone home, but despite all that I was feeling, I knew deep down, that I needed to deal with it. I couldn't bear living a lie, and had to do something about it. I had made the decision to come to terms with ME, and was going to do it. Even if I had to throw up on the way there. (I didn't throw up though, pheww)

So I met the therapist at the station. He was so much older than I had expected. It both reassured me (I have always associated wisdom with age), and worried me (was it not "old men" who were to be avoided? Was it not "dirty old men" that were always written about in the newspapers?) Now for the really difficult bit; I had to get in his car to go to his house. If I felt I could have changed my mind at this point, if I could have run away, I would have. But I didn't know where to run. I didn't say a word, and got in. I reassured myself that I had left his name, address and phone number out on my desk at home. Not on top, of course, I didn't want it to be found unless something happened to me, so I left a single sheet of paper on top of it. If I were to go missing, someone would find out where I had gone.

Meeting the Psychotherapist (May 1993)
So we arrived back at his place, and he sat me down on the counselling couch. He really didn't say very much at all. I just talked at my own speed. Totally avoiding anything which might imply I was gay. I had enough to deal with just being there. I wasn't going to start dealing with anymore than I had to. But I had of course already told him about my same-sex experience on the 'phone, so I wasn't going to be able to avoid the topic now. He asked me why I had called him. As so it was; I was going to have to talk to him about it.

I saw him once a week and talked to him about my life, and what I was feeling. For the first few times we met, he would have to get me to talk about being gay by asking me why I came to see him. Until he asked me that, I would avoid the subject and talk about school or something else. It was so difficult for me to talk about. I didn't like the image I had of gay people, so didn't want to be associated with it. But I knew I was attracted to other men. The real issues for me were that I had to get a better image of what it mean to be gay, and then how to tell my mother. He told me I didn't have to tell anyone if I didn't want to. I was in control of my life, and could choose when to tell her. I was trying to find a good time to tell her, but it never seemed to arise. He told me the obvious; that there would never be a perfect time, and I sure as hell couldn't plan when a good time would arise, I would have to wait for it. I waited. I tried many times to tell her, but didn't manage. The words didn't want to go to my mouth, let alone out of it. But bit by bit, I was learning to feel OK about being gay. I didn't notice it happening, and sometimes wondered why I was going to see the psychotherapist. Sometimes, after having seen him, I would feel really down at home all evening. It made me address the issues that I needed to address. I had a real problem with wanting to have kids. I had always wanted to have children, and thought that being gay would rule that out. Wrong; it might make it harder, but not impossible. Maybe I would still be able to have a baby girl after all.

An Encounter on the tube (June 1993)
I was going home after a water-polo practice one evening, when I got out at Tottenham Court Road station because I was thirsty, and got a milk shake. I went back to the platform, drink in hand. I walked down the platform to where it was less crowded. Then I saw Brad. I didn't know that was his name. All I did know was that he was damn fine looking. I stopped practically next him and we smiled at each other. He got on the same tube as me, and we stood next to each other. A few glances later, I said hi. I had come a long way. From being unable to contemplate being gay, here I was speaking to a guy, because I was attracted to him. He was called Brad. I got his work number and we went home (separately!). I was so excited. My first love had gone, but hey, this guy was really nice. I called him as soon as I got home - which was really stupid because he would be at home, at this was his work number. I knew that as I called, but I was too excited, and wanted to check if the number on his business card was a real number (as if he would have had a false number printed?!) I phoned him everyday for a week before I managed to get through to him. He couldn't speak because he was at work, but he told me I could call him at home that night. I did. He explained then that he had a boyfriend, but that we could become friends. This was not what I wanted to hear. I now really appreciate that we became friends, but I didn't want to hear what he said at the time. So when the conversation ended, I cried. I had had a teenage crush on him, and was facing rejection for my first time.

Coming out to maman (June 1993)
So there I was, all sad. My father was out, so I went down to talk to my mother (maman), who was always good at cheering me up. She could see I was sad and asked why. This was the moment to tell her. I was sad, and really didn't want to have to deal with my mood, and tell my mother I was gay at the same time. I had wanted to choose a time when I was feeling brave and strong. But instead I was feeling sad, rejected and alone. I needed her, but she would only be able to cheer me up if I told her what was wrong. And so I told her. I said words to the effect that I liked someone, but that that person didn't like me. (I said it in French, which is why I'm not quoting), carefully avoiding the words "he" or "she". She offered appropriate sympathy. I then said that this person was a man. Bursting into tears before having finished my sentence. The words seemed to get stuck in my throat, and I had to force them out. I felt ashamed of who I was, & of what I was saying. I couldn't bear to look her in the eye and just buried my head in her arms, sobbing away. Here I was, coming out to my mother at the age of 16 (a few months before I was 17). I don't think there's anything, which I've found more difficult than that. I'm now 22 years old, and completely comfortable with who I am, and out to absolutely everyone, yet as I type this I feel my heartbeat speedup. This is a particularly difficult memory to bring up, one that I've done my best to forget. She was great though. All she wanted was for me to be happy right then. She could see I was having a really difficult time telling her, and so she helped me along by giving me a huge hug and saying she loved me. She also cried. We cried together for ages. Barely talking for long periods. I told her that I had had these feelings for a while. It was a difficult conversation, for both of us. She was surprised only because in the preceding years I had made her believe that I was straight. In reality she had always suspected. She had spent years trying to believe that I was not going to be gay, but had only recently convinced herself that I wasn't. Why had I tried so hard to fool her? If I hadn't had bothered, she wouldn't have been surprised when I did come out to her. I suppose that's easy to say that with hindsight.

Although she was very supportive of me, and constantly reaffirmed her love for me, she didn't really know any gay people either and was as uninformed about homosexuality as I had been. She wanted to help me, but didn't really know how. She wondered if getting male hormone injections would help me be interested in women, but that line of thought was quickly dropped in favour of getting more informed about homosexuality and making sure I would be happy. She went from knowing nothing, to being much more aware of things in a relatively short space of time. that "adjustment period" which families go through seems to last forever. No matter how quickly they get used to the idea, it doesn't seem fast enough. I had had several years to get used to the idea that I was gay, and had seen a psychotherapist too. I was impatient though, and probably gave her a much harder time that she deserved. It's such a difficult line to draw between standing up for yourself, and being patient with others. I suggested that she go to see my psychotherapist, which she eventually did. This took a lot of pressure off me. She was able to find out about homosexuality at her own speed, and without having to ask me questions all the time. I was still dealing with lying to my father, brother and all my school friends, which was actually very stressful. This was a very tricky period for both of us, and having someone else she could talk to, who we both trusted was a big help. The summer holidays were quickly upon us. Despite being as understanding as she could possibly have been, sometimes it was still very difficult to talk about me being gay. In fact there were lots of things I wanted to say and didn't know how to. I didn't feel ready to tell her I'd already had a 2-year relationship; I didn't want to admit to having lied to her for 2 years. At the time of that first relationship/experience, it didn't feel like a lie. I hadn't admitted to myself that I was gay until quite late on in the relationship, so I wasn't hiding anything from her, that I wasn't hiding to myself.

My life was continuing, and yet my mother was still trying to get used to the idea that her son was gay. I found it incredibly difficult knowing what to say to her. I met a guy called pierre, but I didn't want to tell her the details until she was completely comfortable with me being gay. She had enough to deal with. She, on the other hand, wanted to know everything I was doing. She realised that I had lied to her in the past, and so maybe trusted me a little less now. This was so difficult. Telling her everything would make it more difficult for her in the short run, yet lying to her seemed wrong too. I took maybe a year until I was ready to tell her everything I was doing.

I am now considered a very open person, but to tell the truth, I think that's only because I was forced to deal with many issues at this stage of my life. Having taken the time on my own to think about my sexuality and all sorts of other things, I can now talk about them easily. (Dilbert is the one who pointed this out to me, but it's a very correct observation).

I found this whole process very tiring, and I wasn't ready to tell anyone else. My father and brother would have to wait.

I had met pierre a week before turning 17, despite him being much older. He travelled way too much, and was gone for much longer than he was around in London, but for me that was good. No pressure to see him all the time, yet there was an element of continuity, which I appreciated. We didn't see each other all summer because I was away in France with cousins.

A French holiday, a French man (Summer 1993)
The separation from London did me good. It gave me plenty of thinking time. I didn't have to explain all my movements to anyone, and didn't have to lie to my friends. I got a great tan, and relaxed for the first time in months. Whilst I was away, I met this French man who was staying at the same hotel as my cousins and me. I noticed him looking at me the day we arrived. It was such a good feeling to be looked at. Vain? Yes, but more than that; it helped me with my self-esteem. He was married and was there with his young wife and kids. He told me he was bisexual, but I was not fooled. He'd not had sex with his wife all year since her birthday. It did make me feel better thinking I was going to be able to avoid that fate. By having told my mother, and helped her come to terms with all that, I knew I would escape been pressurised into a marriage I didn't want. I did feel sorry for him though. How trapped must he have felt to get married?

The first time we spoke was so exciting. I had gone away from the main lobby where we had been, and he followed. We spoke so briefly. I asked why he had followed me, (our body language had already made it obvious we were both interested), and he told me it was because I was good looking. Nobody had ever told me I was good looking before. I didn't believe him. I was convinced there was another reason, but didn't know why. It seemed so ridiculous that it would be for my looks. Me? I didn't think so. I had had bad acne all through my adolescence, and although Roacutaane (wonder acne pills) had worked its magic, I still saw myself as an ugly spotty school kid who had been teased all his life.

It's amazing how often I'd been teased. When I was young it was because I had a French name and accent. Then when I was 10, people teased me because they thought (guessed?) I was gay. Then when I was 11 or 12, when they found out I was dyslexic I was teased about that. In my final year of prep school I was teased for being spotty. that really hurt, because it was true, and everyone knew it to be so. The gay and dyslexic rumours had always had that element of doubt. At my new school at 13 again people teased me because they though I was gay. They all knew, or thought they did. At the same time, there were constant comments about how spotty I was. And here was a guy telling me I was good looking. Couldn't he come up with a better lie to chat me up? And then, we kissed.

Now this is going to seem very odd. But I had never kissed the guy I had that first relationship with. I don't know why. It had just never happened. It all started with a "I'll show you mine, if you show me yours", and so we missed out the kissing stage. You'd think that in 2 years...but no. I had kissed pierre, once, and found it to be OK. This French guy though: very nice. Good with his mouth in both ways: what he said, and how he kissed. (that's a Japanese play on words). I wanted to see him again. We arranged to see each other the following day, at a certain time. I told my cousins that I had to study then. And that's how we met each other everyday for the rest of the week. I had planned to ask for his number or something on the last day, but we didn't manage to see each other as planned, which was a shame... I wonder if he's still married?

Back to London (Autumn 1993)
I got back to London, and I can't say I was pleased to be back. The problems I had left behind me were there, waiting for me. Luckily pierre still wanted to see me, and we started going out properly. We saw each other for maybe one and a half years.

My mother wanted to tell my father. I was living a lie, and she didn't want to have to do that too. I didn't feel ready to tell him. I was scared of how he would react. I was still very insecure. There was absolutely no doubt in my mind now that I was gay. But telling people was still a major issue. I had cried for hours the day I told my mother. I had cried before telling her (after all, being sad about Brad having a boyfriend was the reason I had come out to her), and then cried when I told her. Big boys don't cry, and I didn't want to have to cry again.

Gay Youth Group
I had started to go to a gay youth group to try to meet friends my own age. Some of them had come out to their parents. A couple of them had been thrown out of their homes by their parents because of that. All of them said their fathers had taken it much worse than their mothers had. One of them had been thrown out by his father, despite his mother being fine about him being gay. I was very cautious and didn't feel any urge to come out to anyone else. But my mother needed to tell him, and I understood that she didn't want to lie to him.

Coming out to Dad and Charles (October 1993)

So one day, when we all sat down to dinner, maman said I had something to say. (We had agreed on this; she didn't spring it on me). My father and brother duly gave me their attention. So I probably blushed before starting to speak. But out came the sentence telling them I was gay. And that was all I could bring myself to say. Nothing else came out, not a single other peep. My mother started to cry. My father said I was too young to know. There was a long silence. I went to give my mother a hug. I started to cry too. I wasn't even particularly sad; certainly less so than normal, but it was all very emotional. It was an awful way for it to come out. The two of us, who'd had the chance to come to terms with it, were crying. My brother eventually said that it could be worse; I could have said I was taking drugs, or made a girl pregnant. I was so pleased my brother came to my defence. I love him so much. that one sentence he said was so unexpected and despite not knowing what to feel, not knowing how difficult it was going to be, I knew I wasn't going to be disowned by anyone in my family. Even my father, who didn't seem to accept that I was gay, still accepted me as a person. What a relief. And I was going to be able to sleep in my bed that evening.

I think it's something that people forget, but when you come out to your family what you are scared of is of being disowned. It is a real possibility that they will never talk to you again, ever. I have friends now whose parents and families haven't talked to them for over 10 years, just because they are gay.

The Law
An added problem was that at that time, the gay age of consent was 21 years old. You had to be 21 to be with another man. If the other guy was older, he could be thrown into prison, and the younger guy could be taken into care. It was not uncommon for parents to tell the police, in the misguided hope of helping their child, only to have their child taken away from them. I was 4 years younger than the legal age. Support from home was more than a comfort, had they not supported me, but turned against me, I would have been in real danger. However unlikely it seems, that sort of thing has happened, and does happen regularly. Britain specifically has an awful legal system when it comes to gay people. This is not some PC (politically correct) crusade I'm on. But in this country the legal system consistently not only fails to protect us, but works against us. You can legally be fired from your job for being gay, be thrown out of the army for being gay, are not allowed to donate blood if you're gay and until very recently could be arrested simply for holding hands with another guy in public. So in that sense, coming out to my parents was made more difficult because of the legal system.

Not telling Friends
The next stage in my life was again quite tricky. Having come out to my self, and then to my family, I was determined to try to live an easy life, and not come out anyone else. I would have my gay friends and my straight friends. And, I suppose it worked. I was able to gain some confidence (of which I had very little then, but lots now) and explore the new side to my personality. The price I had to pay for that was to hide a lot from all my friends. I found it really difficult. In a way I wanted to tell them, but it had been so difficult telling my family, that I was actually quite pleased not to have to go through the whole ordeal again. I remember realising how my friendships with most of my high school friends deteriorated during that time, but I didn't know (and still don't) to what extent it was obvious to them. It could quite easily have been one-sided, I felt alienated because I knew I was hiding things from them. But I'm sure they were aware I was putting up barriers. Dilbert replaced me as his best friend with Michael. Michael I suppose is a good person deep down (Dilbert seemed convinced!), it's just that he comes across as being homophobic which did nothing to help my friendship with Dilbert, had I wanted to come out to him (it may have put me off - but since I wasn't ready to, it changed very little). We remained friends though; it's just that I noticed things weren't the same. Thinking about it, I had been on my way to see the psychotherapist one day, when Dilbert saw I stayed on the tube past my normal stop. He naturally asked where I was going, and I panicked and told him I was going to seeing a girl. (Dilbert, if you're reading this: I'm so sorry. I genuinely hadn't planned to lie. Until then I had not told you some things, but had not lied about it either. With this I said something untrue. The moment I had finished saying it, I hated myself for it. But by then, I felt it was too late to change what I'd said. I know I've had the occasion to tell you the truth since then, but it is difficult. This is a cop-out. Telling you here, without facing you. Hey, you might never even read this. But if you do, tell me and we can talk about it. With hindsight it's easy for me to say I wish I had done things differently.) How shit did I feel? When I got to the psychotherapist, all I talked about was having to lie to my friends, and how much I hated it. But telling just 3 people I was gay had completely exhausted me. I took the easy way out by not telling anyone else - which still was no piece of cake.

Pierre leaves England (October 1993)
Pierre left the country and moved to Italy, and with that out relationship came to a halt. On the rebound from pierre I saw this guy called James. Well, we all make mistakes, and this was mine. He's bitter, manipulative and generally an unpleasant person. that mistake lasted a month, but he regularly bugged me for the rest of the year (and from time to time for the following year). I realise that the last sentence makes me seem really bitchy, but the full (boring) story puts him clearly in the wrong. It's not important why... I don't even think I handled it that badly, but I wish I had never met him. that's maybe a little too harsh, since I did meet some people through him, who are friends now. But ultimately I wasn't happy with him, and didn't learn very much either.

Being Ill (January 1994)
In January 1994 I had glandular fever, and as a result was really waif. I'd lost lots of weight, and looked awful. I missed a month of school. It's strange; I've never had so many people ask for my number, as I did the first week I left the house after that. Everyone at school said how bad I looked; yet because the waif look was relatively popular on the gay scene at that time, suddenly people were coming to talk to me. It did my ego a lot of good (which was especially needed after James) and was maybe the turning point when I no longer had any bad feelings about being gay or being me. I now consider myself very lucky to have reached that point when I was just 17. It was only a short amount of time after that, that I felt ready to start coming out to my friends.

Leon (January 1994)
It was at this point that I met Leon. Leon is an amazing person. We get on so well.

He was (& is) someone who I could talk to for hours on end. Days at a time, had we had the time. Finally here was someone gay, who was completely comfortable with that fact, and very intelligent . We shared lots of values, and I noticed myself developing as a person when I was with him. He made me think about so many things. I don't know anyone who makes me think about as many things as he does. At the time, the difference between him and other friends was even more remarkable. I considered people my age to be very immature, and couldn't talk to them about lots of things. I had just started studying economics when I met him, and working for a bank he was able to teach me lots of things. I loved the way he lived. Minimalist decorations in his home in the Docklands, which tied in well with my new Japanese-inspired views on interiors too. Economics, decor, lifestyle and food. We were definitely on the same wavelength. We started to date, but for one reason or another, things didn't work out. We both had difficult timetables, and I was finding it difficult to get out without worrying my parents. The break-up was my fault. I had had 2 long-term relationships in quick succession, and then a failed one. I was trying to catch up with all the work I had missed from school, and wasn't ready for another relationship. In truth I don't know why things didn't work out, but the reasons I've just said were probably part of the cause. Anyway, he and I became friends. Good friends. He's since left the UK, and lives in Australia but we get on as well as ever.

Me (Summer 1994)

Above left: Me on my 18th, above right, me on holiday in France.

Andy (September 1994)
The following school year Andy and I got closer, and eventually came out to one another. I remember it very clearly. It was a crisp cold evening, and we'd just been to the cinema to watch a French film. We were just talking in the street, and were both a little coy about things at first, before he said he had been to a gay club, and was gay. It was such a strange feeling. Nobody had ever come out to me before. It had never occurred to me that someone would tell me they were gay. It was so emotional and exciting and yet the first few moments were a little difficult. I was very nervous about telling a school friend that I was gay - which is absurd since he'd just come out to me. But I did tell him that I was gay. It's strange how difficult it can be. For a long time saying "I'm gay" used to bring tears to my eyes. Even when I thought I was comfortable about everything, I still found it a very difficult thing to do. This time, however, I felt fine. It was in fact a huge relief to tell him. We had so much catching up to do. We both went on to tell each other about what we knew about the gay scene, and talk about our relative experiences of school. It's amazing how much we had to tell each other. We'd both been hiding this from people at school. We had a strange few weeks. Whenever we were alone we'd have some gossip to tell each other. I had crushes on quite a few teachers, and told him about them. He'd fancied some students and told me. It was suddenly all very exciting. School, which I used to dread, suddenly became fun again. We had 1/3 of our lessons together, and would always have something funny to tell each other. Andy had only just come out to himself so I was able to show him around the scene. I learned a lot from seeing Andy come to terms with his orientation, seeing him as I took him to a gay bar for his first time.

We had many a discussion about coming out to our friends. He wanted to do it straight away, but I still felt I wanted a little more time. I suppose we were more camp when we were with each other, and the side I'd taken so much time and effort to hide at school, became very visible when I was with him. Rumour quickly followed that we were an item. What a joke that was. Andy and I basically like the same type of men, and most definitely not each other. But despite being wrong about us as an item, they were right that we were both gay.

Coming out to Dilbert (November 1994)
I was now ready to come out to Dilbert. He was still a very close friend, and it was time he be let in on my secret. Having made the decision, I found it really difficult to actually have him on his own. I didn't want to tell him on the 'phone, but being a popular guy at school, he was always surrounded by friends. problematic. I tried more than a few times, without success. Impatientp wasn't going to wait any longer and so one day I just told him I needed to talk to him on his own. We went up to a balcony where people normally had lunch, which we knew would be empty.

So he asked me what I wanted to say.

I said, "I'm gay", "and still really want to be your friend" (I'm a little vague as to exactly what I did say, that last part might well be wrong).

He then said, "Is that all?"

I was gob-smacked. What? Did I hear that right? He didn't even seem the least bit surprised. Now here's the funny bit. He hadn't heard the first half. He missed the "I'm gay" bit, and his non-reaction was because he wondered why I'd made such a big deal out of nothing. As far as he was concerned, all I had wanted to say was "I still want to be your friend". What a joke! Anyway, within a few sentences it became obvious that he'd missed the crucial sentence and so I told him again. His reaction was even better than the false one of a few moments before.

"Wow!" was the first thing he said. "It's so amazing that you're telling me". Our friendship was not put into doubt. I had wondered so many times how I could still be his friend, if I didn't tell him - and now suddenly I knew why he had become my friend all that time ago. Dilbert isn't like most people I know. He doesn't seem to follow any of society's rules. No, he's not a drug taking Mafia member. But he doesn't see why he should act in a certain way if he doesn't want to. He got a very strong sense of who he is. He is brutally honest, which sometimes is surprising. It's also very refreshing. So many people tell you what they think you want to hear. I'm like that sometimes. He isn't. It's not always good to hear what he has to say, but it does me a lot of good. He's different in nearly every way, and will always speak his mind, irrespective of what other people say. I want to know him for the rest of my life.

I couldn't believe I hadn't had more faith in Dilbert. Of course he would be fine about it. I suppose though that not telling him sooner had more to do with me not being ready than to do with my lack of faith in him. It just didn't ever seem like a big deal with him. I don't know how much of a deal it was for him. We've never talked about that. But I do wonder if when he was alone he took a while to get used to the idea, he never let it show when he was with me, and having his support made a world of difference to me. In a few months I had gone from wondering if I was going to have to live a life that wouldn't include any of my school friends, to suddenly having a gay school friend, and a best friend who was fine about me being gay! I was so happy. My life seemed to be going right. This was exciting. I was living a life I wanted to live. The life Leon seemed to have. His friends knew he was gay. I had been so envious of that, and now I was going to be able to live a life like that. I had hated hiding so much from my friends, and basically from that time on, I didn't need to.

Coming out to the rest of the school (January 1995)
By a few months later there were many many rumours about Andy & me. It was getting to be a real pain. We could ignore it, but at the end of the day we both felt strongly about not having to lie. I had finally got to a stage where I didn't have to lie to anyone, and wasn't planning to start again. By consistently not denying the rumours, people started to assume we were gay, and going out with each other.

What really got to us, was the way that there would be comments in front of teachers, and that none of them battered an eyelid. Andy and I had a long talk, thinking about what was wrong with the school. We both remembered how the sports teachers in particular had tolerated abusive comments, and even contributed to them. Things which don't seem particularly harmful like "don't be a fairy" and "big girl's blouse". But at the end of the day, when you are trying to come to terms with your sexuality, they are not the type of comments you should have to put up with. Now both Andy & I were comfortable with ourselves, but there most have been many others who weren't and we were going to try to make a difference.

There was this thing called "The School parliament", where each class could submit proposals for new school rules. If a class agreed on a rule, it would go to the parliament. If it agreed, it would be sent to a teachers & boys' committee, and the final stage was the headmaster.

Andy and I both asked our (different) classes to submit a proposal that asked for teachers to treat homophobia with the same severity as racism. Not really what you'd call an outrageous proposal really. Well, Andy's form teacher (who has since left the school) decided that it wasn't appropriate and didn't submit the proposal. My form teacher was surprised that that wasn't always necessarily the case, and thought it was a good idea.

It didn't take long for word to get out that we'd put forward these proposals. By the end of the morning I had been asked by lots of people why I put such a proposal. I remember quite clearly a guy asking me before German class, as we were waiting outside the classroom, why I'd submitted the proposal. So I told him it was something I felt really strongly about. To which he asked if that was because I was gay. He was trying to put me down, but I had been expecting someone to ask me that. I just didn't realise it would all happen so quickly. Until then, nobody had actually asked me. In fact, I'd never had to lie about it. I tried to ignore comments. To my friends I'd maybe lie by saying I'd done nothing all weekend, when in fact I had seen Leon, or another gay friend.

Well, here I was, and this guy had just asked me if was because I was gay that I'd submitted the proposal. It was my turn to speak; "Of course it is." And with that, the classroom door opened, and it was time for German class. I've never had such luck with timing ever. There would have been such an awkward silence otherwise, but as it happened we all trooped into the classroom, and he was left standing there, mouth wide open.

By admitting that I was gay, I was trying to take control of the situation. Everyone had been saying that I was gay for months. There had been rumours all my life, but in that past year they had mounted, and in the few weeks before then, there had been so many rumours. It had been as if there had been this ugly dog following me around. I had a choice: Ignore it, saying it had only barked and not actually bitten me. Or try to stand up to it, showing it that I wasn't scared of it, and hope (pray) it would go away and leave me alone. Well, stand up to a dog, and the first thing it will do is growl at you. Hold your ground, and it gets bored and goes away. As with dogs, as with schoolboys. After an initial silence, there was a growl. And what a large growl boys can make.

Gossip spreads fast, especially when you have a whole class there to start spreading it. By the end of lunch break, enough people knew so that when Andy and I walked into the 6^th form common room, everyone stopped talking and looked at us. Hmm. We stayed as long as we had to, to make it look as if we weren't intimidated, but after the required few minutes there, we left. A few boys came out after us, and one of them asked Andy if it was true that we were going out. He said, "Don't be ridiculous", "but we are gay though".

The growl grew louder for a good few days later, as people realised that this wasn't just some rumour. This was true. It's amazing how funny people think it is to say "backs to the wall". Even if it wasn't so offensive, I still wouldn't find it funny. Had Andy and Dilbert not been there, I would probably have stopped going to school then. It was so difficult. We still hadn't got to put forward the proposal at the school parliament. We'd have a week to wait for that. All we wanted to do, was to talk to people, to explain. But now was not the time for that. Better to wait for people to get over their "excitement" first.

The worst bits were walking down the corridors. people would line up on either side and chant abuse, kicking as I walked down between them. Doors were slammed in our faces. Not a nice to have to deal with.

Friends. What Friends? (January 1995)
So many people stopped talking to me. Nobody sat next to me in German class for the rest of what was my last year of school. I had to sit on my own for a month in economics too. We only take 3 subjects for the final 2 years of school, and I had to sit alone for 2 of them for a whole month, and alone for one subject (ie. a third of the week) for the rest of the year. I really did wonder if I was doing the right thing.

The speed at which friends deserted me was astounding. I had never considered myself to be unpopular. that changed really fast. It's quite simple; 2 weeks after coming out, there were only 2 people who still talked to me at school. Andy and Dilbert.

The general atmosphere had calmed down by the time we put forward our proposal to the school parliament. Since Andy's's proposal had not been allowed by his form teacher, I had to stand up and present it. This was a shame because Andy's a much better public speak than I. A not so heated debate later, and the motion was passed.

I don't think the parliament has such a big effect on pupils, but when the results were published, there was a marked change in how people acted towards us. I'm not saying everything was suddenly easy for us, but I suppose that for many people it was the first time they'd heard that it was not OK to tease gay people for being gay. Homophobia is one of the types of discrimination that most people don't think twice about. Someone says a gay joke, and nobody ever complains. A racist joke and you can get in trouble. Suddenly the school was saying it was going to be the same for gay jokes. I think that surprised a lot of people.

Slowly people started talking to me again. Suddenly people had lots of questions. Was it true that I wasn't going out with Andy? How did I know I was gay? Did I think I was born gay? How long had I been gay? Did I have a boyfriend? I gave a good quantity of answers , even if I didn't answer some of the other, more direct questions. I noticed for the first time, that some people were willing to disagree with the crowd, and say that there was nothing wrong with me being gay.

A phone call (February 1995)
One day, out of the blue, I got a call from someone who had just left the school. He had heard the rumours about me, and wanted to know if they were true. When I said they were, he told me he thought he was gay and started crying. He was in such a state, just like I had been years before. We talked literally all night on the phone. I thought I was going to die at school the next day I was so tired. But I had helped him. We arranged to meet for a coffee to talk some more a few days later. He had calmed down such a lot by then. It was still going to be a while before he would be ready to come out to anyone else, but he had stopped saying some of the silly things he had the night before. I spoke to him every so often after that, and then we lost touch. We had never been friends, and as soon as he didn't need me to talk to, he stopped calling. If nothing else, having helped him in his difficult hour, was worth all the hassle I was getting at school. I knew how much of a difference it made having some to talk to.

A Growing Acceptance (March 1995)
Things at school gradually got better and better as our acceptance at school spread. I was at last being giving a break. people would talk to me once more. It took a while, but with time I noticed Andy and I had gained a certain level of respect for what we had done. We had managed to get people to talk about the issue at a much more serious level than before. This wasn't just some rumour, people knew us and had liked us before. Nothing had changed in us, only what they knew about us. What also helped, was that Andy and I were very different, which helped show that being gay was just one side of our personalities.

The Last day of School (May 1995)
On the last day, I went in wearing a kilt on top of a pair of white jeans. Andy came wearing a light blue 60's suit. Now it's important to remember that this was a school which had school uniform, and there's no way we were supposed to be wearing what we were. Some teachers really didn't appreciate it at all. The deputy head master told me to get changed, but I got on with the headmaster, and already had his permission; and what joy it gave me to tell that to the deputy (who I have a gut feeling is in the closet, although to be honest, I have no proof whatsoever)!

Anyway, there we were walking around the school out of uniform. It was so much fun. Everyone looked and laughed with us. We were pocking fun at the school system, which is always guaranteed to go down well. The last thing we had to do that day, was to go to the theatre for a final speech. Andy got up on the stage and stood there with his arms up in the air, in the victory sign. It was hilarious (even if it doesn't sound it). that was such a feel good day. It showed how much of a change had occurred since we'd come out. From being talked about and constantly verbally abused, to having Andy up on the stage getting a round of applause. There had been many times when I'd wondered if coming out to the school was worth it, or not. Finally we had been vindicated. I'd had someone call for advice, we'd gained respect for what we did, and we changed the attitude of a large part of the 6^th form.

Everyone in the school had talked about what we did. Some students in the lower years have since come out, and have told me that what Andy and I did helped them. It really made me feel good. Sure, we could have chosen the easy route, and not bothered. We could have lied our way through the last year of school. Nobody would have been any the wiser. But we had achieved something worthwhile, and it felt good. A few months later I turned 19, and in September I started university - but that's another story...

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