12
(DARK YEARS, continued from page 11)
and a Halt years I got away with leaving
my mom in the mall for an hour while I had
sex. Soon I was old enough to drive, and
this only enhanced my chances of sexual
encounters, but it also opened the door to
the other aspects of being gay.
One night after working late at a
basketball game in Durham, I decided to go
to a gay bar. I paid my $4 and strolled
inside wearing my huge down jacket. I
felt out of place, but I kept moving
through the crowd. Someone stopped me and
said, "Hey, can I help you? Let me show
you where to put your coat." I was so
scared and nervous that I headed for the
door without even saying goodbye to the
middle-aged man.
The next time I went to a gay bar was
during my senior year of high school. I
was more relaxed this time and decided to
go all out that night, since my parents
were in Jamaica. I arrived at the bar
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early, wandered around and got a beer, and
then decided to play a couple of games of
pinball. Half way through my second game,
a quarter was slapped onto the machine. I
turned around and smiled; there stood my
prince charming, Steve. He asked me if I
wanted to play doubles, and I said,
"Sure." After two games, a few beers, and
a couple of dances with Steve, I was sure
I was in love. I asked him if he wanted
to spend the night at my house (I wasn*t
very good with lines).
After careful consideration and a quick
consultation with his friend, he agreed.
We went to my house, had some Pepsi, and
talked. We talked a long time, about
everything from Europe to sports. When we
both decided it was time to retire, I
asked him if he wanted to sleep in the
same bed. He agreed. We snuggled and
talked for a while longer, then during a
pause I let my hand brush his stomach and
then let it rest on his crotch. He turned
to me and said, "What would you say if I
didn't want to have sex tonight but just
wanted to hold you?" I turned to him and
thought, then smiled and told him it would
be fine. I savored that moment for a long
time because he really meant what he
said. For the next three months we saw
each other as much as possible.
I was so happy whenever I was with him;
I wanted as much time together as pos
sible. I even decided to give up bathroom
sex so that I'd have more time to spend
with him. But there was a sudden
realization in my body that I could not
give up bathroom sex; it had become a
basic need in my life. I was so terrified
that I turned to Steve for help; I
explained my lifestyle in hopes that he
would hold and comfort me.
Instead my friend, my lover, explained
to me that he needed to stop seeing me.
When I tried to reach him the next day his
phone was disconnected. My letters to him
went unanswered. I cannot begin to
explain the empty, hollow feelings I had
inside. The road ahead was not any
brighter. My grade point average dropped
from a 4.0 to a 2.3 in a matter of months.
All I wanted to do was graduate and enter
college.
I found that in college sex was easily
obtained. My first experience was by
accident. I was studying in the library
when I went to use the bathroom and saw
the bathroom stalls filled and a few
people standing outside. I was amazed at
the variety of people there, from football
players to professors. Needless to say,
in my depression, I overindulged myself
with this abundance of sex. At a peak
week I would spend as much as 40 hours in
different bathrooms.
It was not until someone from my dorm
found me having sex with another man that
I actually had a nervous breakdown. I ran
into the woods and sobbed for hours. I
thought about myself, my parents, and
where I was going in life.
Luckily, I was not without friends who
cared for and loved me. One good friend
gently urged me to go to the mental health
center. That was my first step. I
gradually started thinking about what I
was doing to myself and realized that I
really needed someone else's help.
Initially I saw someone at student mental
health and then transferred to a clinical
social worker.
During this time I was still very upset
with myself because I couldn't stop having
bathroom sex right away; I realized that
if I stopped immediately, I would again
feel a huge void in my life.
Although I have been in therapy for a
relatively short time, I feel much more
positive about myself and other people. I
know that I haven't conquered my problem
yet, but I am confident that I will.
Sometimes I pity myself because I wasted
five years; I realize I learned a lot in a
negative way. I know that I will use what
I consider as dark years to make my life
brighter.