LOCAL

Reflections on Coming Out

by John Runyan

Thinking back over my life I used to poohpooh the importance of my sexuality and how it affects other areas of my life.

Only recently have I been able to draw substantial patterns of homnophobia (others, and my own) that have had a tremendous impact on my self-esteem and my ability to care about myself. 'Coming out' has meant the increased ability to shed negativity in favor of liking myself as a complete person (of which my homosexualilty is an integral trait.)

As far back as I can remember I have never felt I fit in. My male peers in early gradeschool ostrasized me for having girlfriends. My nickname was Runny-Bunny and I did seem a bit strange. I made paper fashions to fit cut-out models for the admiring girls in my class. My oldest brother called me MarthaSuck-Her-Thumb. I sucked my thumb till the age of 12 and liked to try on my mom's clothes.

By the age of 10 I discovered boys were much more interesting to me than girls. I playfully explored sexuality with other kids close to my age blissfully ignorant of 'good' and 'bad.' My dad started catching me and would gruffly disapprove. "Don't do that," without explaining why. No wonder I would feel vaguely guilty when I started masturbating a few short years later!

John Runyan

Puberty brought a crush on Mark Lindsay (of Paul Revere and the Raiders fame) to rival my sister's adoration of the popular rock star. I enjoyed his chest hair best of all, and liked him even better than Cher her first time around.

My instincts eventually demanded action. I made a clumsy pass at a close friend in 8th grade who was spending the night. He looked horrified and never talked to me againmuch less to explain why. A pattern of keeping my feelings secret became more established.

At 14 I had a casual, secretive affair with a 17 year old male friend of the family in which my oldest brother, Don, interceded. Don had seemed to approve but I came in one day and my mom informed me she knew all about it. She said I wouldn't have to worry about that "nasty boy doing those nasty things to me ever again." It seemed obvious to me I would have to see him on the sly at his house after that. Insidious feelings of mistrust and 'bad' hung on. Rifts widened between me, my brother, and my mom.

Ninth grade in the Midwest was horrible. I had longish hair, wore hippy fashions, and was unpopularly scholastic. The athletic and greaser crowds thought of me as intolerably goofy. Guys I'd never seen before would taunt me and go so far as to slug me in the halls. I felt totally helpless, but kept my rage internalized. The threat of violence and rejection terrified me.

Physical Education class was especially awful. To make matters worse I followed a certain P.E. teacher around and made physical passes at him in the hallways an en-

Photo by Jeremy McKinnon

tire semester. This major fantasy figure never took me up on my implied offers yet never reprimanded me, either. This may seem thrilling but I paid a price in further alienating some of my classmates. And what price did that teacher pay being closeted in a lockerroom of homophobic teenagers and Midwestern morality?

My oldest sister's death when I was 15 also took a heavy emotional toll on me for years to come. We were both vaguely cruising the guy who died with her. He was drunk and she offered him a ride home from our house. I fantasized Brian and I could have gotten sexual under the right circumstances. Through some extremely fucked-up rationalizing I attributed his interest in my sister as a reaction to me and his own sexual confusion. These feelings of my imagined complicity were jammed inside with the accumulating anger, fear, and guilt from earlier incidents. If anything was to blame it was the alcohol that lowered their inhibitions and fogged up Linda and Brian's abilities to think rationally. They died of carbon monoxide in a parked

car.

A new kind of guilt showed up mornings after heterosexual sex. I didn't feel that way with guys. Some people noticed tell-tale signs of my interest in guys but I was in too much denial to clearly recognize this and to put a name to my desires.

My own personal introductions to drinking and drugging followed in a few months. Drugs and guilt became common themes in my life. Psychedelics and smoking dope usually were involved when I had sex with girls as a teenager. A new kind of guilt showed up mornings after heterosexual sex. I didn't feel that way with guys. Some people noticed tell-tale signs of my interest in guys but I was in too much denial to clearly recognize this and to put a name to my desires.

By this time I lived in suburbs 35 miles east of San Francisco. I began hitchhiking. I would share joints and learned to watch for hand signals and listen for double entendres as we cruised around. Many times we would park in some out-of-the-way place for oral sex. I took advantage of these situations to solicit 6-packs of beer. Most of these men were probably heterosexual. Surprisingly, only one man (a truck driver) was ever demonstrably angry at being propositioned. Instead of a polite, "No thank you, I'm not that way," he threatened to punch me out.

One night I left a girlfriend's house halfdrunk to hitch somwhere. A big green LTD pulled up and I opened the door to a very husky man saying, "Hi, my name's Tina. Do you want a blow job?" The woman I had left was a mess and I was disgusted with her and myself. Tina's offer seemed to turn a magic key. I suddenly realized I was, I am, homosexual. The word finally fit me personally and I've never been with a woman sexually since. I was 18 then and I'm 35 now.

Technically that was the point in my history when I came out to myself. But I truly believe this 'coming out' business is a process. I now had a label for myself but I wasn't willing to open up to family and friends. I still didn't have anyone to talk to. I had anonymous sex and drank my beer and smoked my joints. The sex was enjoyable and vital but those clandestine front seats on

See OUT on page 22.

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Seattle Gay News

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