I don't really regard myself as a writer, but a few years ago, when I was in school, I always got good marks for my written English. So, as I have a story to tell that a few people might be interested in, I thought I'd try my hand at telling about my short life so far.
I'm gay. Please don't ask me why. I think I know why but I'm not certain. I can be quite friendly towards girls but they are in no way special to me. If I didn't see one for a month I wouldn't worry.
On the other hand, I really like guys. I like their company, I like talking to them and playing games with them. Some even appeal to me in a sexual way. I fancy them. This is not something that happened suddenly; I've just grown up with it.
I have a strong suspicion that the main reason I'm gay is because I was sexually abused by my mother, and other women, as a young child. I remember some of the things she used to do to me when I must have been about four. I think this is a fairly accurate dating as I started school shortly afterwards.
When I talked with other boys at school it became obvious to me that their mothers didn't do to them what my mother was doing to me. As I got a bit older I realised that my mother mostly bathed me when my father wasn't in the house. Sometimes "Aunty" Mary would help her to bathe me, or some other "aunt". I grew to dislike them all with their luvvy-dovey kissing, sucking and fondling. It was all pseudo-love!
Then came the day when my father arrived home early and unexpectedly. My mother had just bathed me and had laid me on a towel on the bed, naked, while she and "Aunty" Mary lay on each side. My father suddenly came into the room unannounced and saw what they were doing to me.
Although I was quite young, I realised that he was furious. He ordered both women downstairs while he dried me and dressed me. Then he took me to my room and told me to stay there until he came back. I could hear the row coming from downstairs. I couldn't hear the words, but there was a sudden bang of the front door and as my father returned to the lounge I heard him shout, "And that woman is never to come into this house again." Then I heard the word "police" mentioned and I heard my mother crying.
But, after that day, she stopped her sexual abuse and my life became fairly normal. I think all this is the reason that I now really like men - my father was my saviour, and why I am not at all keen on women - my mother was my abuser.
As I grew up I realised that, according to all the stories in the media, it was men who were supposed to be the abusers, so I made enquiries and discovered that almost two-thirds of child abuse is by women. This did not improve my opinion of them.
But enough of my dim and distant past; I have more pleasant stories of more recent years.
I did well at school especially when I was in the charge of a male teacher. My art teacher, Mr Roberts, really encouraged me and I excelled in the subject. It's not surprising then that when I left school I applied to go to art college and was accepted.
Being a nineteen-year-old lad away from home, I looked around for things to do in the evenings, and one day I happened to pass a fitness club. I went into the doorway and inside were some advert boards with pictures of young men with attractive bodies, doing all sorts of exercises. I'd done a bit of running that day in college and I was feeling a bit stiff, so I thought a club like this might help to keep me in good shape.
I was about to leave, when the door into the club was opened by a young man dresed in shorts and a T-shirt. He smiled at me and stood with his hands on his hips.
"Interested in joining?" he asked.
"Well... I hesitated, "I might be. I've never been in a club like this. Can you tell me a bit about it?"
"Come into my office and I'll do just that." He held the door open for me.
We walked a short distance down a passageway and into a small office. We shook hands. "I'm Terry and I run this place," he said motioning me to an armchair to the side of his desk.
"Hi! I'm Martin." I sat down. I looked at this pleasant young guy as he lifted a file and took something out. He seemed to be in his mid-thirties, good-looking and with a slim firm-looking body. I iinstantly found him attractive; not that there is anything unusual in that as far as me and men are concerned.
Then he handed me a folded brochure. "OK Martin, this tells you all about the club, opening times, equipment and the cost of membership. We have sessions for men, women and some mixed."
I ran my eye over the brochure. "You have quite a lot of equipment," I ventured. "And I see you have reduced rates for students. I'm glad about that."
Terry laughed. "I gather you're a student then."
"That's right. I've recently started in the art college - fine art and photography."
Terry looked more expansive and leaned forward on his desk. "Interesting! They happen to be two of my interests. In fact I attend a life class in the evenings at the college. Like a coffee?"
