I am a divorced man in my late 50's and very, very confused about my sexuality. I have been married and divorced 3 times and my sex life in all of the marriages was not exciting but primarily used for procreation. I don't know β perhaps I subconsciously looked for women with a low libido so I wouldn't have to perform too often. In all three cases, the sexual interests of my wives dropped to almost nil after a year or so and we tottered on in matrimony for several more years until calling it quits. In each case, fighting against some inner demons, I sought another partner within a couple of years and repeated the process all over again.
Something very deep inside me was nagging at me but I fought it tooth and nail since I was a teenager. I was always small for my age and somewhat effeminate in both looks and demeanor and, as such, suffered as the butt of jokes and teasing from both boys and girls. Because I was so shy and didn't show any interest in girls (I was too petrified of rejection so would never ask one out), I was often called a faggot or a queer. Of course, this only served to increase my sense of shame and eroded any ego I might have had.
When I went away to college, I lost most of my acne and grew over 6" in as many months so although I was still very shy, I was able to lose myself in my work and became quite a success with high grades. I was even sought out as a tutor for some of the jocks (to keep their athletic scholarships) and the occasional female who was in jeopardy of losing her parent's financial support if they didn't keep their grades up. Just being in the company of those my age without incurring their scorn was a growing experience.
Of all the athletes I worked with, John Turner from the basketball team had an unsettling effect on me. Every time we sat side by side in either the library (or occasionally in his dorm room), I could feel butterflies in my stomach and would rush back to my dorm room (I lived in one of the few single rooms in the residence) and masturbate excitedly. I was frightened as I realized it was images of John that ran through my mind as I stroked myself to a shattering climax; why wasn't it one of the cheerleaders or another good looking co-ed? What was wrong with me? I couldn't be a fag, could I?
So much for history. After the three failed marriages and as I neared the end of my fifth decade, I acquired a computer, took some lessons and tried my hand at the internet. It wasn't long until I was receiving pop-up ads inviting me to join pornographic sites. Now, of course, I had acquired explicit magazines over the years β always, it seemed to involve gay men or, if couples, I always was mesmerized by the men's' cocks. However, the explicit sites (many of them free) blew my mind. Perhaps this was my way to meet a man and explore my hidden desires?
After about 3 months of wondering through the net, I discovered a chat room site strictly for men. I joined and posted a profile with a code name "curious". It took me a while to figure out how to use the message board and I often just sat there watching the messages stream across my screen. Then, one evening, a message popped up. "Hey, curious; why do you never talk? This is supposed to be an interactive site, not just to look at"
It caught me so off guard, I almost missed it; the sender was named "lovingman"
I timidly responded replying that this was my first time online (I realized they knew better having seen my name when I signed in) and I was unsure of exactly what I wanted and why I was even here.
Lovingman "no reason to be afraid; we are all the same here"
Curious "But I have never been with a man; just think I need to find out something..."
Lovingman "so what is it u need to know?"
Curious "there is so much and I only know that I am not happy the way I am"
I was given directions on how to enter a private chat room with lovingman and after a few clicks of the mouse; we were the only ones there.
Lovingman "so, babe. Tell me your story"
I was taken aback by his familiarity but it had been so long and this seemed anonymous enough, so I proceeded to pour out my life to this complete stranger. It took almost three hours of my typing and his encouragement until I had fully unloaded my crappy life onto his shoulders.