Well this took a turn I hadn’t expected.
I was wracking my brains trying to think of who I was crushing on in the teens and couldn’t think of a one. I suspect that I was so full of self loathing at the time for having homosexual thoughts that I didn’t allow myself the luxury of actually lusting after anyone. I certainly remember the teens being years full of ‘I really am straight and goodness dont those boobies look lovely’ self deception. I remember having chats with my friends about how bosoms were the most amazing thing ever and I would stand there (you never sat in High School) and wonder what all the fuss was about. I spent my formative years loathing myself. There was not time for crushes. Crushes were signs of weakness.
In an effort at self-denial I would buy playboys and other stick books and try to find the nude women arousing. I just kept thinking they looked cold. On the plus side I have a stunning knowledge of 80’s racing cars and fly fishing. (It would appear most playboy readers had only the three interests.) It was one of the few times in my life I showed endurance, sadly. I managed to keep the whole denial/ you are the most useless evil person schtick going all the way through university. Uni should have been a fabulous time of sex, drugs and rock and roll. Instead I spent the entire time in prayer meetings with well-meaning Christians who, among other things, told me being gay was the biggest sin in the world. Stupidly I went along with them. It was a comfortable hell. Without realising they were doing it, they reinforced the self loathing beliefs I had about myself. Seriously, that’s the one moment in my life I wish I had a time machine to go back and correct. Uni was a mess.
Steps towards acceptance came only after years of self-disgust and loathing. Realising I was dying and needed saving, one of my uni Christian friends looked at me knowingly and told me simply “God doesn’t make mistakes.”
She was right. I stopped hating myself for whom I was. I mean, seriously, why would anyone choose to be in a minority group?
So in all of that time I never allowed myself the luxury of lusting after anyone. (which may go to explain my whack a doodle tendencies now.) Fortunately (or rather sadly, really, as I had grown way beyond such fantasies by then) I indulged in one last hurrah before being yanked from the closet. This man (and for the Adelaide people this will be hilarious)
George Donikian. Newsreader on the new multi cultural television station SBS. Now for Adelaide readers, who have known him as the newsreader for channel 10, now considerably older and much, much more stuffy, this will seem an odd, positively hysterical, choice. However at the time , in his younger days, he was a total stud. Truly aDelaideans.He was amazing. And the way he pronounced all of the foreign cities as he read the news. Every syllable accented and extended, every T was guttural. It was like poetry being read to you at news times by a swarthy market seller.
You knew you were in the presence of a talented tongue.
I figured it was time to move on from fantasy stuff. I moved onto realio trulio people from here. No, the irony isn’t lost on me either.
Away For A Bit 