Coming out stories

What a great set of questions to ask!

I have known that I was "different" since I was 10, and that I was attracted to guys since I was about 12. Had my first crush when I was 13. But I grew up in a socially conservative, nominally Jewish, home in the '50s. In those days, at least in my world, no one was out, and my fear of being outed became important beyond almost everything else. I went to an all-boys academic high school from grades 7-12. Part of the reason was that most Boston public schools were substandard. But a large part of that decision came from my fear that if I went to a co-ed school, I'd have been more likely to be found out.

So I stayed in the closet. I've been married to, and divorced from, two women. The first ended after 12 years for reasons totally apart from my hidden sexuality. The second ended after almost 30 years because I finally came out at the age of 69.

I was miserable thru the last 5 years of my marriage and my sexuality was certainly a big part of the reason why. My wife had also been deeply clinically depressed most of her life, which also put a lot of stress on our relationship. It's hard living with someone you love knowing that you can never make her happy, and rarely see her happy.

So, fast forward to January of 2014. I had been a HS math teacher for a total of 17 years, at the beginning and end of my professional career. And I had remained close to a number of former students. I was contacted by one who had come out at the age of 19. He invited me to his 23rd birthday party as his mom's house. At first, I declined, saying that it was really a family get-together, and I didn't want to intrude. But he insisted, saying it would be a chance to meet his new boyfriend...

So I went. And I sat through dinner, watching these two young men openly showing their affection for each other. (Side note, they married about 4 years ago, and are living happily together.) As I drove home, I just sobbed, both at the joy of seeing them, two young guys so much in love with each other and the regret that I had been living my entire life with shame and that I had never lived an authentic life.

After an agonizing week searching online and finding Empty Closets, and then having really intense conversations with a handful of guys in my situation, I finally came out to my wife. I ripped off the bandaid, the hardest thing I'd ever done in my life. My wife reacted as badly as you'd expect, and she was completely justified. But we agreed to stay together for a year and then evaluate where we were. And I promised that if I did get involved with a guy during that time, I would move out.

In June of that year, our relationship had deteriorated to the point that I did move out to an apartment about an hour away from our home. And the next year was hell. I was pretty consumed by guilt, and she spiraled downward, eventually trying half-heartedly to end her life.

I think there's a text limit here, so I'll continue this in a followup post.

 

Sorry the first post got duplicated...

To finish the story about my wife, she slowly recovered, still depressed but not suicidal. And we slowly started getting together occasionally, and more as time went on. We divorced in 2016 as best friends again. She sold her home in 2018 and bought a condo only 2 miles from my home. From that point on, I spent hours each day with her, helping her set up her home, going to medical appointments with her (even her psychiatrist), going to movies, and having dinner together. I was pretty much her primary caregiver from that point on. She met my partner (more about that part of my life later) and the three of us slowly became a family. We were so close that she and I went on a two-week trip to Ireland ad Scotland together in August of 2019. And it was the trip of a lifetime for both of us.

Sadly, soon after we returned, she started having problems breathing, and the problems intensified through the fall. She was eventually diagnosed with proliferative bronchitis, a progressive, irreversible, and basically untreatable pulmonary disease. By February of 2020, she was oxygen-dependent, and in early April, she opted to go into hospice care at home. I moved in with her two weeks later when it became too difficult to take care of herself and she passed away two weeks later, over a year ago now.

I loved her deeply and intensely, although in a different way than 30 years ago. I grieve her passing every day, and writing about it is healing in a way, but difficult. Though I have found love again, I believe I will never love again with that intensity.

So to your question about my first time... In addition to staying involved her for some months, I joined a support group for gay/bi men who had been in a relationship with a woman. It was specifically for men who were fathers, but they welcomed me. It was 90 minutes away, but it was difficult to attend, but I went every week for a year or so. a month or so after I joined, a younger guy (37, I think) joined the group. He is a beautiful man, inside and out. After the meeting the group would move to a local gay bar for a social time. One night, we walked over together, and while there, we were chatting quietly by ourselves, and I had this incredibly strong desire to kiss him. I asked him, and he said yes. And that was my first kiss with a guy, just months before my 70th birthday. And he was my first. We remain really good friends.

About the same time, I started looking at online sites, and kissed a few frogs, until I met with my now partner through one of those sites. We started out just hooking up occasionally. But we started getting together more and more often over the next six months. We were seeing each other exclusively, and over that time he began sleeping over more and more often until finally, I just asked him to move in with me. So here we are, 5 years later, living happily together as partners.

I love him, and he loves me. But am I "in love" with him? I don't know.

And that's my story. Comments welcome.