This was, as anyone my age remembers, not a popular state for a boy to find himself in in those days, and in the interest of self-preservation I kept those feelings to myself. I understood that I was expected to be interested in girls, but it wasn’t the girls that got my new dick hard, it was the guys. As a fairly well-read child I understood exactly what was going on, and my parents (though as yet unaware of their son’s orientation) were perfectly open and helpful with information. I hit puberty with most of the girls of my age group and a good year ahead of most of the other boys, perhaps around the age of 11. As a kid I certainly didn’t attach any significant sexual connotation to the interest, but I’m ever amused to note that children are often far more in touch with their nascent adulthood than we give them credit for.Ĭhapter: 2.
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Twenty-five years later that it occurred to me that perhaps this was the first childhood inklings of what was to become a very adult passion. This variant I remember at the time particularly catching my fancy, and he and I returned to it often. As boys will, we tended towards games of one-upmanship, and one of these games evolved into a form of tag where the captured party would be tied up to a tree or some article of furniture. When I was perhaps eight or nine, I had a best friend who lived just up the hill from me. Aside from being a bit of a loner in the first place, inclinations typical of young boys, a tendency to play more with your own gender than with the opposite, for instance, eluded me, and I was just as likely to have girl friends and enjoy playing with them and their dolls as I was to be out running in the woods with the guys. I understood from a very young age, well before puberty, that I was not your typical boy. Possibly it’s there where I first came across my first understanding of sex, and quite possibly BDSM and bondage. Science, mathematics, culture, history all fascinated me. I was a voracious reader, and certainly read far beyond what you’d expect a preadolescent to be interested in. We were encouraged to be interested in anything and everything, to write and create and play. As they had a love of learning, so did we kids dinner was always being interrupted by a run to the bookshelf to look something up in the encyclopedia, or find some city in the atlas, and conversations were often derailed by tangential explorations or debates about the second or third level meanings of a word or turn of phrase. They balanced good discipline with a healthy let-the-kids-be-kids freedom, and always wanted us to do well and excel.
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I have never once doubted that my parents (or grandparents or my few aunts and uncles) loved me. My folks have always been loving and supportive, even when I expected otherwise. I was lucky, being born into a close, tight-knit family, the eldest of three. It was an idyllic place to be a kid, as I would only realize years later. The house I grew up in was a Victorian shingle-style “summer cottage” on the ocean from my bedroom window I could see two lighthouses, Nubble and Boon Island. I grew up in Cape Neddick, a small town on the coast of Maine.