How to Come Out to Your Parents

"Honey," said my mother tremulously. "You aren't going to do this anymore, are you?"

"Yes. I have to. You heard what they said. I'm always gonna need it now. You should understand, mother. You know how great it feels to have a penis inside you, right?"

"Yes," my mother painfully admitted. "God forgive me. I do."

"Martha!" snapped my father.

"I can't help it. It's true. Do you want me to lie?"

"Yes," hissed my father.

"There's nothing like it, right?" I pressed my mother.

"No. Nothing like it." She started crying again.

As I started to untie them, I faked a few tears of my own. "You'll never know what I went through here tonight. My life is over. I'll never be the same after this. I'm a queer. A queer forever. They made me a queer for the rest of my life. Oh, my god." I dropped my head onto my father's knees and hugged them. I had just untied his hands, and they were free. He lifted a hand and ran it through my hair. He was comforting me.

"That's okay, son. We love you. Your mother and I love you, no matter what. You'll always be our little boy."

"Yeah, sure," I thought. If I'd come to them and told them I was gay, I would have been out of the house in a flash. How come straight people couldn't believe that someone might just be naturally gay? They either believed that it was an evil godless choice. (Because you were contrary and downright wicked.) Or that a fag converted you. Why, everybody knew that even the sight of a fag could turn a self-respecting straight man homosexual. That's why queers were so dangerous. Queers could make you queer. I figured that under all that straight macho posturing, there must be quite a few suppressed longings struggling to break free.

After that evening, I began driving to Foggstown after dinner every night. My father and mother didn't even ask me where I was going. They were afraid to ask. They didn't want to know. They didn't want to confront whatever I might be up to. Whatever I might be.

I now could find my way easily through the tangled rows of cheap metal housing at the trailer park. I could find my way easily to Bo's place. Night after night. The first time I knocked, he opened the door. He had a cigarette dangling from his lips, and a beer bottle in his hand. He was wearing a pair of threadbare jockey shorts. I could see his thick soft cock lumping through the tatters.

"Come on in," he invited me. "I thought I might be seeing you one of these days. Did you ever tell your parents you like cock?" he asked me, innocently, but with a sly gleam in his eye.

"No. But I had a visit from three guys who fucked me in front of their eyes. You wouldn't know anything about that, would you?"

"Me?" he asked in surprise. Still playing dumb.

I sat down on the bottom of the bed. He handed me a bottle of cold beer, after pulling the cap off with his teeth.

"It's a funny thing. Those guys were wearing masks, but they kind of reminded me of the three prisoners in that tape of yours."

"But those guys are in the pen," he protested.

"Are they still in the pen?"

"Absolutely. I'm takin' a sacred oath."

"That's so funny. I could have sworn it was them."

"Really?" he seemed very confused. "I'll have to ask around and see if anybody let 'em out for the night. Kind of gave 'em a little vacation, if they promised to come right back."

"Can someone do that?"

"I never heard of it, but who, the hell, knows? The world is a crazy place."

"It sure is," I agreed.

He dropped his torn shorts and climbed back on the creased sheets. He began to play with his lengthening, thickening endowment with one hand, and tickling his balls with the other, while puffing on his cigarette, no hands.

"If I'd a had somethin' to do with all that, you'd kind of owe me a debt of thanks, wouldn't you?"

"Yes," I said. I knew what he had in mind.

"Well, let's pretend that you owe me, just for the hell of it. Why don't you get up here and get your hot wet mouth around my big dick."

I crawled up and went down on him. It felt so good in my mouth again. Getting fucked by Al, and Chester, and Rodney had been great. But my parents watching me had been a little distraction. And besides, nobody had a cock like Bo.

When I got it all big, and stiff, and slimy, he started stripping me. He laid me face up on the crumpled linen, and knee-crawled into my ass. He used one hand to aim his hard dick. The long ash from his cigarette dropped off onto my chest, but it didn't burn me.

As he continued puffing, he started to yo-yo in and out of me. It was heaven. It got so good for him too, that he actually stubbed out his cigarette in an ashtray near the bed. And as he was fucking me, he began soul-kissing me. I savored his tobacco tasting tongue. It was almost as if we were lovers.

Now that I was out, I wanted to be completely honest. I decided to tell Marcy, and to break up with her. It was the only fair thing to do. I told her I had discovered that I was attracted to men, so it had nothing to do with her, but please not to tell anybody. She still must have felt hurt and rejected, because she told absolutely everybody. School became a total nightmare. I was bullied everywhere I went. They called me names, and started fights, and beat me up constantly. Five guys at a time would attack me. And the professors did nothing. They laughed. They thought it was great that I was getting beat up. I was a disgusting, unholy, perverted thing. I deserved it.

Everything worked out very well, though. When Clearwater College finally expelled me, my father was forced to send me to Harvard. I had very good grades, and I got accepted easily. Especially after I explained to the Admittance Board, how my life had been endangered in my previous school because I was homosexual, and that I needed asylum.

I ran for president of the Gay Students League. And I won. I am now a BMOC. Big Man on Campus. And here, even being a BGMOC—Big Gay Man on Campus is okay. I think my parents are secretly proud of me, though they don't say anything.

When I fly home for vacations, it's good to see my parents. It seems to me that they have mellowed somewhat. But on my first evening home, I always drive over to the trailer park in Foggsville, to get topped by Bo. That is still the single greatest joy in my life. It may always be.

Just before Christmas, I got my mother to teach me to make chocolate brownies. With walnuts. Every good gay man should be able to bake chocolate brownies with walnuts. I bought three beautiful cookie tins, and filled them with the brownies. I Christmas-wrapped them, and attached a little note to each. A Merry Christmas/Thank you note. I drove up to Foggsville State Prison and left one tin each for Al, Rodney, and Chester.

Dear __________,

Have a wonderful holiday season, and thank you so much for my fabulous new life out in the open. At last, I am free to be myself. I'm sure no one can appreciate the meaning of freedom more than you. When you get out of jail, please get in touch with me. Bo will know where I am. I would be delighted to get together with you again, for an encore of our fabulous evening together. Yours, sincerely,

And I signed my name and drew a little heart. On Chester's note, I wrote a little something extra, which I thought was cute. "P.S. And don't forget to bring Wimpy."