Through the blinding pain searing my head I could barely begin to make out a greyness where the light began. I slowly crawled up
towards it. As consciousness returned and the fire in my head intensified, I remembered and cried out, not in pain but in a deep
agony of disappointment and despair. I was still alive. Against all intent, I was still alive.

This was the second time in two weeks I had tried the combination of pills and alcohol to end what I thought was an impossible,
doomed life. It was the second time I had failed. I was just 24 years old.

When I was a boy, around 9 or 10 years old, I remember having a fascination for other boys. I didn't know what it meant, but I
realized even then that it made me different. I knew that it must be a secret. By the time I turned 11, thanks to the help of a friend
only a couple of years older, I knew what the secret was. Sex became an obsession with me by the time I was 12. I loved looking
at and being with boys. I soon realized that younger boys were my main interest.

I shortly made a startling discovery. Sex was nice, but there was something more - more powerful, more wonderful, and far more
important. A good friend of mine, maybe one or two years younger had taken to staying at my place sometimes on the weekends.
As young boys do, we frequently played fumbling, inexpert sex games. I remember being shocked one night to realize I wanted to
put my arms around him, caress him, kiss him. I never did. For the next few months I thought about my friend constantly. I was in
love for the first time.

This was a much bigger secret! Around the same time, my father, a fundamentalist Baptist minister, began an anti-gay crusade. I
heard the word homosexual for the first time and knew I was one. I piled up huge amounts of shame, guilt and fear. Discovering
love for the first time, I discovered self revulsion. Not that I stopped pursuing love or even sex!

No, I was a normal teenager in that respect, a big bundle of hormones and libido. I found love as a teen in two relationships with
young boys. One lasted for several years and eventually brought me to the brink of self destruction that opened my story. How I
loved Sean! A beautiful blond, sensual, affectionate boy. I first met him when I was 14 and he was 7. I last saw him when I was
21, 10 years ago. I miss him, but know he still cares for me, at least in some way. If he didn't, I wouldn't be free now to tell this
story.

As an adolescent in a deeply religious home, I had a very hard time dealing with sexuality and gender issues. For three years I
lived in terror of Hell and God's condemnation. At 16, I finally broke the chains of religion, becoming free to view Christianity in
the light of history. I became not an atheist, but an agnostic. God no longer had the power to terrify me.

Questions of gender, though, still bothered me. I had unknowingly bought into the idea that queer men are somehow naturally
effeminate and weak. To prove to myself that I was not these things, I joined the Marine Corps Reserve after high school. I did
well in basic training and returned home for college. I loved the military! It fulfilled all my romantic ideals of brotherhood,
comradery and dedication to a cause.

I liked it so much I joined the Air Force after college. I was sent to a total immersion Russian language school for a year and then
to Berlin to work as an interpreter. I excelled. I was promoted rapidly and given jobs with increasing difficulty and responsibility.
After a couple of years, it all collapsed. Sean's parents, it seemed, had learned about our relationship and reported me to their local
authorities, who in turn informed the military. I was summoned one morning to the local military investigative offices and ushered
into a hot, tiny room. After training a spotlight on my face, two men took turns questioning me:

"We know you committed sodomy with Sean X when he was 15."
"So, how long have you been queer?"
"Tell us now which boys you've molested here. Make it easy on yourself."

The blood drained from my face; I couldn't breathe. My breakfast rose into my throat as I struggled not to vomit. I could not have
possibly been more shocked. I hadn't seen Sean in almost 4 years! We hadn't really managed to stay in touch. After all, I was half
a world away.

The questioning ended after 8 or 9 hours and I was allowed to return home. Because of my rank I was given the liberty of no
pre-trial confinement, but my security clearance and job were taken from me. My friends all soon learned the story behind what
was happening and I became a pariah. My lawyer told me I faced 20 years in a military prison.

Two of my friends remained loyal to me. I was already out to them as being gay. They didn't care about the charges. They only
cared about helping me. When I fled, I lost them. It is my deepest regret after all these years that I don't know how to contact
them, let them know I'm all right, and thank them. Mark was like a brother to me. We loved one another. Mike was my best
friend. I miss them.

But I'm getting ahead of myself. As the date for my trial neared, I became more and more desperate. I was terrified of prison. I
was small, blond and rather attractive. I knew I'd be raped. What really horrified me, though, was knowing I was doomed to live a
life without love. I was cursed by a sexual orientation that made a loving relationship impossible. So, I tried to kill myself. I thought
that not existing at all would be better than living as a boy lover. How wrong I was!

I tried a combination of sleeping pills and rum. No luck. A week later I tripled the dose. I thank whomever needs to be thanked
that I vomited up most of the pills. I certainly had swallowed a lethal measure. I told Mike about what had happened and he talked
me into running away. "Fuck the Air Force," he said. "You are not a bad person. Fly far away. Don't tell me where."

So I did. I cut all ties to my former life. I had no contact with my family for six years. I traveled for a while before finally settling
in New York City. I learned to sell my body for cash and to cut myself off from human emotions. I became cold and mentally
ugly.

Then I met Lenny, a man much older than me. He gave me a place to stay and taught me to love him. It was a long process, but
he helped me win my humanity back. I got a real job, then another and began to make a decent living. I didn't tell Lenny my story,
however. I was in deep denial of my boy love. I was determined to be a happy, functional gay man. I had sex with many young
men and pretended it was all I needed. I had a brief affair with a man who became my good friend. Roy did a lot to bring me
back. If it hadn't been for him and Lenny I probably would still be running. They both knew something was wrong, but didn't press
me for answers.

One morning, almost exactly a year ago, the Air Force finally found me. They picked me up on my way to work and came and
searched Lenny's and my home. I was then driven to a military jail many hours from New York. Conditions there were terrible,
but I now had the strength to handle it. Lenny was a rock and Roy wrote letter after letter. To my great surprise and joy, my
father became my biggest advocate. It turned out, of course, that he had been searching for me all the years I was gone. Our first
telephone conversation was one I'll never forget. I had to force back the tears when he told me he loved me and always would.
What an idiot I had been!

He was the one who first delivered the news that Sean refused to testify against me. Without his testimony, the government had
no case! My nightmare wasn't over, but I knew I faced many months in prison, not many years.

It was at that point that I began to accept being a boy lover. I spent seven months locked up. On my release I returned to Lenny
and established a close relationship with my family. Roy helped me understand that boy love is not evil, does not make me a
horrible person. I started a computer consulting business, which has really taken off. I'm doing well emotionally, physically and
financially.

But I can't forget the 6 years I spent hiding, terrified and hating myself. How many more are out there like me? Too many, I'm
sure. How many will succeed in taking their own lives? I have made a very difficult decision. I am going to become a boy love
advocate and activist. I have already explored many of the resources available on the Internet and will continue to do so. I will
take my time networking with activists all over the world and figure out where and how I will be able to contribute.

I am convinced that inter-generational love is not wrong. I must help spread that message. I realize it would be easier to sink into
obscurity and perhaps find a beautiful, satisfying relationship with a boy. I know by becoming an activist, the possibility of that
relationship becomes very remote indeed. I will, nevertheless, do what must be done. I came so close to losing myself, I feel
almost as if I'm living on time that is not my own. I can do no less.
 

Jim

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