Well, here we are. College. This was the beginning of my reprieve from the close-mindedness associated with any small town. College was a place of solace, presenting me with new ideas, new perspectives, and, of course, new boys.
I remember sitting in class my freshman year, gazing at the frat boys, who all donned an amalgamation of the same outfit — Southern Tide polo or long-sleeved Vineyard Vines t-shirt, Chubbies, and the omnipresent Birkenstocks (I never understood the fascination). Though, I will admit. The preppy look was extremely sexy. Slap on a seersucker suit with reasonable dress shoes, and I’m yours.
My first year, there was an entire gaggle of frat boys in every class. When they actually contributed to the conversation, that made them even more attractive. Alas, I never rushed, but for a week or two, I considered it. I finally resigned myself to staying in the Honors bubble, which led to friendships I have to this day.
Freshman year was a year of firsts. It was my first time living somewhere other than Leachville, Arkansas. It was also the first full (and only) school year I was in a relationship. But not with a man. That’s right. By the time I started freshman year, I had just made the relationship with my girlfriend official.
I know what everyone’s thinking: How did an absolute faggot get in a relationship with a girl? I’m glad you asked. We met through theatre, performing in the stage version of Camp Rock (I was a Jonas Brother, by the way). Over the span of a year, we got to know each other, so by the time I started college, we were a couple weeks into an “official” relationship.
I’ve been asked time and time again if I was actually “attracted” to her. I cared for her, and she was one of my best friends. But I was not sexually attracted. I convinced myself that I was a straight man, and under the rules of the South, a straight man is required to seek out a girlfriend. That’s how the South works. It can fully strip someone of their core attributes — the same attributes that enrich life — shaping them into a replica of every other person walking around.
Do I regret being in a relationship with a woman? No. Have I chosen instead to appreciate that it happened? Yes. Why? Because it allowed me to grow. The relationship challenged me to place the needs of another before my own. It also made me appreciate myself so much more, knowing that someone else adored my quirks enough to invest in me. I even learned to verbalize my feelings. That’s the funny thing about being in a relationship with a woman. She’s always asking how the boyfriend feels about everything (and I mean everything), until the boyfriend learns he must discuss himself in detail to avoid any further conflict.
A typical conversation might go as thus:
Girlfriend: Did you have a good day?
Boyfriend: Yep.
Girlfriend: What did you do?
Boyfriend: Class mostly.
Girlfriend: Which classes?
Boyfriend: The usual ones.
Girlfriend: What did you discuss?
Boyfriend: Philosophy.
Girlfriend: And?
Boyfriend: And other stuff. I don’t know.
And this goes on for at least another hour, until either the boyfriend relents, handing out some juicy detail, or the girlfriend gives up. But the latter hardly ever happens.
In short, I was made better because of our relationship, and I’m glad we met. And that’s that.
That entire first year of college I remained in the closet, masturbating to attractive frat guys while simultaneously wondering why my hetero relationship hadn’t cured me. If I had a girlfriend, why hadn’t it all just gone away? I had proven myself desirable to a female. Wasn’t that what God had wanted all along?
Little did I know the next year would be the beginning of the end — the end of my identity as a “straight” man. And it would all come in the form of a study abroad trip.
Buckle up, dear reader. It’s about to get interesting.
