A lot of things in my family changed right after I was born. They used to move houses a lot and yet I lived at the same place for more than twenty years. They used to be rather united and now I haven’t seen my father in almost two years and my cousins in five. They used to be an all-straight family and now… Funny thing though, I have never blamed myself or anyone for that matter, I just take it as life happening.

From a very young age I’ve always known that some things are just not meant for me. I’m okay with most of them, but others used to hurt. I have never been a party guy, so knowing I would never be able to have a boyfriend over so we could spend the weekend just playing videogames and listening to music was one of those others.

It’s not that I have never taken any men to my house. I did. Two of them, if I’m not mistaken. The very first guy I’ve ever had sex with and another one who was supposed to be a boyfriend. I think I should explain the ‘supposed’ part.

I’m not fussy at all when it comes to sex. For fuck’s sake, you’re sticking your dick up inside an asshole. You’re the intruder, not the forming shit. For that reason, I never bothered the occasional paint jobs. But this guy… seriously… I couldn’t even breathe, I was almost puking on my own bed. So no. Had to go. Next.

But that was really in the beginning. I’m talking here the first three months of my sex life. I never took anyone home again. It was rich having my mother complain that I was always going to a guy’s place when I could never be the one hosting. It makes it really difficult to claim you’re a homey when you can’t actually spend any time at yours.

The long-term effect was that I was gradually losing my sense of identity. I couldn’t not be gay, but being gay required me to go out all the time, which meant I was never truly happy when outside because I longed for some bedroom time and I was never truly happy when I was at home because it meant I had to spend that time alone.

John had once taken me to another bus stop near my house and, when I sneaked in to grab a few clothes when living with Alex, he had stayed at a square a few blocks away. That resulted in me being terrified of ever letting any of my other boyfriends getting anywhere near my place. I felt the house was jinxed.

My throwing out process was long and painful. And I say ‘throwing out’ because I never had the chance to come out to anyone. My mother jumped ahead of me at multiple occasions and if anyone in the family knows I’m gay, it’s because she told them.

I’ll go easy on her here for one simple reason. Yes, it pissed me the fuck off that it was my life to tell, not hers, but honestly, I wouldn’t tell any of those people. I never thought I had to anyway. Ask yourself this question and answer it truthfully, what really can change in your life from learning a relative is gay?

Still, when she told my father I was angry as shit.

My parents got divorced when I was eighteen months old and my father had never been really present. I went through all the stages of a neglected son. I cried when I was four asking God what had I done that my father didn’t like me. I was the arrogant and sarcastic teenager who drove him crazy. When his mother died when I was nineteen, he asked me for forgiveness. I forgave him. I worked within myself to guarantee no hard feelings could remain. I achieved it considerably fast to a weird realisation. I had never had a relationship with my father and at the age of nineteen you are a grown-ass man already, at least in terms of your beliefs and ways. My father is the typical poor straight man whose biggest joy in life is buying roast chicken at the bakery for Sunday lunch and watching the soccer match on TV after his religious nap. There were no bonds between us, nothing in common that could ever spark anything. In the end, I saw that, after resolving all the bad feelings I had for him, I had no feelings left at all.

I was at a motel room with Cooper when my father called me. I panicked. The only reason I could ever conceive for him calling me was a death in the family. I proceeded to hear the old man cry on the phone for over one hour, promising he would be a decent father from then on and that nothing changed for him if his son was gay or not.

For fuck’s sake! Can’t I fuck in peace? I still couldn’t, though. I was too angry, so I had to talk to the person who had caused it.

‘Tell me. Just tell me’ I fumed on the phone after my mother had said hello. ‘What did you gain by telling him?’

‘You never did! I waited for three years for you to tell him! He’s your father, he deserves to know.’

‘Answer that question again and this time tell me the truth.’

‘It’s still too hard to digest by myself. He’s the other parent. It’s not fair that I carry this cross alone.’

‘And is he helping you carrying this cross?’

‘No.’

‘So, what did you gain by telling him?’

‘Nothing.’

‘So now you’re bad as ever with the extra disappointment.’

‘Yes. I don’t know. I guess I hoped he would do something about it.’

‘What could he have possibly done? What do you think he could say to me now that would make me follow his words? I’m twenty-two already. I’ve got my own job, I get my own things done by myself. His opinions didn’t matter when they should, how can you honestly believe they would now?’

I hang up and Cooper came to cuddle. I was held tight in his arms. I didn’t feel loved. Still, my mother would go through the same situation with my sister, her brother, and a very dear aunt we have. None of them backed her up.

It was a weird conversation the one I had with my uncle, her brother. He is the one who taught me people are entitled to their privacy. We were in his car, I was helping him with a service.

‘Ralph, there are two things I always told my children I would never admit from them: homosexuality and drugs. I will ask this only once and I want an honest answer: do you do drugs?’

‘No.’

And that was the end of that talk.

Some things went wrong in a lot of lives in the beginning of 2013 and my uncle was living at my mother’s house. That was something great, because he was of paramount help when I moved in with Oliver. With his car he moved almost everything I had. Sure, it took a few trips, but the houses were only five kilometres away from one another, so it was fine.

I did need all the help I could get and obviously Oliver didn’t hesitate for a second and wouldn’t even let me say anything when he stated he was helping. I did hesitate, though. A lot. After all, I still considered the house jinxed and I was terrified to even have him near it. And he was entering it to help me move! Of course I was panicking!

‘Ralph. I’m not going to your house. I’m helping you get your things to take them to our home, my love.’

Thank Cher for all the sense that man makes.

I already had my most precious things in boxes: my collections. I still needed to pack clothes and appliances and we had to find a way to get the only three pieces of furniture I owned (a small wardrobe, a comfy chair that unfolded into a single mattress, and my computer desk which I have since 1997). Before leaving for the first trip, I decided to check the whole house for forgotten things. I didn’t want to waste any time before the other journeys. I wanted them to be smooth, so we would be able to just come back to the old house and load the car.

My room was almost empty. I checked the large living room, the kitchen, bathroom, back room, and back area. There were occasional objects I only remembered because I saw them. I went to check my mother’s room and say goodbye, but couldn’t. She had locked herself in her room in order to not even lay her eyes on Oliver. I could feel a tear going down my cheek and wiped it before Oliver could see it. I don’t think I was fast enough, though. He grabbed me by my shoulder, steered me away, said goodbye to my grandmother and made me leave the house.

We had his best friend do for us the same favour we got from my uncle, this time collecting things from his place. I stayed outside. I meant it when I said I wasn’t going back there. He took his clothes, his TV, videogame, and a few books. We were given a bed with mattress and his friend also helped us take it to our flat. It was always written on his face how happy for and proud of his friend he was and I couldn’t help it but like him a lot, too.

Remember that dear aunt I said we have? She helped us get the flat and also helped us buy a fridge, a stove, and a washer. I couldn’t wait for the delivery. That place would finally look a little like a home. When my mother and my grandmother left the house less than a fortnight later, my grandmother decided they were not taking the large couch, the living room table or the microwave, so she insisted I take them. I loved how she always found ways to take care of me and, seeing me so low and without having money, she did what she could to make my flat a liveable place.

In the end I fell in love with my living room. The walls were green and the place was small, but I placed the couch facing the TV rack, which was next to my clever shelf with my collections. On the other end was the dining table, a simple but gorgeous thick glass rectangle on top of a wooden base. It looked very comfortable and I loved spending time there with Oliver, especially after we got the internet installed.

We did the first moving from my mother’s house one day after we got the keys to our place. I had insisted on spending the night with him there. Yes, I knew it was uncomfortable, we still didn’t have power or furniture or a working flush. I had bought an inflatable mattress, a bucket, two cups, a pizza, several snacks, a large soda bottle, and a bug repellent, so we were set for the night. It was like camping at our own house.

That night we made love on that horrible mattress. We could barely move so it was just a smooth missionary. There were no position changes, no hanky panky, no kinks at all. I could tell he hadn’t enjoyed much because of all the terrible conditions we were at and he was disappointed he hadn’t been able to give me a better time. He was shocked to see the smile on my face.

‘What happened?’ He asked with a raised eyebrow.

‘So that’s what it’s like to have sex with feelings. I was waiting my whole life for this. This is the best sex I have ever had.’

‘You’re joking, right?’

I wasn’t. I had never been so serious in my life.