Nature or Nurture

I was born gay, I have no doubt. I was always same sex attracted, even as a kid. With my cousins down the beach, it was always the boys I was attracted to.

I used to paw over my mum's women's magazines looking for the men's underpants ads, you know, when I was four, five, six.

At kindergarten, I used to get Steven Roth to drop his pants, in his tree house, so I could look at his penis. He was blond and cute and I reckon I had a crush on him. So what was I, five.

I remember being fascinated with the boys legs in assembly in grade 2/3, so I was eight, nine

I used to get very excited going to my dad's cricket club changing room after the match, nine onwards

I had sex for the first time with Nathan Miller in Grade 5, eleven.

All of my friends think they were born gay. Some of them had girlfriends who they feel they were pressured into having by society. So did I. It was a different time.

A young gay friend of mine says that he never ever had any thought that he might be with a woman, that kind of attraction has always been blank, nothing, to him. "Like knowing what it is like to live in Cuba."

I tried to conform, I had a girlfriend for a number of years. We're still great friends. I loved her, I so wanted to be different. I think that's the bit I object to the most, society pushes you into the hetro box, unthinkingly, uncaringly. Imagine how different our experience would be if being gay wasn't an issue. The authenic growing-up-gay experience. Can you imagine?

"Hey, mum & dad," blush, quick glance, (in my case), "this is Alex."

"Lovely to meet you Alex," says mum.

"Great to meet you son," says dad. His hand held out straight in front of him ready to shake.

"Mr and Mrs Fletcher, the pleasure is all mine," says Alex - always every mother's dream son.

We be sat next to each other at dinner. We'd be able to sneak touches under the table when nobody was looking.

I guess it's changing now. I guess it's all relative – thank the universe we didn't grow up in the 50's. You know, get taken down the back paddock and have a hot poker shoved up your arse for your difference, or beaten up, or whatever.