Coming Out

Coming out to your parents gives you permission to live the rest of your life. It starts in its entirety, in its fullness after you have uttered those 2 faithful words. "I'm gay." You're an adult. A big boy, in long pants. "I don't like girls, I like arse play. This is me, like it or leave it."

It gives your mum a chance to fall in love with your boyfriend and your father an opportunity to get to know his new son.

Unless, of course, if your parents are christian bigots, or homophobes, or fuckwhits, (Christians, fuckwhits, who can tell the difference, I ask you) then it gives you permission to walk away. Ditch the bitches. (for good, if necessary)

Having said that, from my experience, with all of my friends, all of our parents have accepted us being gay, they all eventually embrace it.

Lochie comes out to his father. "Dad, I am gay."

His father looks at him long and hard, (no doubt remembering the school mate he fiddled with, or that first year uni boy he got drunk with and had his first up the shit shoot experience) then says, "Same rules as your sister, no boys in your bedroom with the door closed." 

“Huh?” says Lochie. 

“Well.” Dad raises his hands in the air, as if for emphasis. “She isn’t allowed to play hide the sausage with any of her boyfriends she brings home, and, well, neither are you.”

“Dad.” Lochie couldn’t help but smile. He couldn’t help but feel Zane inside him from the night before. 

“Come here,” his dad says. He holds his arms wide. 

His dad hugs him. “I love you, mate.” His dad kisses him on the temple.