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Something happened to me not long ago that altered my life. I am not a gay man. I have never liked gay men. I could never imagine how a man could be sexually attracted to another man. It's unnatural. I always believed that it surely must be against God's will.

When my son, Mike, moved into his dorm room at college during his Freshman year, his mother and I visited him to make sure he was comfortable and that all arrangements were satisfactory. We met his roommate, Tom. He seemed very nice, and I was glad that Mike had him for a roommate. We visited Mike several times later and I always had this strange feeling that I hoped Tom would always be there in the room when we walked in. My wife greeted Tom with a hug and, although it's not like me normally, I also was somehow drawn to give Tom a hug. Tom never tried to break away from my hugs. I was always afraid that, as we pressed our bodies together, he would feel my boner throbbing in my pants. On several of those occasions, I thought I felt a hardness in Tom's pants. But I was sure that couldn't be. As I lay in bed each night, I found it difficult to go to sleep. There was something about Tom. The feel of him in my arms stayed with me. When I hugged him, my cheek always brushed against his own young smooth cheek. I often lay there pounding my pillow, hating the thoughts I had. I was sure that only queers would have those kinds of feelings. But I wanted more than anything to touch his cheek again and feel his body in my arms. But I hated myself for those evil thoughts---those ungodly, dirty thoughts.

We had Mike and Tom at our home several times on weekends. I did my best always to be friendly, but I tried to avoid looking at him. Whenever I did look at him, I could see him looking at me. Sometimes I imagined that the looks he had on his face were looks of desire. But I was sure that those looks were looks of disdain. He knew. I was sure he knew of the dirty thoughts I had in my mind. Oh, how humiliated I felt. Mike's own father having queer dirty thoughts about his roommate. One night when I went to bed, I was so distraught that I blurted aloud, "I'm not a fucking fagot!" My wife asked me what was the matter and I just said I must have been dreaming. I thought over and over how disgusted Mike would be if he knew the thoughts that his own dad had for his roommate. I would solve the problem. I simply would not be home when Tom was around. I would have an excuse that I had to work or I had an appointment somewhere. That would solve it . . . but it didn't.

I couldn't escape. One weekend when Mike brought Tom home, Tom was in shorts and a short-sleeved shirt unbuttoned all the way down. I felt the blood rush to my head when I saw his smooth firm chest. I would have given anything at that moment to be able to grab him and run my tongue over that smooth chest. For some reason, I suddenly pulled my collar together to cover the mat of hair poking up from my own chest. I don't know why I did that. For some reason, I thought he might not like a hairy chest. But why should I have cared? But I did. It was just one more thing that distressed me. I could see him looking at my chest hair before I covered it up, and I knew he must have hated to see a man with a hairy chest.

I had always been very close to my mom and dad. When they both died on the same day, I was so distraught for so long, I sought the advice and counsel of Brian, an old friend who was a psychological therapist. When Brian and I were children, we would play around and jack-off together after school. We talked about sex a lot, but we told each other how much we hated queers. He was an enormous help to me later as a therapist in getting me to accept my parents' death. We had been so close and had shared so many confidences, I was sure he could help me in the current problem I was facing.

I was very nervous, but after some initial small talk, I came right out with it and told him of those terribly disturbing thoughts I had been having for my son's roommate. To my surprise, Brian was very calm and understanding. He told me he understood exactly how I felt and advised me to come to terms with it.

Brian asked me if I remembered when we jacked off together as kids. "We enjoyed it, didn't we?"

"Of course," I said.

Then he said, "And would it surprise you to know that it turned me on, doing it with you?

"It did?" I said, as I gulped.

"It sure did, Jef," said Brian. "And I'm not ashamed to tell you that I would like to do that again with you?"

I could feel my face becoming hot and flushed as I said, "You would?"

"Come on, Jef. Would you be adverse to doing it again with me?"

"Well . . . no." I said. "But we're adults now . . . and I'm married and have two sons."

"What does that have to do with how you feel, Jef," Brian said as he got up and walked toward the sofa in his office. "Come on over here and sit with me. Let's do it right now . . . for old time's sake."

Before we sat down on the sofa, Brian pulled down his pants to his knees. When I looked at his hard penis, I became hard immediately. I couldn't believe what was happening to me. He was just another man. It wasn't as though I was staring at a hot, wet pussy. It was Brian's throbbing hard penis. And it excited me.

"Come on, pull 'em down," Brian said. "That's it. Now we can just act like we're having the same fun we used to have."

Brian reached over and took hold of my penis and began stroking it. His strong hand felt so wonderful as he stroked it. "Okay, Jef, go ahead and jack me off, too, while I'm doing it to you."

I found myself feeling perfectly comfortable sitting there with him, and it excited me to be holding his penis.

I went back to his office several times, and I began to enjoy our masturbation sessions immensely. I even came to love the feel of his cum as it spurted onto my hand. And several times, at Brian's urging, I tasted it. And I liked it. Eventually, one day, he leaned over and took my penis into his mouth and gave me one of the most powerful orgasms I'd ever had. And it was not long before he coaxed me to do the same to him.

On one of my visits, I said, "I'm not a gay man, Brian. I just don't know what's wrong with me."

"You enjoyed what we've been doing, didn't you?"

"Of course," I said. "I loved it and looked forward to coming here every day. But it scares me. I lie in bed at night and masturbate, thinking that it's Tom's hand on my penis, or even his mouth. Then sometimes, I imagine that I'm jacking off Tom's penis instead of mine. I hug my pillow tightly, imagining that it's his body."

"Jef, you came to me for advice," Brian said, "and you've now got to face up to your feelings. From what you tell me, Tom's not going away. He's going to be around a lot for a long time. You can't hold it all in. Somehow, you've got to give him at least a hint of how you feel. We don't know how Tom will feel about it, but it's time you found out. You can't go on like this forever."

I still could not believe that I could have any sexual attraction to another man. It was such a dirty thought to me. But as much as I denied it to myself, the feelings were there for Tom, and on top of that, I was terribly sexually aroused by the things that Brian and I had been doing.

"Brian," I said with my voice shaking, "What if I find that I really am gay?"

"You don't have to put a label on how you feel, Jef," said Brian, "You don't put a label on all the other things you feel in your life. There's no point in getting yourself all in a knot over this feeling you have for Tom. You're still the same person you ever were . . . a loving husband and father. What you and I have been doing on your visits here, and the feelings you have for Tom doesn't change any of that. It's just another of life's pleasures that you've discovered. Don't tear yourself up over it. Continue to enjoy looking at Tom and keeping him in your jack-off fantasies. If somehow you find he feels the same way about you, so be it. Enjoy what comes into your life, Jef. Don't fight it and don't label yourself as something that you imagine to be abhorrent.

During Spring Vacation, Mike invited Tom to spend the week at our house. I toyed with the idea of arranging a business trip out of town. But I remembered what Brian had told me. Don't run away from it. Anyway, I couldn't stand the thought of Tom staying and sleeping in my house without my being there. I was so confused and I tried not to hate myself for the longings I had for Tom. But how could I possibly let him know how I felt about him. And what if Mike found out how I felt? Oh, God, I didn't know how I was going to live through that week. I wanted to be alone in the house with Tom, but at the same time I was scared of what would happen if I suddenly found myself alone with him. I could easily make a fucking fool of myself. And then Tom would be disgusted with me and tell everyone. Oh, God! What was I to do. Brian had told me to somehow give Tom a hint of how I felt, and let the chips fall where they may.

The time did come, though, on the third day of their visit, when Mike and his mother were going to be away from the house for several hours. Mike left the house about nine o'clock in the morning. I walked by Tom's door. He was just getting up, and I said good morning. He very cheerfully, and in such a friendly manner, returned the greeting. He told me that he was going to take a shower. And I said I would be working at the computer and that he should let me know if there was anything he needed.

I sat at my computer, trying to work, but doing nothing. The picture of Tom standing naked in the shower filled my mind. I wondered if he was getting his body all lathered up and masturbating in the shower. It was always one of my favorite places to jack-off. We were alone in the house, and I still had no idea how I was going to give Tom that hint that Brian told me I had to give. It was not long when I heard Tom at the door behind me, saying, "What's going on?" I turned in my chair and saw him standing there, wearing only a towel. I instinctively ran my eyes over his whole body . . . his smooth hairless chest, the ridges of muscle in his stomach, and just a hint of pubic hair showing above the top edge of the towel. The towel came to just above his knees, and the graceful shape of his legs, covered with just a light dusting of soft hair, put a lump in my throat. There was a slight bulge in the towel, and I knew his penis must have been at least semi-hard. I could see that he was making a vain effort to hide it by holding his hands down in front of him.

I asked him to sit down, and as he did so, the towel rode up and I tried not to be obvious as I tried to see under it. I still didn't know what to say, but I knew that that would be my only chance. I put my hand on his forearm . . . that smooth young skin of his . . . and rubbed it slightly. I wanted to say something, but the words just wouldn't come to me. All that came out of my mouth was "Tom, you'd better go and get dressed. No telling when somebody might come home." The second it came out, I regretted it. 'Oh shit,' I thought. 'Why did I say such a stupid fucking thing!' I squeezed his arm again, hoping he wouldn't go. Tom said nothing. The smile disappeared from his face and he got up and started for the door. That's when I took hold of his upper arm again and squeezed it and smiled at him. I hoped it would make him stay, but he didn't.

As I watched Tom leave the room, I sat down. I never felt so terrible in my life. I let the only opportunity I had to let my feelings known slip away by saying something stupid. But I hoped that perhaps my touching Tom may have given him the hint that Brian had advised me to give him. But I got no sign from Tom that he understood. He just left without a word. Maybe he did understand and hated me for it.

For the rest of that week, Tom and I were very friendly with each other, and it seemed clear that he had not felt badly of me for touching him. We still hugged each other, and we became just plain good friends. He even called me 'Jef,' as though we were contemporaries. On many occasions after that, we spent a good deal of time alone together, playing racket ball and going out to drink beer. On one of those occasions, I told Tom that I liked him very much and that I liked being with him. He told me that he liked me very much, also, and that he considered us the best of friends. As we would sit across the table drinking beer, I no longer felt any inhibitions about my touching his hand or his arm as we talked. And he did the same.

After our racket ball sessions at the gym, we always showered together. I enjoyed looking at Tom's naked body, and I didn't hide the fact from him. He couldn't help but see me looking. And I'd noticed that he made no attempt to hide his interest in my body. One time, he even told me that he wished he had as much hair on his body as I did.

We were indeed very close friends. I no longer fretted over labels, as Brian advised. I never thought about being gay or about not being gay. All I knew was that I loved Tom very much, even beyond my mere sexual attraction to him, and only hoped that he loved me as much. I often thought that he did. But it didn't matter. We were friends. And what might happen or not happen beyond that as time would invariably pass . . . well, we'd just have to take one day at a time, take what came as part of the rich friendship we shared. No matter what the future held, we would always be the best of friends.