Who turned me gay?

The earliest memory I have of my sexuality is from when I was maybe 7 years old. My foster mom had dropped me off with the sitter so that her and her best friend could go on a shopping trip. I imagine my mom and her friend hadn’t even made it to the end of the block before my babysitter’s boyfriend had shown up at the front door. She let him in and they walked to the back of the house towards the bedroom, where they disappeared for a few minutes. When she re-emerged she was wearing a bathrobe. When I asked her why ,  I remember she’d told me it was because she was about to take a bath to get rid of her headache.

mmmmhhhhmmmm headache, rrriiiigghhhhhtttt.

She’d told me that I needed to be really quiet and not come and knock on the door because it would hurt her head too much. I can remember feeling so sorry for her and wanting her to feel better so after she went back into the room in the back of the house, I made sure to be as quiet as I could. That was until I heard weird sounds coming from the room.

It sounded like someone was crying so I quietly crept down the hallway and opened the door to check on her. I looked into the barely lit rom and couldn’t make out anything. I walked up to the side of the bed and called her name as I got closer. The light on the side of the bed flicked on so fast I’d had to shield my eyes, but not before I got a glimpse of her boyfriend’s special spot. I wasn’t sure at that time what I was looking at but I knew I had never seen anything like it before, growing up around a bunch of women.

Fast forward….

It was a Saturday afternoon and my Mom had fallen asleep on the couch watching old western’s as she did most Saturday’s. After climbing on top of the kitchen counter to make myself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich I went back to my room to play with the mountain of toys my mom had told me to put away hours before. I was in the middle of an episode of an M.C. Hammer cartoon called Hammerman when I decided to pull out my favorite doll, a black life sized doll.

As an only child I had a huge assortment of toys lying all around my room, but what made this doll special to me was that she could walk. I played with this doll so much her hair was matted and she was always wearing mismatched outfits because I had either cut up or lost so many of her clothes. Growing up black if you lost the clothes the doll came with you’d be playing with a naked doll from then on.

I don’t know what it was on this day that clicked in my brain, but suddenly I was interested in the lumps on her chest. I remembered the weird thing hanging between the man’s legs from a few weeks before and I wanted to know what it was. My life sized doll wasn’t wearing many clothes but my 7 year old self took the rest of them off. Alone in my room, I pulled my clothes down to compare myself to the doll. We matched (duh.) Now that we were both naked, I wondered what was happening in the bedroom at the baby sitter’s house that made her make such strange sounds? Trying to recreate the scene, I put the doll in my bed and we got under the covers naked together. When I had walked in the room on them, the man had been on top of my sitter, so I placed the naked doll on top of myself. I was so confused. What was supposed to be happening? Confused. I decided to give up but I didn’t want to get dressed again. Instead, I lay there naked and rubbing on the chest knots of my doll. It eventually got to the point where I could only fall asleep at night if the naked doll was in bed next to me.

Long story short, if I had to assign a responsible party to my homosexuality, it would be this fine bitch here… (Couldn’t find the exact doll online but this chick is close.)

My first live in girlfriend!


Don’t judge me, you don’t know my life!

Until next time…

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