When I transferred to Chapman for my second year of college, I came out to my teammates there more quickly than at Villanova, and was greeted with the same response: nothing but love. Everyone was supportive and later on in the year two of my other teammates ended up coming out as well. I started by telling my small group of close swim friends and then let the word spread to the rest of the team. As much as I tried to hide my boyfriend during freshman year from my teammates, it was inevitable they were going to find out. My freshman year of college at Villanova, I told myself, “it's four years, just fake it” because now that I was a Division I swimmer I really thought I couldn’t be out. I was afraid of telling my teammates that I was gay because I feared they would look at me differently or my guy friends would distance themselves. At the same time swim practice meant lying to my coach and teammates - the people I called my family. I would consistently use training as an excuse to not date. I dated a few girls, but never anything too serious. Swimming was my outlet, my distraction and my excuse. On top of everything else I was a competitive swimmer, a sport known for being “more gay” because my uniform was a tiny piece of fabric just large enough to cover “my stuff” and I went to a private, Catholic high school.
High school was four years of confusion, depression, anxiety and all other emotions you feel when you’re hiding who you are every day. I was always good at hiding my emotions and pushing my feelings deep inside, so I had no problem hiding that I was gay until high school. A difference that was hard to comprehend because I grew up being taught that men were essentially programmed to marry women and that is how the world works. I always knew there was something different about me from my friends. Growing up in Trabuco Canyon, in Orange County, Calif., going to church on Sunday and having chapel twice a week at my elementary and middle school definitely was a challenge. He went there hoping to swim, but an injury cut short his career.īefore we tell you the story of how two gay swimmers helped each other come out, we want to share some background about each of us. Josh Velasquez attends the University of Arizona.
We wanted to share our stories.Īxel Reed, will graduate this spring from Chapman University in Orange County, Calif., where he was a swimmer. We don’t know where each of us would be without the other. We came out to each other via text, and our bond and friendship has only grown. So I do.We’re two swimmers and best friends, both in college, who happen to be gay. If they don’t, then may stern justice prevail over mercy.Īs for me, I remain straight to this day, though I occasionally spice up my sex life with homosexual encounters. Life is messy, but I had to pick myself up from the dirt and live. If perceptions diverge, then these distinctions should be acknowledged in educating young males about their gender privilege. I would like to merely question the perceptions of penetration upon male and female bodies, and also upon white and colored bodies. I share my experience not to challenge the authenticity of rape traumas or condone the atrocity of perpetrators. The global obsession with chastity seems driven not only by evolutionary biology of genital infections and paternal uncertainty, but by the patriarchal structures that sought to ensure male domination over female bodies. In contrast to Dionysian Greeks, Christians espoused sacrosanctity of the body and paranoia over organs of pleasure, while also preaching confession and forgiveness. I don’t think the ancient Greek philosophers and Japanese samurais who were anally penetrated as boys developed lasting psychological traumas. But I suspect that the intensity of psychological distress may be culturally amplified. I don’t presume to know what it feels like to dwell in a woman’s body and psyche. I did not go through the gauntlet of sterilizing medical and legal procedures. I returned to the Mother Teresa House the next day. The world is not all roses, and the crooked timber of humanity will deflower you if opportunities arise. Curled in a ball and still high, I passed out.įor whatever reason, I haven’t been scathed. I shared what had transpired with fellow Americans at the hostel, and they sympathized by offering more weed.