Every story should have a beginning, but at what point of awareness that should be I don't know - an early fascination with fetish imagery and the works of photographers like the late Bob Carlos Clark and the celebration of women as being something more than sex objects perhaps - or continued feelings of rejection, guilt and loss as yet another relationship crumbled and died and me directing the anger back at myself and retreating once again behind an impenetrable wall of my own making - I don't really know and I don't really think that endless analysing the past will help but then as someone who has worked in mental health, studied psychology and undergone various sorts of counselling it's sort of second nature to try to pick things into little bits and have a nice neat box for each.
So anyway, back to the story, about 5 years ago I was getting very very angry at work, coming to terms with a long-term but minor health condition (hypertension) and feeling like a misfit in normal life I entered into some existential counselling which in turn fired a sort of search to find out who I really am and to understand my sexuality. This is a search that is still going on and will probably last for the rest of my days.
But then something quite extraordinary, wonderful and exciting has happened - very suddenly and I have become friends with someone who has been on a similar search.
This is going to be the story of my attempt to find myself, accept who and what I am and then - to put it bluntly - fuck the mainstream and live by my rules not those that others try to impose.
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