I had just buried my first lover. I had had moments of great beauty with Eric but now he was
gone. I was crying though he had told me not to be sad. In my pocket was his final letter to
me which I was forbidden to open until the day after his funeral. I turned it over and over in
my hand, impatient to know what he had to say. Honour and my love for him mean that I
must wait until tomorrow.
It had taken a long time for me to come out and accept who I am. As a teenager I knew I was
not attracted to girls but I also knew that I loved being with them, loved to talk about fashion
and make up and girly things. When I left schools and looked for work I also knew that I was
not after fame or wealth or power. I wanted to be a carer. I was engaged as a care assistant at
an old people’s home. I was a solitary man in a workforce of women and I adored their
company. I adore women even though I am not sexually attracted to them. I didn’t have a
sense of being gay although all the signs were there. Then I met Eric.
Eric was a new resident at the home, a single man in his early seventies. It had been
suggested to me that he was gay and the thought had crossed my mind too as I bathed him
