Maybe

           I am an anthropologist named Frank and I've decided to embark on an African journey. Had to get a lot of vaccines at the local clinic before I left.   Things like cholora and hepatitis A. Usual. My wife, Sue, and my son and daughters: Mary, Tom, and Drick are always supportive. This trip is different from previous trips since I've studied more civilized places like England, but my research showed those places were not always as civilized as people think them to be, but neither is America, my home. People don't realize the idiosyncrasies of their own nations because it is their own nation. Things like why are there boys sections in toy stores and girl sections in toy stores? Why can't a boy have a doll house or a doll? Why are there different bathrooms for boys and girls? Why don't we eat dogs when we spend all this money to take care of them? Doesn't make sense. Why do we waste all this food when people in other nations are starving? See, we're not as clean as we think ourselves to be? British people sometimes beat their wife's or their children, but so do Americans. But Africa is a whole different ball park. I've had to spend time learning about African history. Some Africans speak French, some English, and some have their own language. Thank God for Google Translate, right? But even it doesn't have all the translations. Certain words can't be easily translated since there are cultural differences. For example, how would a Jew explain Chuspa or Oy Veh to a gentile? They couldn't. There's no English word for theses phrases. Or how to explain to a foreigner the difference between house and home, goy and gentile, mouse and rat, forget the expressions.

           So, this trip will be an adventure, which is what I want. There is poverty in some parts of Africa. Women don't wear tops since they can't afford tops. Some men don't wear anything. Don't think I'm going to do that, but you never know. I hug my family goodbye, am packed up, including a water filter, and will be off soon. The airport is like any airport so I won't bore the reader with the TSA screening.

*

           The people there seem friendly when I land. I'm walked to where they live and there's a certain odd suburbia about it. People live in the suburbs so they can be around nature and nature is everywhere. I brought a screen to protect me from the insects. 

           Then, one Friday night (I brought a calender with me), the people of the village start doing their local dances and speaking in glossolalia (not a language). They bring out their beers and everyone drinks some and they offer some to me and I accept.  I've had beer before. We all start dancing and go further into the forest. This scares me (yes, men get scared, too) and it seems like a dark forest. Why aren't they worried about poisonous snakes, poisonous spiders, or God only know what else is in this forest. Then, the men start heading towards the left and the women start heading off to the right, so I follow the other men, since anthropolically, it makes the most sense. 

           Then, two of the other men start kissing each other. Not deep. Just kissing. And the other men start following suit. Now, there are at least two theories in antropology: 1) an observer who just observes and records their findings and 2) one who engages in the rituals and customs to better understand why the people are doing what they're doing. For better or worse, I am the second type. So, I start kissing another man and it feels weird, but it also feels good. It's like trying a new flavor of ice cream you never thought you would like just to discover that you do like it. It's just kissing. People who are married to actors have their spouses kiss other people and it's no big deal. This is just my job. It's professional. My wife and kids will understand and might even laugh about these people. The man across from me, then sticks his tongue in my mouth, so I stick my tongue in his mouth. Like we're french kissing. But he sucks on my tongue, which at first feels weird, but then starts to feel good. He's just wearing a loin cloth and he takes it off. He then gives me the look like, so what about you? So, unsure, I look around and everyone seems to be taking their clothes off, so I take my clothes off. We then give and receive in love making. 

           AIDS is prevalent in Africa and this is why. But, after half-an-hour, all the men get dressed and we walk back to the place where the men and women split up and both the men and the women seem happy. Everyone laughs. He then head back to the huts where they live.

           That night, before I went to sleep, I do what most people do do help themselves relax before they go to sleep, which is masturbate. But, something happens. Instead of thinking about my life, which is what I should be doing, or thinking about pornographic videos, which I kind'a shouldn't be doing, I think about the dark man in the dark forest until I ejaculate. I orgasm loud and nobody seems to care. It's suburban. But, does this mean I'm gay? Will I have to tell my wife and kids? Or is this something like taking illegal drugs that we try just once to see what it feels like and swear off it forever? I don't know. 

           But, I realized I had to come clean. Although I could keep living a lie. So, I had our family watch the film Kinsey about different sexual orientations. It contained nudity, but I kept getting turned on by Kinsey, not the women. Then, I broke the news to them. I told them about the rituals in Africa and tried to explain what it felt like, but my wife stopped me in the middle of a sentence, ran off to the bathroom, and cried, loud. My kids gave me that sad puppy look and were speechless. Finally, my daughter told me she wished I'd never gone to Africa. Would Mommy and me be getting divorced? I don't know. I just know it felt right. A woman understands a woman's body because she's a woman and a man understands another man's body because he's a man. 

           My wife came out of the bathroom after an hour and asked me why and I didn't have a reasonable answer. We talked about if we should divorce, but decided against it. I would just stay in the closet, tell my kids I was mistaken, and keep living my lie. Maybe I'd travel somewhere else like Las Vegas or San Francisco for Anthropology, where they'd understand. Maybe I'll have to join a Gay Anonymous group. Maybe. Or the Exodus group. Maybe. Or maybe I'll just sneak after work to the local gay bars and tell my anthropology story or publish it. Maybe. Just maybe.