30 Dec

Any story, or journey might I say, has a beginning, middle and end. Simple enough, it seems. But have you ever wondered where or how a story actually begins? Surely it’s not within the first few words, sentences or paragraphs that you are first introduced to? Surely it lies somewhere within the initial spark of an idea, an idea of a story to tell or a journey to undertake…

My story could begin in any matter of places. It could start with my first girl-on-girl kiss that was a dare in a dark but oddly large broom cupboard at Sixth Form. It could start a few years earlier when I could have sworn my best friend was trying to swoon me. Or it could start with the endlessness of my mother and sister telling me I was gay from a rather young age. Or better yet it could start from the drunken night where I kissed a girl completely of my own accord. Although I was hideously drunk and remember very little of the entire evening. Not the best beginning to a story, eh?

You know I’m not sure if there even is a beginning to this whole malarkey. Nevertheless my story posts shall be entitled some sort of ‘Chapter-ness’ but not with a number, and never, ever with the inclination of there being any kind of order to them.

What this shall be is my own exploration and journey into a world I never before, allowed myself the indulgence of delving into; the ‘world’ of being gay.

The name Gay Pride Blanket refers not to something ‘blanketing’ my gayness as it were, the complete opposite in fact. But you’ll learn that all out soon enough…


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