Jimbob Blakey wasn't so much given birth to as clambered right out of his mother himself. He weighed in at almost thirteen pounds, came ready-fitted with a shock of fat black hair and a couple of razor teeth. Jimbob's folks loved him like most folks love their little ones, maybe more. They'd been trying so hard for a child, suffered more mid-term miscarriages than the ewes they shuttled off to market most Thursdays. They dressed him in a one-year babygro and took him home to their hill farm. They fought to get up nights and give him his milk. His teeth made breast-feeding impossible. They sat hours gazing down in his cot. They dressed him fine and took him to their church and gave their thanks. Showed him off like the proud parents they were. Others cooed and smiled. But they never asked to hold. They gave thanks the Blakeys were happy, and that the monkey-baby had not been born to them. Jimbob's folks never gave a second thought that their boy might be different. The first Spring he walked, he stomped the moors in his welly-boots helping herd the pregnant ewes down in-by. He copied his father, kicking and cuffing at the stragglers, when the flock was returned to the hills in May. As Jimbob grew, his hair became thicker, his arms longer. His head shrunk down on his shoulders. At check-ups, nurses fixed smiles and pronounced him healthy. Doctors said, 'he'll make you a strapping lad.' His mother smiled, her heart swelled. When he was three, she sent him to nursery. She wanted him to mix with other kids. To taste life off the hard hills. She said, 'it'll do him the world of good.' Jimbob hated leaving the farm. He clung to his mother. She drove away, blinking tears. On the third day, she took a phone call. 'It's Jimbob,' they said. 'He's scaring the other kids.'The truth hit Jimbob's mother like a hammer. who has a monkey child? - the church goer - jimbob's mother - not enough information - jimbob
jimbob's mother

I married young, at 19, bright-eyed and hopeful, and in a few months, we will celebrate our 29th anniversary. Like all marriages, we have had our share of happy and sad, growing together as the years passed us by. My husband is my best friend, a wonderful father, a hard worker, a great provider, treats me like a queen, and loves me unconditionally. He is my soul mate in many ways. My husband is also gay. I had no idea when I married him. I was a virgin on our wedding night and had never had any type of physical relationship prior to my husband. Having nothing to compare it to, I thought our sexual intimacy was normal. It was fun, sexy, enjoyable. My husband was a giving partner, and I almost always experienced orgasm. But as the years went by, the frequency of our sexual activity became less. It was not unusual to go months without sex not for lack of trying on my part. We rarely fought, but we would fight about the growing lack of intimacy. I often wondered what it was about me that made my husband not want to have sex with me. And then one day, shortly after our 25th anniversary, I found gay porn on his computer. At first he denied everything, but finally, through tears, he confessed that he'd had these same-sex attractions as long as he could remember. In his teens, a church counsellor had told him marriage would "cure" him. Feeling as though I had just been punched in the gut, I was heartbroken. I felt betrayed, confused, angry, sad, and yet, miraculously relieved. There was nothing wrong with me I was just not his type. The emotions flew through me leaving my head and heart confused. What now? I loved this man with every fibre of my being. We had a good life together, sex aside, and had built a family. We were happy. I did not want a divorce and neither did he. What convinced the author's husband marry the author? - not enough information - he wanted his wife and a good life - he wanted to build a family - he believed he could change his orientation
he believed he could change his orientation

Q: It was a hot summer afternoon; I think I was 12. It was too hot too cook in the kitchen, so Mom decided we'd grill hot dogs & stuff outside. But we needed some things so Dad was elected to go to the grocery store. This turned out to be a big production; Dad was trying remember what all was needed without writing a list, and Mom kept adding things even as he was trying to leave. Finally, he got in the car and drove off. Mom & I had just turned around and sat down at our picnic table when all of sudden here was Dad pulling back into the driveway. He'd apparently just driven around the block & came right back. Mom & I looked at each other and smirked- she was thinking the same thing I was: "what'd he forget this time?" But then Dad got out of the car.. and on his face was the look. In my young life, I'd never seen that look before, but it chilled me to the core and I just knew something bad was coming. Mom knew it too; the smirk quickly left her face as Dad came over and said.. "Mom.. I hope I heard this wrong.. but on the radio they said a woman drowned at the lake.. I hope I'm wrong, I barely caught the name, but I think they said it was your sister.." The cookout was forgotten; we went inside & started making phone calls, and unfortunately it was indeed my aunt. She & her family had gone swimming to cool off; apparently she'd gotten a cramp or something and gone under while nobody was looking, and by the time she was missed it was too late. To this day, my Mom is miffed at some family members that we had to find out that way (she was pretty close to this sister so she feels someone should've called before it got on the news) but as for me, I will never forget that look on my Dad's face. What kind of car was the dad driving? - not enough information - A Corvette - A Dodge - A Mustang
A: not enough information