Was my father gay? Here is what I found while rummaging through the attic after his death
WARNING
This blog does contain adult and gay material. If you are under your country's legal age (18 or 21), do not scroll down and leave this page now.
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By Richard de Orizaba
A treasure trove of vintage letters and photos set me on a path of doubt and curiosity. When my father died, I had to dispose of a lot of his personal items. All of his clothes were still at the house, his watch, his rings, and his personal correspondence. There were years and years of accumulated bits and pieces of this man’s life. There was a trunk in the attic and it contained all of his service papers, his old navy uniforms, the discharge papers, and a small wooden chest that had a lock on it. Of course, I am sure that the key had long ago disappeared, but my curiosity was awakened. I had to open it and see what was inside.
I forced it open with a screw driver and it was full of yellowish papers and old photos. I looked at the photos at first and I didn’t think anything of it. Then I looked at one and there was something very peculiar: There were no women in any of the photos and for the most part these were photos of my dad with service buddies, but he would be either embracing or in compromising positions.
Then I started to read some of the letters. Most of them were perfectly innocent but then there were others that had a lot of hidden shit in between the lines. One in particular was from this friend named Duke and he said that he missed the warmth of his body. That did it for me….My dad was gay or at the very least bisexual during his younger years. That kind of explained a lot of things. During my youth, I noticed my dad was going off on fishing and hunting expeditions to Mexico and he would be gone for a week. There were many dinner guests and invariably they were handsome, single men.
I was eight or nine at the time but one time I saw my dad embrace this guy as he was leaving. That in itself is not unusual except that my dad never showed any of us any affection. So that now this all made sense to me.
I got to the bottom of the little treasure chest and as it got deeper, the photos became raicier and more compromising. There was one of dad in swimtrunks with his arm over this dude, a blond and their faces were cheek to cheek.
The next photo reveals two men sitting in a garden, one appears to be reading, the other sitting on the floor. I don’t know who they are but I assume they are a couple in a committed relationship my father befriended.
The last three photos are of particular interest because one of them borders on the erotic; it is one of a body builder, if you could call them that in those days, but he is posing with this other guy sitting on the floor. It is almost a nude of what nice bodies looked like in those days.
The last two were of men in very compromising poses. Two on a lawn like they were having a picnic and the last two in a more formal pose where one of the men has his arm over the other one’s shoulders. They are complete with the bolo 
hats worn in those days. These photos also are not of my dad. So it leaves the interrogative: “who the fuck were these dudes that dad was so fond of he kept photos of them and why were they hidden in a trunk, inside a locked chest?
I can only speculate, but I think there was more to my dad than met the eye. I surmise that during his younger years he was “sowing his oats” and participated in a lot of extracurricular activities, including sex with other men.
Conversely, my dad always expressed himself in a very homophobic manner, often criticizing this or the other “fag” or “marica, joto” that we came in contact with. That too is part of the enigma because if you are insecure about your own sexuality you tend to overcompensate and often men who either have engaged in sexual activities with other men, or even just fantasize about it, become very antagonistic on the subject.
Then there was one last letter, written in onion skin paper, 
very frail, yellowed and crumbling with some very suspicious stains on it. It read: ”Dearest Pancho:” (My father’s name was Francisco de Orizaba) and it continued: “It has now been over two years since I have known you. (knowing in the biblical sense) How I long for those afternoons at the cottage where we shared so much. I think about it and I still get flustered. (aroused) The thing I miss the most is your affection and warmth.
I have had many friends since, but no other compares in size and intensity. How I long to have your member inside of me 
again.
Most lovingly yours,
Morris”
I can offer a couple of observations: My cock is big because I inherited the genes. A couple of times when I went to visit my dad at the hospice I gave him a sponge bath. He didn’t like the female nurses looking and touching the abundant family jewels. When I gave him a bath, this old shriveled up man, was but a shadow of himself, yet his flaccid penis was enormous, easily 9 inches. So I am going to speculate that when he got hard, which I am sure had not happen in over 20 years, the mother fucker had at least eleven inches.
So my dad was fucking this dude named Morris, would take out his letter and would jack off while reading it.
So, is homosexuality genetic?
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