Puberty was weird.
There’s no better word for it. It was confusing, awkward, and yet strangely fascinating. And if I’m being honest, I don’t think I was prepared for it at all.
It felt good
Like most boys in the Philippines, I got circumcised during summer break in 6th grade. But what no one tells you is that after the surgery, you don’t just forget about your body—you become more curious. I started exploring myself and playing with my penis, mostly out of boredom and curiosity after taking a bath. It felt good. So I kept doing it.
Eventually, one day, something came out—white, sticky, unfamiliar. I didn’t know what it was at first, only that it felt... amazing.
That was how I discovered what ejaculation was.
God-Honoring Talk, Real-Life Feelings
Around 3rd grade, my dad had already given me “the talk” by then since I asked how are children made, and my dad framed it in a Catholic, God-honoring way. He explained that sex was something sacred, shared between married couples, rooted in love. I actually appreciated it because it felt sincere.
In school, we also discussed puberty and human sexuality in science class, both in Grades 5 and 6, and since I was in a Catholic school, it was also discussed that way that sex is for married couples. Kudos to my science teacher when she was teaching about it, it wasn’t even demeaning at all when she explained the topic since I heard from other schools it wasn’t discussed that way.
Puberty didn’t just happen alone—it happened with other boys. In school, I remember how normal it was for me and my classmates to show each other our dicks—comparing who was circumcised, laughing about size, pointing at each other’s pubic hair. I guess it wasn’t seen as weird. It was just something boys did. We were all figuring things out, but in a way that felt chaotic and unchecked. We were left to discover everything through whispers, jokes, and whatever we could find online, which brings me to the topic of pornography.
It finally clicked
I was first exposed to porn in Grade 4. A classmate introduced me to a site called RedTube and told me to check it out once I came home. Out of curiosity, I opened it. I watched a couple of videos—fascinated, but also unsure. I didn’t revisit it right away. I was still more into video games and drawing outfits at that point. But something had already been awakened.
Furthermore, when I was experiencing puberty that I also found Playboy magazines in my dad’s things and saw explicit videos on his phone which was really straight porn.
Anyway, going back to how I realized I wasn’t straight. I searched “playing with your penis” on the internet, wondering if what I was doing was normal. And in that rabbit hole of search results, I stumbled across gay porn because that’s the category where “male masturbation videos” are part of. And, just a lot of video sharing platforms, there are recommended videos to watch, and the next video I watched was two gay people having sex, and I was aroused. That’s where it clicked that I wasn’t straight.
Prior to that, I had already noticed that I was drawn to certain boys, like a basketball player in my class or the construction workers doing repairs at home. But watching gay porn made it feel real. It wasn’t just curiosity anymore. I felt something deeper. It felt good. And yet, it also felt... wrong. Not because of what I was doing, but because of who I was drawn to.
My Secret World
That tension, between pleasure and shame, became my secret world. If you could recall, when I was in 6th grade which was like in the 2010s, we were also in the era of smartphones and home Wi-Fi, where I could access anything with just a few clicks. And I did. I started sneaking devices. I even stole my dad’s iPad once just to watch in secret. That’s how badly I wanted to feel that rush again.
Eventually, I got caught. My dad found the browser history. He was furious. I got spanked, scolded, and told to stop—because “You’re a boy. You’re not supposed to watch two men having sex. Wala akong anak na bakla”
That wasn’t the only time I got caught. My brothers once saw me watching gay porn, too. I felt ashamed… but also confused. Because I still felt good. I didn’t have the tools or the language to understand why.
So I continued to do it, but I kept it all hidden and made sure not to get caught.
Porn became something I turned to when I was tired or numb or just wanted to feel something good. It became a routine, a secret comfort. It wasn’t just about sex, I believe it became a way to escape. The deeper I went, the more I explored the world of porn. There were endless categories and endless fantasies: sex in the shower, teachers and student, or even just plain vanilla romantic porn. And over time, I started to think: Maybe this is just who I am.
I also tried my best to “suppress my gay desires” by preventing myself from watching gay porn. But, even when I watched straight porn, my eyes were usually on the guy. That’s how I continue to be confirmed that I wasn’t straight. I didn’t need anyone to tell me. I could feel it. And, I felt so ashamed of myself because I was attracted to guys. It wasn’t normal.
I didn’t know how to talk about it because I didn’t feel like I could. It wasn’t safe. Not at home. Not at school. Not even in church. And, the moment I open up about this, I’ll be condemned and I’ll be reminded of my sin.
The Double Standards
Looking back, I realize I wasn’t the only one with a porn issue. In the Philippines, early exposure to porn is extremely common—especially among boys. As I mentioned earlier, I first learned about it through a classmate.
But no one talks about it for what it really is: a problem. There’s barely any regulation, no real education, and certainly no form of discipleship. Statistically, we’re among the top consumers of porn in the world. And yet, we act like it doesn’t exist.
What makes it worse is the double standard.
For straight guys, watching porn is almost expected. It’s treated like a rite of passage—something to laugh about, even brag about. It’s framed as “normal,” even masculine.
But the moment you’re a guy watching gay porn? Suddenly, it becomes a shameful secret; it’s something you’re not supposed to admit and something that must be “fixed.”
I remember my brother once had a boner while watching Katy Perry’s Teenage Dream music video, and my dad laughed and said, “That’s my boy.” It was celebrated—because it was straight, unlike mine.
I also remember in theology class, we were studying the Ten Commandments.
Lust was clearly named as sin, and porn was one of its markers—technically and morally wrong. But my boy classmates did not really care. Among my classmates, it was just “a guy thing.” Still sinful, maybe, but easily dismissed because they were straight.
But for me, it felt different. Because I wasn’t just watching porn—I was watching gay porn. So the shame didn’t just stain what I did. It clung to who I was.
That’s the cruel twist of purity culture. It’s loudly enforced on girls—and quietly, but heavily, imposed on “the gays.” We’re all taught to suppress desire.
But for straight guys? It’s tolerated and even encouraged because their desire is seen as natural. “Boys will be boys,” as they say. But ours is treated as a threat and a problem.
I didn’t feel like God was watching me back then. All I knew was that I wasn’t supposed to feel what I felt. And yet… I did. And it felt good, which only made me feel worse about myself.
I kept praying for God to take the desire away. I begged Him to fix me. To make me straight. To make me “normal.” I was praying the gay away, over and over again.
And for a long time, that left me deeply confused. Because I started to believe a lie:
That my sin made me worse than others. That my desire made me disqualified.
That I wasn’t just broken—I was bad.
The Ache Behind the Habit
Eventually, sex began to feel more “normal.” Even mainstream. Pop culture made sure of that.
One of my favorite shows at the time was Glee, which featured a gay couple sleeping together. Their cover of “Born This Way” was stuck in my head, and like many LGBTQ+ kids, that Lady Gaga song quietly became my anthem. At home, my dad would watch Game of Thrones, with sex scenes that were never censored.
It all just blended into the background. And somewhere along the way, I stopped seeing it as a problem—until years later, when I realized it wasn’t just about what I was watching. It was about what I was craving. Not just sexually, emotionally, spiritually, and silently.
I didn’t have words for it then. But something in me was aching to be known.
And for a long time, porn became the place I ran to, not just for pleasure, but for escape, for comfort, for identity.
It was the secret I kept. The habit I returned to. The wound I didn’t yet know was a wound.
But wounds don’t stay hidden forever. And neither did mine
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