There have been few moments where I have purposefully 'revealed' that I was, uh, 'homosexual'. I'm liberated enough to just be out and honest. Also, nowadays there are fewer and fewer people making assumptions, thankfully.
There are many things things that I can think of, the most resonant are from my late adolescence in the late 80s.
I was out in high school, and I think I was the first person to ever be out in high school in my part of Minnesota. I had a foster parent which I had just moved in with. His name was Patrick McLafferty. He was a big gross guy with a porn-stache, and a Prince Valiant haircut. His main activity was to sit in the basement 'family room', smoke cigars and watch Faces of Death videos. I didn't like him, but I was stuck. When I moved into him and his wife's place, I had a girlfriend. But along the way I decided I liked boys and that was a thing for me. They knew about it. We talked about it. We talked about it with the social workers, blah, blah, blah. I didn't actually have a boyfriend. So, it was all very theoretical for them.
The first time I ever made out with a guy was when I lived there. It was at night in a car, a half block from the house. I with this guy who had just turned 18. We had been having silly teenage dates for a few weeks, and finally we were in his car kissing. At some point a cop pulled and immediately got all hostile. He made us roll down our windows and was like "I SAW WHAT YOU WERE DOING!! I THOUGHT IT WAS SICK! I THOUGHT IT WAS DISGUSTING!!" implying that he had been watching us for a little bit. He then quickly pulled me out of the car, handcuffed me, and through me in the back of the squad car while he called my foster parents, and then interrorgated my date. My foster parents showed up, took me home, put on a full shame session. I was obstinate that what happened was not their business. So, I didn't admit to doing anything with my friend. They were not convinced, though. Apparently the cop gave them a story. I refused to budge, and I remember the foster father guy started calling me a slut... and then at some point he started into this thing about how "You want me. You think I'm hot." I was horrified. I did not know what was going to happen next. My memory is a little blurry. I remember having this moment not knowing whether I was going to get raped or not, and I remember there was also a physical altercation of sorts... At some point the long, awful night ended, and I made it to bed without getting raped... but I felt trapped, and scared.
But it wasn't over. My foster parents brought me to the police station later that week to speak to a detective. They wanted to charge my sorta-boyfriend with statuatory rape, cause he had just turned 18, and I was about to turn 16, but because I wasn't 16 I had not reached the age of consent. I thought the entire thing was ludicrous, and I refused to cooperate. I refused to admit to having any physical contact with him. I was never someone who lied about anything, but I just thought it was not their business. I was also steaming mad. It was literally my first kiss. I knew we had done nothing wrong, and all these fucking adults seemed to be making the experience be as traumatic as they possibly could. Because of my refusal to cooperate or cop to anything, the police could not move forward. And the guy that I kissed for the first time ever didn't got prison as a child rapist.
There's even more the story, but...