gayNwyo

I had the room at the end of the hallway in the basement. The basement was half way above the ground, there was a large window along the side of the wall. I was alone in my room, admiring my collection of hidden treasures, when an LDS missionary stepped into my room, onto the pink carpet. "What are you doing in your sisters room?!" He asked. "This is my room," I said. The steaming awkwardness sent him on his way, leaving me to realize I couldn't blame him for his honest mistake. The room was mine, and it did look feminine. The carpets were pink, after all. I remember cumming on that carpet, so may times. Dozens of times. Only to rub it all in with my bare toes, feeling immense shame, confusing shame...

What would you trade your soul for? What is it worth to you?? What is it worth to those that love you??? Can you really put a price on that???? "In the eyes of God, each or our souls is significantly priceless!" Victoria would always assure me when life began to be too much for this beautiful boy who would all too soon become a man. "Each of our choices are ours to make. Every day. Every time you wake up. At every corner and turn, and door and window and hallway and room. There is a choice. Sometimes, many choices. Sometimes, too many choices... But, you can get directions." She ended by drawing the curtains and spilling light into a once dark and depressing room. 

Rhoda, my mothers' sister, was the crazy one, and had the most horrible reputation, and she could talk the ear off anyone willing to listen. Oh the stories she could tell! And the way she could tell them!! She had been admitted several times to the asylum in Evanston, only to return crazier than ever. It wasn't her fault. Every significant person in her life allowed and encouraged her behavior, so why is this a problem? It's not a problem to her, and maybe that is the problem... "She is a lot of company," an Indian gal friend of hers told me once, and this gal was so right. Rhodas' mind is so awesomely powerful that she created the world she lived in and rightly deserves. She was also a witch.

"How are you going to do it?!" Randy thought to himself. "It would have to appear as if I'd disappeared. The only way to do this would be with cash and a bus ticket out of town. No traces left behind. No clues. Would I make the news, County 10 perhaps?"  To do so would upend my whole world, that I had built here. Our whole world that we had built here. Not bad building for gypsies I'd say. Not bad at all. I've got it pretty damn sweet if I do say so myself! Why would I betray that by running away? By disappearing... I'd have to bring some things. Could I really survive with nothing tangible at all, except the clothes that I was wearing...? 

"I came down to New Orleans to be your whore, for a week or more..." Randy said. "In exchange for your slippers..." "Last week you were a father, a son, a husband. Now, you're a whore, my whore?" Ryan answers back with eyebrows raised and lovely lust in his eyes. "Yes," Randy replied. "So... where shall we begin?" "Well," Ryan jests, interjecting a line from their mutually beloved classic film from 1939, "It's always best to start at the beginning." With that, the smoldering week long affair between an openly gay man began with the bisexual, married, Mormon father from the middle of Wyoming. 

"So what if I simply cannot accept that at this point in my life?" I asked my sweet mother, Victoria. "Do I die and go somewhere else, somewhere you don't, and we'll never get to see each other again, unless you come down from the kingdoms above to visit me...?" "No," she explains, "then you'll be in your own kind of hell with weeping and wailing and gnashing of teeth..." "Oh," was all I could really say. "Then," as a hoped conclusion would come to the discussion soon, "I guess I'll have to learn those lessons there and move on when I am ready, for I am not ready now..." 

I was alone for a week. Whatever would I do with myself? I hadn't had days like this for years. I had to make a plan. First, clean the house top to bottom, in order, nothing left undone. Then shower and choose a great classic movie. Then pull those red shiny slippers from their hiding places and line them up on the coffee table, to adore, fondle and worship at my whim. "What sort of man does this?!?!" I ask myself after looking around the room, wondering what someone who had never been in this room may wonder if they should walk in. "He must be mad!" They'd think. Perhaps I was. Obsessed with ruby red, shiny slippers lined delicately out for me to admire.

"Do you think you could ever quit smoking, with me, for me...??" "It's my only comfort, but with you I would."

Dear Ryan, Hey honey! How's it going? A little better here. I guess. Well, I do have an answer to the question you asked me, okay. The reason I am with you, is because, I've been looking for someone like you forever. You're everything I want.  You're not like all the other guys I've been with. You don't treat me like a piece of meat. You like me for my personality, and not the way me or my body looks.  Every... well, almost every other guy I've gone out with, their basic journey was to get me in the sack with them. You treat me human and I like that. You make me feel so special, like no one else exists. Remember I love you & always will.  Love, Always & Forever Rita Rosalie Bisbee

Lilith was a soul with whom I connected instantly. She was always there, somehow, through the years, mostly when I needed someone just to be with. We grew up together, went to school and church together, and later, became friends. No sex between us was ever considered, mentioned, suggested or discussed. Although we both knew it would have been transcendent. But we never went there. She shone from the inside out, and everything she touched was changed. She painted, and her work always made me feel things I'd never felt before. Art should move you in such ways, hers' did.  The bond we have, to this day, is unbroken by time, or events. I loved Lilith, in a simplistic, uncomplicated and innocent way. Sweet, dear friend, Lilith. 

Three friends, or brothers perhaps, who had been bound together to haunt and torment the living while they lie helpless and fear stricken between waking and sleep.  Demons they were, called by myself, to help me in the night. I wanted answers, direction, guidance in one way or another regarding my life. They will return, these beings of the night, these brotherly bandits, bound by forces I am only now beginning to understand. I got a glimpse, and you may find it strange that I should want to experience more, but I do. The darker sides of the forces have always manifested themselves before the brighter side, always...

All of this bullshit that is my life doesn't matter anymore. It's all been for not. And will all soon be forgot. As shall I be, soon enough. 

Three of them came to me, together, in the night. They were a packaged deal, I could tell. They were connected to each other for some awful reason, I was sure. They were dark and powerful, and they paralyzed me at the gates between waking and sleeping.  I was suspended in this time frame for what felt like days. They were here to keep me down, afraid that I'd make a decision and move forward with my future. I wrestled and screamed out to my wife, who was sleeping with our sweet babies in the room next to me... I remember my soul clawing on the headboard, as I struggled to escape these three beings. I was yelling, screaming, thrashing and fighting! Why wouldn't Katherine wake and wake me from this nightmare of suspended horror?!?! I recognized them after the fact, but in those moments between waking and sleeping I was bound to my bed by these three spirits that terrified me. My sweet wife finally came in. "Honey, are you ok, what's going on...?" She had finally hea...

She came to me in a dream, cloaked in white. I knew her instantly as my third grade elementary teacher, Ms. List. She read us The Wonderful Wizard of Oz, aloud. My all time favorite fairy tale! She came gently in the night as I slept, as a mother would, or an angel. "Don't do it," she whispered gently but emphatically. I knew what she meant. Then she floated away, through another door to deliver another message perhaps... So I didn't do it. I did not accept the scholarship or the internship that had been offered to me. I'll trust this White Witch.  My Good Witch of the North. 

"Them kids over there," Roger said condescendingly, "see them sucking on those faggots?!" I'd been called a 'faggot' by dozens of boys and girls throughout junior high. Did I know what a faggot was?! By hell I did. He was talking about me... As I glanced out the truck window I saw only a few boys, huddled around each other, smoking cigarettes.  "Sucking on those faggots," brought a completely different image to my mind. Dirty boys sucking each other on the corner. Now there would've been something shocking in this small town.  But, no, boys smoking, and my fathers' snap judgment.  That was nothing new to me, at all. 

Strong, stoic, silent and stern. Those are the words that I reserve for Roger. He'd never come out and say, "I love you..." No, he was too strong and reserved to admit that. I remember so many times saying "I love you" to my father. He'd always hesitate and sigh, but never say it back. "You know," he'd try to explain in a deeply non-emotional and phony philosophical way, "your great-grandfather never told your great-grandmother that he loved her, but she always knew that he did..." This immediately infuriated me.  If you feel it, say it!  

"You're the soft spoken one, aren't you?" She says, after being introduced. She slid into the booth next to me, cornering me in, fresh in her approach but tacky in her word. She was acting strangely familiar with me, as if she knew me and expected me to know her in return. "I guess I am." Is all I could offer back. "I know, I often listen to your voice as you are talking to your friends." I didn't say another word over the next hour we sat there together. Although my friends had so much to say. So much so that it was sickening. 

Small towns whisper gossip as they praise the gospel. Thick, juicy, heavy, slimy, smearing and slanderous gossip. Gossip that eventually gets out, as all gossip does. In a small town, gossip soon becomes infected and turns to biblical truth. "They'll see through you like a glass curtain, just as everyone else has..." She whispered and hissed in my ear. "Do you really suppose so?" "You wanted me to be completely honest with you, darling." She hissed back again. And with that I began to listen to the gossip, words that destroy in small towns like this. 

Ryan, I just got off the phone with you and I'm missing you already. Just wanted you to know how much I absolutely love and adore you. I think of you all the time. Always have. No life without Ryan. Wow. I miss you, love and adore you. The one in the shadows has always been you. Love, Always & Fovever. Rita Rosalie Bisbee How all these words still ring true inside my heart and soul. How deeply they burn and scar and fester and putrefy. God damn hell love is!

I was restless and couldn't sleep. Tossing and turning, waiting for him to come snuggle me, so I could finally sleep. Next thing I remember... "If you don't like it, go sleep in your own fucking bed!" So I walked home, crying, to sleep in my own sweet bed.

He may not remember the night, but I do. He was drunk out of his mind... I wanted to leave. He wanted me to stay. He shoved me and called me selfish.  I left. But then I came back. He remembered nothing. But I did...

One of my favorite pass times. Ultimate favorite thing to do, ever. Preferably solo, just me and my hand. I could last hours if I tried really hard. I had to seriously train however. Put a whole lot of time into crafting this art. It's so easy, you just do what feels good, over and over, slow and then fast, and then slow again, and fast again.  Over and over until you get to that cliff of no return, and then you let your body take control from there. Brilliant, a being who could create such a creature that could find such bliss by himself. A cruel being as well, for saying "that's a sin..."

I was trying to find who I really was. But I had to accept that that meant it might mean the ultimate death of who everyone thought me to be. This caterpillar had to become a butterfly. 

Being a bisexual, married, Mormon man with two small children in a small town in Wyoming is torture. I'm 36, so I am realizing so much about my life. I'm regretting not being more gay in my past. However, it wasn't accepted, discussed, noticed... anywhere except in my heart. My aunt, and not a reliable source for a story from so long ago, tells a tale from my past. Somehow I believed her. She tells a story of me, when I was three. I was playing with dolls, along side of my girl cousins. My father was irritated by this, and my aunt drew attention to it. "Roger, is something wrong with Randy playing with dolls...?" She hissed in a way she knew would draw a response. Roger pulled the doll from his three year old sons' joyful clutch.  "I don't want him to be gay..." was all he had to say.

Rosalie Lane. She crucified me, my soul. She crucified my soul. My heart. Every bit of me. My soul died, only to be reborn. I would have rather she physically killed me than have to endure the permeating heart and soul pain that seemed to never end. I wanted her to come back, for her to chase me again, after it had all ended. That's what she wanted though, she wanted me to chase her. "The girls don't chase the boys, Randy, the boys chase the girls!" My father would state, sternly and stoically. I never did chase. I was always the chased. I preferred it that way. I am not chasing any one. If you want to be in my life, which is quite exclusive, you make me the chased.  I was a foolish young man.

Rocky's Motel is where I would go when I didn't want to be home. It was convenient that this motel was owned by my Grandparents, and that rooms for family were generally free, as long as we pitched in on chores and work around the place. Two men played Russian Roulette in room 17. I helped my Grandpa clean up the mess. There were skull fragments in the wall and brains on the lampshades. The carpets had to be pulled up and replaced, soaked thick with blood. A Chinese couple stayed once, I remember the smell of tea tree oil. The husband killed the wife and put her body in the dumpster. A sixteen year old boy blew his brains out in room 5, after being heart broken by a girl. I nearly and deliberately ended my young heart broken life in the very same room, when I was 21. This motel had history, most of which was never let out. Secrets, not lies. Sad small town true stories...

Rosalie Rita Lane. Her name sounded and felt like royalty. Or a porn name. Either way, it's one of my favorite names. To say it out loud... "Rosalie Rita Lane." Sounds romantic and sexy, but peaceful and serene at the same time.  She demanded attention, not by any of her our volition. She was completely deaf, however. She would stare at my lips when in conversation, this was the only way she could understand me. We shared Freshman English class together. She sat directly in front of me. One morning she turned around and asked me, coyly, "Do you know what time it is?" She was reaching out to me, with the intent to connect with me. I looked right past her head, to the wall at the front of the classroom. "The clock is right there on the wall..." I replied stiffly and sarcastically.  She was clearly hurt by my staunch reply.  However, it was the beginning of the greatest young love affair of my life. 

Katherine, The Goddess Holy Mother of all good things. The Queen whom I never deserved. Far too good in heart and spirit than I ever could hope to be. She's a complex character, ever evolving, ever changing and ever creating. One could see why she was easily loved by every one she ever met. No one disliked her or spoke ill of her. She had, has and will always have the qualities needed to be a complete success at no matter what she chooses to undertake. The ultimate manifestor, daughter, sister, aunt, daughter in law, mother, teacher, achiever, singer, reader, actress, temptress, seductress and wife. Only she had the wrong husband. Me. Perfect for the world, just not for me.  

He's been talking smack all over town, trying desperately to destroy my small town name. I could care less. "Starting your own small town smear campaign my sweet Steven? Shallow." I would say to his stupid, selfish, yet still sweet face, if ever I should see it. Which I hope I never shall.

It was never my intention to lie to you, steal from you, to take advantage of you, or to hurt you. I only had intention to love you. The rest is only complicated bullshit that shouldn't matter anymore. 

It was never my intention to be misunderstood.  But I was, gravely... Most of the time.

"Yeah, I'm thinking about it..." He said. "You gonna do it??" I asked. "Probably..." He said. And he did.

We were out to dinner with friends. We were chatting about BS, mostly. The subject changed to true crime. "What would you do if I tried to leave you?" I asked. "Oh, they'd never find the body..." We all laughed it off... But the chill that ran through my soul told me he absolutely meant that.

I had had a night out with my friends on Halloween. I was 22, and I was a fucking rock star!! Tight, smooth maroon, ass hugging leather pants, a loose Hawaiian shirt with buttons undone... And hair with a reputation. I was driving home our dark and lonely back roads when I was almost home. On the side of the road, pinned down by his motorcycle, was a chubby, burly biker dude with a few missing teeth.  I stopped without hesitation.  Forgetting my rock star costume... Oh, and I cannot forget, mascara, too, very pertinent to the story. I helped the man out from under his bike. Apparently he didn't make it very far. I asked him if he was ok and if he needed anything. I helped him stagger to my truck. "Where do you live, I can drive you, you shouldn't be driving anyhow...? He willingly got in the truck. He wanted a cappuccino coffee. I took him to Maverik and he got the coffee, which he spilled all down the front of my truck on the ride back to his place. Somewhere in his sick ...

I just couldn't stop turning pages. I couldn't get enough!!!! Some glorious piece of trash that we sell a piece of our soul for...

Victoria would do anything for Randy, even murder, if she had to. But she never did. She would have in the flicker of a still flame. She was mother earth, female savior, one woman mother, wife on the side. Daughter to amazing parents with silent, strong secrets and souls, and shenanigans! Skeletons in every closet. Beasts free to claim the house in the night.  Horrors untold until now. Too many dark tales to tell...

Rosalie would often remind those around her that she was of royal blood. Although she would never need to back up her claims, because doing so would be treason, and then off with your skinny little head...! She'd always sign, "Always & Forever!"  Rita Rosalie Bisbee I took that signature as a contract and I signed my poor, young, unsuspecting heart to this girl, woman, mother, then wife. Then... ex wife...

You have to be very careful with Ryan, as he is one of these people who seems to have two totally separate and completely unpredictable personalities. One day he will chat with you about all manner of subjects quite happily and come across as an sensitive, interested, easy-going kind of guy. However, pick a bad day, and Ryan will treat you with almost total contempt, and any questions you may have will be regarded as the most stupid you could possibly ask. This high-strung nature doesn't put people off, though, because Ryan's good days keep people in his life. In addition, Ryan has a deeply passionate nature that people pick up on and are attracted to. Ryan will have no shortage of partners, although he is likely to be very cautious about finally settling down with any one person. Ryan has the power of the four elements blessing his name. Although he doesn't have the rune of wholeness in his name, the elemental configuration of Ryan provides the same balance. Nauthiz, the r...

The slippers need no introduction. Everyone knows who wore them and what they mean.  She was adorable and vulnerable, on fire and alive with a pure, glowing light. So pure, so young, so beautiful, and that voice... Who couldn't love that?! My whole world stopped when I heard that song.  She was pure and sacred and sweet. And, look here, what's she got on her feet?!?! RUBY SLIPPERS!!!

He took me up into the hills, overlooking our small and ignorant town. We'd been drinking and smoking in the art shop of the college department. He'd fed me hamburger, and I woke up in his car with my rod in his face having the most outrageously, amazing orgasm. And then I remember nothing more from that night. I feel I was drugged and date raped by a native. Victor was his name. I loved that guy, his sad, tragic art, and the look of loss and sadness in his eyes. I don't blame him for doing what he did to me. It was an awakening point in my life. 

One doesn't recover well from heart break. Especially at such a young, tender age as 21. Imagine breaking your heart into several equal pieces and having to decide in an instant, who to give those seven pieces to... I did not recover. Old demons cling the fiercest. 

Benny was lost, tragic and lonely. Perhaps that's why we were drawn to each other. There was chemistry and mutual physical attraction.  But there was that sadness, deep inside, that resonated the strongest with me. I wanted to help him, to calm him and console him. Even if it meant sweet, gentle kisses from my lips. Looking back, I'm grateful he didn't want more than that, because I had no idea what gay sex would've meant at that time. Now I know that you have to plan ahead. Clean. Shave. Shit. All that stuff... But kissing was enough for me. But I still limped away with an erection on the brink of spewing semen each time.

He was always consumed with something. At every moment. Engrossed in minutiae. Meaningful or not.  I think he distracted himself with this to avoid reality. He would begin his day with at least seven cigarettes, a pot of coffee and an hour, at least, playing Candy Crush. This was the routine.  The day would continue. More smoking. More minutiae, more distractions. More consuming behaviors. However productive he may become, he was still consumed. Consumed by addictive behaviors and selfish distractions.

I am so sorry for what you are going through. He is a classic narcissist. I wish I could heal your heart for you & the mental & emotional scars left. Ryan.... I love you. I hope you know that! I'm here for you... when you're ready..... always!

Good morning. I've been really struggling with a broken heart. It's the same feeling I'd have after a break up. When I'm busy, I'm fine. But when I allow myself any moment of silence or peace or mind, my heart just aches. I've felt this way for about six weeks. When I see your face I just fall in love all over again. But the second you're away the feeling returns. I don't know if I'm making any sense. I really can't rationalize my very confused feeling. It literally feels like my heart is being run through a table saw. I'm very confused right now. 

I smoked meth for the first time when I was 22. In the methiest, messiest, most disgusting bar bathroom I'd ever been in, and I hadn't been in too many before. In the middle of Wyoming. At The Zoo. Or The Rendezvous. On the back tank of the toilet. Friends had brought me here. I was awake for three days.  I finally fell asleep. My friend died the next day. He'd been awake for seven days. He was diabetic. His boyfriend beat him. He walked out in the snow, barefoot, and died. They found his body the next morning. Frozen, bruised and barefoot, in the snow. No investigation was ever attempted. A gay boy dies on the Wind River Reservation.  No one seems to notice. 

Year, 1997. July 7th, 1997. I was seventeen. Seven has always been my lucky number. This is the day I lost my virginity. In a dry, hot, spacious closet. The door of which was cut to the shape of a triangle. There, on the floor, missionary style, we softly moaned and jerked and churned out the most memorable orgasm of all time. You cannot experience something like that and not be touched, changed, bewildered and bewitched, by that! Her name was Rosalie. "Always and Forever..."

"Going to see the bishop." Nothing could be worse than those words when you were a naughty, over sexual Mormon boy. An office visit to the bishop in the LDS Church is more serious than one can possibly understand. You go see the bishop if you've got something to confess, you won't do it again, and he'll take it to the Lord. And all you have to do is never do whatever you did that made you want to confess something in the first place... Sex. Sex has always been a huge part of my life. Sexuality.  How do I possibly confess how much sex a seventeen year old boy can have in one Summer???

"There were signs along the way that should have been indicators. Sure, anyone could have seen it. But surely, if it's a problem there must be a solution. It can be diverted, avoided, restrained, stopped and turned around. Like a train." This is how her train of thought plugged along. Victoria believed that there was always a remedy, always a salve, always a solace for the things of the world. That nothing so monstrous could ever touch the life of her son. Not when she had done everything right by him, everything. Sometimes life does not set you free and you must pay your dues, without Jesus.  

They called him Gibby, but his real name was Benny. He was missing his two smallest fingers on his left hand. I never noticed until after we had kissed and made out for several minutes. "Softly, gently, only lips..." He would instruct. I clearly wanted more. We rolled around, only kissing, slowly and sweetly, passionately. It was enough for him, and it should have been enough for me. My rock hard cock wanted out. But it never came out. Neither did he, or I, in years to come. He seemed tender and kind, and I trusted him completely, intimately. But I soon learned this was a mistake. Before I left for the night, he stopped me coldly as I opened the door to exit. "If you ever tell any one about us, I will kill you, and they will never find your body!!"

"So, would you consider being a sperm daddy for us...?" She whispered. A Native American lesbian couple wants me to donate sperm to them, minus the doctor's office, without a price. I tried to bargain with her, Indian style, but, nope, nothing... "Is my semen and energy taken to achieve that orgasm and spurting worth nothing to you?" I was aroused, flattered and angered all at once. "Why me?" I asked, as if I would decide based on the answer alone. "Because you seem like a genuine person. And incredibly good looking. Having a native child that looked like you would be thrilling for us!" She eventually concluded. I pondered on, but ultimately refused. 

"The slippers belonged to a dead witch, but now they belong to you. Your house clearly landed on them, so they shall be given to you. But, never take them off, never..." What sort of Kansas raised girl could understand the gravity of her situation to ever disagree? After all, this woman, known only as the Witch of the North, had told her so. And so she took them, doubting nothing she was told, and set off on an adventure for the ages. Dorothy Gale, American's first fairy tale heroine. Not one to be too soon trifled with, armed with only silver shoes, a kiss and Toto. 

T echnicolor was a brilliant, precise, complex and scientific process. Few now understand the lengths and painstaking trouble that men and women went through to achieve this effect. Brilliance. Today, they look nothing like they did on the screen those many years ago. But they still hold powerful and dangerous magic. As they should and still do. Magic, mystery, mayhem and murder. I believe their history is tainted, although the magic remains intact. They have a charm about them. That charm can turn from a charm to an enchantment, and from an enchantment to a curse.  It all depends on who wears and owns the slippers. 

It's too far of a stretch for me to imagine becoming a God. We've all got the potential to become Gods, we are taught. Gods who create worlds unnumbered for eternity to come. Who could possibly live up to those monumental expectations?? I for one cannot fathom creating universes and galaxies and planets, and all the livings things of the air, land and water.  "So you're telling me," he instigated, "that you believe you are going to be a God?" "Someday," my Father answered.  "Incredible." The other man returned.  How is an eight year old boy to contemplate that???

"Randy wasn't brought up to be like this. Randy knew better. Randy could never do something like that. He's our good son, our chosen one, the righteous one, surely not he...?" It gets very noisy in a quiet room with lots of people who chose to remain silent for one reason or another. "Do you hear voices or see faces?" The psychologist asked. She spied over the rim of her spectacles, analyzing my eyes and face. I shifted my legs across to the other side of the chair. "Yes," I relied, "but I don't believe they are in my head, they are other people's thoughts. And as for the faces, that's none of your business, this is our first visit..."

"So, have you ever been approached by a man?" Victoria asked. As my mother asking, she sounded distant and odd. Her voice throttled my head. Why, yes, I had, but I'd never admit that to her.  "There was once, this one guy, who wanted all of me," I confessed. "But nothing became of it." I ended. But something so wonderful and magic could have come with Jonah, had I only given him permission.  He danced around a fire where brats wrapped in bacon snapped and fizzled with spit and grease. In Grizzly bear woods we were brave! We were also high. So high that we found beauty and magic in each other's eyes. The next morning was surreal and silent, save for the sweet hustle of the river some distance away. I awoke first. His face was so alive, it struck me so as he slept. Perfection, I thought. He was beautiful, rugged, pure, strong and serene. I watched him for moments only before he awoke. I couldn't speak or face him. I slipped away to the river to s...

"You'll have to pay for them somehow." He suggested, knowing nothing about my current financial situation. "I can do that." I responded, knowing exactly how much a pair of his shoes would cost me. The price, we both decided, after a very illicit and heated message exchange, would be my virgin ass. Was that how far I was willing to go? Of course. Whatever it took.  It was then that I began to let my mind roll with the nasty pleasures that my body had yearned for for years. Silently wrestling deep inside of me was a gentle cub that wanted to run away and play.  

There once was a prince, a very melancholy prince. A prince who would look for only the beauty in the world around him. Only the things that would shine with truth and uniqueness. The kind of unique truths that only a soul so pure as his could touch. Cruel or dark hearts could not appreciate.  Unfortunately, his world was inundated by only these cruel hearts, so much so that this prince believed that no one in his kingdom was not corrupted so. Perhaps that's why this prince was so forlorn and melancholy. Could he truly be the last of his kind, the only one with such purity? Not for long, not in a place like this. His greatest fear was that his pure heart would one day, too, be corrupted.

 "Not every girl that's your friend wants to sleep with you!" She screams. Cora knew how to drive a point home. Up until that point I hadn't believed that, because every girl friend I had ever had did want to sleep with me. Had I let them all, I'd have considered the other alternative train rides offered to me. But I was so wrapped up and concerned with the point of view others had about me. "Who gives a poo what others think of you?!?!" She says. Everyone who is anyone cares what others think of them, how they are considered and perceived and ultimately, judged. I was beginning to understand that not everyone really cared all that much what others thought. Then my mind began to change. Why should I? "I understand that, Cora, thanks for saying so. I'll start today, not giving a fuck...!" 

"She's my boss, and she said that about you. She's a member of your church and she's telling people this!" My dear friend Cora expressed with concern. "Well, if she said it, golly, it must be true, then!" I could only offer this snide and dismissive reply. "Are you?" She pointedly asked. "Must be," I blurted out, "you'll never know..." She was right then, or now, either way it doesn't matter much. Is this what everyone thought? Of course. Why? Because I've heard it and felt it, and simply must accept that it's true. Gay.

Every day he'd sit across from me on the bus. We never spoke. When our eyes met he would immediately look away. Despite this, I felt we were alike somehow. We were both sad, I think that's what it was, sadness. I felt I needed to connect with him somehow, like perhaps we could share stories and such. Maybe become friends. All the male friends that I'd ever had up to that point, for one reason or another, were not there anymore. Although I still wanted them there. Such is life. To try to reach out to him I finally said, more musingly than brave, "Hello.." He looked me straight in the eyes. "Why does everyone think you're gay...?!?!"

He would walk by me every day, as was the routine of our day. Same classes, same students, same thing. Day. After. Day. And most dreaded for a boy like me... gym class. As we were all at our most vulnerable, undressing with other puberty ridden boys, still unsure of themselves, and insecure of their penis sizes, there was a recipe for disaster, and I felt it days before it happened. Days of anxiety and sickness in the pit of my gut. Every day for weeks he'd brush by me in the locker room, first whispers, then utters, then hisses, then shouts. "FAGGOT!!!"

I was admiring my good features, blessed, so I was thinking, with the face I deserved in life. So many times, people are given the faces they do not deserve. I don't really believe that. A woman, whom only her voice and the flickering of a black and white television screen, really said it for me best. "People get the faces they deserve, I suppose..." Then, as if conjured there by demons they walked in to catch me there, under the florescent light of the men's restroom... It doesn't get much clearer or real than that. One says to the other, "Oh, no, we're gonna get raped!"  They were too young to understand how deeply that could hurt me. It wasn't unexpected, however. 

"Your father's greatest fear concerning you would be that you would turn out to be like... him." Victoria admitted, with her slender hands cupped in front of her chest, as if to put them over her mouth, but could not. My mind breathed a sigh of relief. I could have sworn that the last word of her sentence was sure to be, "gay." Gay, by definition, is someone lighthearted. And that I was, I felt. But I blossomed into a beautiful boy much sooner that anyone would hope, and that boy learned the real definition of being labeled "gay," really fast and really harshly!

 "It's so difficult to see it laid out there in black and white, so legally worded, so punctual, formal and for all legitimate reasons, honest." He said.  That was quite the mouthful for my father. Roger, my father, hadn't ever foreseen this predicament in his future, and therefor, did not know what to say. So, as ritual as ever, he retired to his bed, to sleep, or to pray, or to process.  We never spoke of the events afterward. He only played a song for me, as if they were the only words I would hear or understand from him. Vincent, or Starry Starry Night. By Don McLean.  It did very little to reduce my pain, but the song sank right home.

My first erection, that I can recollect, was when I was six or seven. I had no idea what was happening to my body. My mother was right there, as I woke up and sat up to her smiling and angelic face, and her loving soft voice. "Oh no," she whispered, "what's this we have here...?" My penis had poked his head up from behind my pajama waist strap. "That's not good." She states, as she tucks him back inside, which hurt and was tolerably pleasurable, too.  I had that morning erection for years after, every morning. Every single one.

Lust is an awful deadly sin. Lust will make you do unspeakable things, both to yourself and to those who love you. Love & lust & love. She said, "Pain can be fun."  I had no idea what she meant at the time. I do now. All too well. Despite all else, pain can be fun, but it can always be excruciating, especially if one happens to be in love. Apparently, being in love with someone is so much different than actual love, itself.  Once you learn what role to play in life, life will change the play on you and expect you to perform. 

She was about the old romantic style love, and control, and domination and manipulation. She was trained to be, by her mother. And, by nature she used the tactics to survive, despite the sacrifices.  Love can be confused by so many, all interpret it differently. To be any of the traits I describe above, all of which she had in spades. She played them all whether she really had them or not. The girl that I fell in love with was only the girl she let me see. Only the chosen circumstances she carefully chose to seep through that tender and trusting heart. A heart that I unwittingly broke because it was so flawless.

"Oh no!?!" She couldn't stop herself from asking. "Did I just say something to upset you?" But by the flair of her nostrils and the flicker of her lip I knew she meant to strike a nerve, and perhaps, draw blood...  I was stunned. I did not know how to respond. I'd never been backed into a corner like this in my life. And there was no fight or flight response. I was numb. I had no will to fight and no way to fly. So just lay there and let her spew her venom and lies all over me. I drown in them, every moment calculated, like the script from a play, a very gay play. 

So many secrets have I, and to tell them all, they would say, would be a big fat lie! Some memories are so shear and fleeting that it's almost a sin to say that they were fierce, alive and insanely real. But mine are, I assure you, the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, so help me God. I should be locked away, they'll say, he is insane, he hasn't been healthy in the mind for years now, we never saw that coming... Well, they all saw it coming, they just didn't choose to talk about it, deal with it, process it, or try to change it. Just ignore it, don't acknowledge it, think about it, or utter a word of it. It'll go away if we don't confront it... False! Laws of nature say otherwise. Always acknowledge, always ask, define, forgive, move on and love. Love. Now that's a word. A word that has far too many strings attached, far too many liabilities, extenuating circumstances, blah blah blah... you know! The meaning and emotions tied to that one ...