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So, when you think about that guy at school that talks a little funny, acts a little girly, and just seems gay? That's me.
I can't help it. I used to try to act all macho and shit, but it felt fake, and it was so much work. I knew I was gay at twelve. I knew that boys were interesting, and girls were icky. By the time I was in high school, and changing into gym clothes and taking showers, I had no doubts.
I grew up in a little town in Indiana, south of Bloomington, east of Evansville, and west of Louisville, Kentucky. Our school wasn't real big. So when the kids at school said I acted like a girl, I worked hard to stop it. I didn't want to be made fun of. I still got picked on, though. Eventually, I got good at acting less sissy.
I gave up in tenth-grade. I just let myself talk and act like I wanted. Like what seemed normal for me. I got hell for it.
Panties on my locker, called every nasty homo-hating name, and pushed and shoved around. I lost most of my friends. David and Kerry stuck around, but outside of school, and we didn't go anywhere public. I didn't force them to, either. I was glad they didn't just leave me alone, like the rest.
But school was hell.
By the time tenth grade ended, I was the school fag. I only had Kerry and David as friends, and I didn't hang around them at school. I didn't want them pushed and shoved around like I was.
So, the summer was good. No jocks calling me names, no dirty looks in the halls, and no running from bullies out to beat me up. I got tanned, worked out some, grew taller, and had a peaceful summer. Kerry and David hung out with me sometimes. We played video games and watched movies, listened to music, and had some good times.
Eleventh grade started, and all the usual things that came with it. By the end of the second week, I was ready to quit school. It was too much to put up with. Nearly every day there were panties on my locker, or something grosser. I had been cornered in the bathroom by Hill Maserly and nearly forced to suck his dick. His buddies said it was too gay, and Hill ended up pulling my boxers up so far that they ripped. I went commando after that.
The weekend was the only peace I got. Sometimes Kerry or David came over. But I always stayed at home, away from everyone else. It was quiet and safe at home.
Until this weekend.
It was late Saturday night. I was home alone. My folks had gone to see my grands who lived just out of state. I never went with them, because my grandmother was very religious and considered me a lost cause. She nearly spat at me the last time I had gone, and we had left after just a few minutes. I had told my parents that I was gay last year, so they had told their parents. My other grands that lived in Montana were cool about it.
So, I was home alone. My folks would be back tomorrow evening. Kerry had come over for a few hours, then gone with Mike and Trace to the movies. I was asked to go, but Mike and Trace would have been as uncomfortable as I would have been around them. They weren't rude to me at school, even waved when we saw each other outside of school, but they weren't real friends.
It was after midnight. The doorbell rang. I wasn't sure I had really heard it. I'd been nearly dozing off, watching Saturday Night Live. It rang again. I figured Kerry had come back after the movie. Nothing new there. So I opened the door without checking who it was.
Caleb North.
Tall, lean, slightly muscular. Dark-brown hair, long, thin eyebrows of that same dark brown, over deeply-blue eyes. Round face with a strong chin. Always tan. Rich, popular, well-liked. He was wearing tight jeans and a tight black t-shirt. His thick lips smiled at me, red and plump.
"Hi, Cody. How's stuff?"
"Uh, okay. What're you doing here?"
"Well, wanted to have a talk."
"Talk?"
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