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Anderson's - WMASG - 11-16-2025
I was born and grew up in a very small, very rural Indiana town. Less than 2,000 people lived in the town limits, and less than another thousand lived in the rest of the county. In the neighboring counties on all sides were bigger cities: to the south was the state capitol, which was home to over a million people. But around my little town was nothing but farms and forest preserves and reservoirs. At least my folks weren't farmers and I wasn't a farm kid. Mom worked at the only hospital around, in the next town over, dad owned a plot of land outside town where he had a junk yard and recycling center where his family's old house still stood but was in too bad of a condition to live in.
The town had a gas station, a police station with an unmarked police car, a drug store, a flower and party store, a hardware and ag store, and a pizza shop. When I was twelve, the couple that owned the pizza shop sold it to a guy who moved into the apartment next to it.
There was an elementary school, but seventh and eighth grades went to the junior high in the next county, about fifteen miles away. The high school was almost twenty miles away in almost the same direction, the same town where mom worked at the hospital.
I had an older brother and two younger sisters. James was eighteen when I was sixteen, when I messed around with someone else for the first time. Not my brother. Though, Jimmy and me had done a lot of show-and-tell and brotherly 'nad grabbing. I'd seen him beating off the first time when I was eleven. I don't think it was his first time. I sometimes wondered if that was at least partly why I turned out gay. I doubt it. But I did think about it a lot, and tried to see it again. Which I did. More often than he knew. By the time I turned sixteen I didn't try catching him at it much anymore. I was more interested in sex with someone not my brother than peeking on him when he beat one off.
So, I grew up in this tiny little town, seeing bigger towns when I went to other schools, and I'd been to the big city a few times. When I turned fifteen, I was pretty gangly and awkward. I was growing fast and was the tallest guy in my tenth grade class. I had red hair and blue-gray eyes, a few light freckles, a kind of long, narrow face, and was almost horse-faced. But I had a strong jaw and a big smile. I was doing okay in school, not great, I was no brain, and okay at sports. Not great there either. I liked baseball the most, and played it for the most part, but wasn't very good. My arms and legs were so long, they seemed to get in my own way more often than doing what I wanted them to.
By the time I was sixteen, I was pretty tall and less skinny, gaining some muscles from baseball and some wrestling and weight lifting. My folks gave me a car before my birthday, one dad had picked up and fixed up at the junk yard. Seven-year-old Mustang. V6 and a four-speed. Triple black convertible. My friends were so jealous. Almost everyone was.
And I started getting a lot of attention from the girls. I'd been glad to avoid that so far, but now girls were coming up to me and talking to me and asking if I was going out with anyone and what I was doing on this day or that day.
I really didn't know what I was going to do. But I knew I needed a job for gas and insurance and just to have my own money.