Brad, a young gay boy has lived his school life in fear. It's not easy being an open gay kid in high school. Mark has for years made Brad's life hell, just another homophobic jock with too many muscles and not enough brain cells. But is there more to Mark than it appears? Sometimes we hate those that are most like us.
Quote:Walking away from the frightened gay boy, Mark was trying hard to think of anything but his heart racing to the beat of tribal drums. He didn't want to wipe the sweat off his brow or feel the flutter in his stomach. The encounter with the obviously gay boy had went nothing like it had supposed to. The boy was supposed to have quivered in fear. Mark should have left the quaking boy more sure of his own manliness. The abject fear he should have instilled in the queer boy should have bolstered his own self esteem, made him secure in his personal world view.
Yet, the opposite of what should have happened had occurred. He walked away with his self esteem in taters, sure that the young gay boy had seen the desire that flitted across his eyes as he held the lean blond haired boy against the locker. He walked as quickly as he could. The world was nothing but his downcast view of morbidly colored shoes and a terrifying shame that made him want to crawl into a fetal position.
He knew the guilt that haunted the dreams of a murderer, and the horrifying terror a battered child feels. He could feel them fogging his eyes and clogging his heart. The voice of his pain welled up inside of him and overwhelmed his so terribly that he was afraid that he wouldn't be able to continue on.
The yellow tiles so reminiscent of piss flowed by under his feet automatically like the gore stained block floors of a dungeon, as he walked down the torturous hall. He could barely feel his feet moving along them. He was taking an infernal escalator leading him to the fate of the damned.
He somehow ended up at the locker room door to get changed for football practice. Mark was a midget in a land of giants. There was bulging, exposed muscles and sheer beefy flesh all around. His lean, muscular build was slight and puny in comparison. The noxious essence of pure masculinity caused his jeans to tighten and threatened his sanity. This was not making matters any better.
He focused his eyes the ground, looking down awkwardly and avoiding the sneers as he stripped down to his boxers. Hesitatingly he took them off and put on his jock strap and football gear. He really small compared to the others. But, through his jersey, you could see the outline of a nice six pack and a pair of good guns. His manhood may not be pointing in the right direction, but it certainly had a nice bit of length to it.
He wasn't the biggest guy on the team by a large margin and he was probably the smallest, but he was certainly the fastest. The gorillas on his team couldn't stand the sight of him. He represented everything the beasts hated. To them, he was the embodiment of weakness and femininity in the wrong package. But they didn't really think it through that much. They just knew he made them mad for some inexplicable reason. He was the heart of everything they were trying to avoid being. They trained for months to make themselves into the beasts that they were. It was like they were a dog whose only aspiration in life was to master “fetch”. His intellectual prowess intimidated and confused them. Like everything else in this world that wasn't tied to sports or their bodily functions, he made their heads hurt. They were nothing more than animals who think they're people, like dogs who try to sit at the table or walk on their hind legs.
So there was nothing more thrilling than the look on those half retarded meat- head's faces when they simply couldn't catch him on the field. He beat them at their own game in a way they simply couldn't forgive. It was like stepping on the tail of a tiger who couldn't catch you.
