I've been having a hard time lately. It seems that I'm going to be gay. Girls don't hold the kind of beauty my eye is drawn to. But boys... oh, God.
My heart and my body - my soul - ache to be held... by a boy. One in particular.
Sandy-blond hair that borders on golden. He keeps it short and off his ears, which are just perfectly shaped. He has a golden earring in his left ear. If it were in his right, I would die.
Perfect eyebrows, thin and thick, also that sandy-blond. And his eyes. They're perfectly between blue and green. Or both blue and green. A lean nose. Perfectly shaped lips, the lower one darker than the upper. Perfectly shaped head, with a strong, angled jaw line. He almost always wears a smile, and is almost always laughing.
His body... I could go on about it for hours. What I've seen of it. I would love to see more of it, but all I've seen is what anyone has. His arms are strong but not bulging. Long and smooth. His shoulders are muscly, but not all bulgy. His bulging is done below the waist, both in back and in front. He is slim, and fit, and agile. His every movement is pure grace and fluid prose. He never seems to walk, just float along on the air.
Just once, too see him without a shirt, on some summer day. Oh, please. Or in swimming trunks, freshly from the water, beads of it upon his skin. Oh, God.
We aren't friends, but he knows some of the same guys I do. So it's been a tough time these last months, knowing of this Adonis, and being so close yet so far from him.
I would do nearly anything just to know him. I would do even more just to touch him. But to have him... oh, lo and forewarning to any who'd prevent it.
Nearly three months of high school, of torture, of seeing this one, of being so near but so distant.
And now it is Halloween.
Several parties to go to. All of them are costume, so I put on my best zombie getup and go out with the guys. We had a pretty good time. We went from party to party, and ended up at Steven Wolinski's place. His folks are hippies, and Halloween is on Friday, so the party went on late in Steve's garage. It was hard to tell who some of the folks were, because they were so done up. I wasn't the only zombie by far, but probably the best. Though one other was so well done I couldn't tell who he was.
When Steve's folks went to bed, the party really began. Beer and vodka and fruit juices came out. I'd never drunk before, so I get pretty wasted on three beers and a couple drinks of fruit juice and vodka.
The party was a blast. Everyone had a good time. Some of the couples started making out. I can't tell you how hot it was to see Wonder Woman making out with Superman. Especially since Superman's tights showed just how excited he was. Many others there drew my eye for varying reasons. Some had very good costumes, some had handsome features not obscured by mask or makeup, a very few had their body on display either bared or in tight costume.
Anyway, the party went on late, and I ended up passed out on a couch.
The next morning, I was woken up by some of the guys laughing. I feared I have been the focal point of a late night or early morning prank. But I seemed unmolested, and the laughter was at jokes and stories. I felt pretty crappy. I went inside the house to the bathroom. Standing in the hallway was... him!
Oh, holy shit.
No shirt, his hair wet, most of his body dried. He is wearing old jeans with tears and blood stains on them. I recognize them as the ones the other well-done zombie was wearing last night. Obviously he had just showered off the makeup and is waiting outside the bathroom for some reason.
His chest is smooth and lean. Perfect nipples. Flesh covers his ribs, making his body soft and smooth, down to his toned belly. His sides are absolute poetry in how they arc and curve to his hips as he leans there. Sandy-blond hair under his arms. The muscles of his arms and shoulders are defined and toned, but not bulging and ugly. More poetry in form.
"Nice getup," he says in his mellow, sweet voice, leaning with one arm on the wall.
"Thanks," I manage to choke out.
"Forgot my shirt and stuff," he says with a nod at the bathroom door, his smile lighting up the hallway.
I can't look away. I have to soak in this vision, this one chance. I don't care if my jeans tent and show how interested I am.
He looks around nonchalantly, as if bored. I could attack him if I had the courage.
Then he glances over at me - over me. And he sees. And he snickers and grins. But his face invites, doesn't repulse. It is warm, not cold.
"Like what you see?" he asks, still grinning, roses blooming on his cheeks.
"I... it's... I just..."
"You're gay, huh?"
I swallow. I can't lie to him if I had to. But I can't admit it either.
His face tilts along with his head in curiosity. A golden brow raised.
"You're kind of familiar. We in any classes together?"
Blue-green gaze deeply. His smile fades. It nearly pains.
I wish. Like gym. I shake my head.
The blue-green gaze burns over me, head to feet. I feel the warmth of it.
"What's your name? Who are you?"
I know it would be better to remain anonymous, to not tell him who I am, to walk away, so that he would never know who the homo was that scoped him out after Steve's party.
The blue-green holds me, compels me. His brow wrinkles with concentration as he gazes at me.
I can't ignore the blue-green gaze. I tell him my name.
The blue-green releases me, frees me. His brow raises in surprise as he sees me, knows me.
He smiles again. It evokes my own in instinctive response.
I barely nod, wishing I could say something smart and witty, brilliant and funny. Or just anything that wasn't completely banal and ignorant.
The bathroom door opens, and Kyle Jenner steps out.
"Your stuff on the sink?" he asks the Adonis.
"Yeah. Can't believe I walked out without it," he says, nodding.
He walks into the bathroom. Kyle walks down the hall. The Adonis steps out of the bathroom carrying a shirt and travel kit. I avoid his blue-green gaze and step into the bathroom. I can breathe again. It isn't easy to relieve myself with an erection. Once done, I wash my hands and see the horrible monster in the mirror. The zombie makeup hides it, but I can still see it. I leave the bathroom. He is standing there still, still without a shirt, and I am trapped by the blue-green, fascinated and stunned. Deer... headlights.
He nods upward at me. It is liquid elegance. He smiles. It is pure sunlight.
"So, what's your plans for today?"
What would it matter to him, anyway? I'm not worth his time to even talk to. But he is.
"So, no plans?"
"Okay. How about we go get some breakfast?"
"I know a place that has the best pancakes in town."
"You're really shy, huh?"
He smiles wider, throwing the sun into shadow - and laughs, causing the birds to go silent in shame.
He looks around, then back at me. I feel his eyes sinking into mine, into my head, my thoughts, my soul.
"Your zombie makeup is pretty damned good. Even after drinking and sleeping in it."
"My parents are Seventh-Day Adventists. After about noon they'll be at church until four. We can go to my place and hang out. If you wanna."
He is being so incredibly nice! And inviting me over to his place? Even after that crack about me checking him out! He's as nice a guy as he is attractive.
"You can shower off that makeup, and get into some clean clothes. I bet some of my clothes would fit you."
He laughs again. It isn't mean at all, just in pure delight at my stunned state.
"Come on. Let's get out of here."
I find myself following him out of the front door. My friends are still in the house, and I don't know what I am going to tell them, but there is nothing that can prevent me from following him. Nothing.
We walk. I can smell him. His spicy cologne, his soap or shampoo. He smells great. He tells me about his dirt bike, and I tell him about my go-cart. We get on the bus and ride downtown. We are stared at. The Beauty and The Beast. Being seen with him is welcome. Let them stare. Let them be jealous. Let them.
We talk. It is amazing. We talk movies: horror, fiction, comedies. We talk like old friends. We have breakfast at Denton's Grill. It serves beer after four, but there are families there this early. And they really do have the best pancakes.
The way he moves the fork, the way he chews, the way he swallows... they are all so smooth and fluid. As if he had practiced every one of them over and over in front of a mirror until he had gotten them perfect.
We talk and laugh. I can't stop looking into his amazing eyes. They are so blue and so green at the same time. His hair has dried, and it is messed and wavy, like always. It seems to be its natural state. Adorable.
The way his eyebrows lift when he wants them to is simply exquisite.
His laugh fills the place, ringing off the walls like purest golden peals.
His smooth, low, velvety voice...
He looks at his watch often, and I know it has to end sooner or later, so I'm not surprised when he finally nods, and says, "Time to get out of here."
"I invited you, so you're my guest," he says, covering for the fact that his family has far more money than mine, and we both know it.
"No problem. You're welcome."
Silence as we cover ground.
"So, this was really great."
"Yeah. It was fun."
Fun. Too short a word to describe what I feel about it. There is no suitable word in my vocabulary. Thesaurus fodder.
We arrive at the bus stop.
"You like ginger ale?"
"Good. It's all I've got to drink at home. Except coffee, and I hate coffee."
Wait! Home? Is he serious? Go to his house? With his parents gone? Really?
I become so nervous I worry I might throw up the pancakes. But he talks, making me talk, and the bus ride passes in happiness and companionship. Then we get off the bus and walk down a street of large houses. He turns up the driveway of one.
"This is home," he says, pulling keys from his pocket.
I really worry I will throw up as I follow him into his house. Then up to his bedroom.
It is all blue and cream. Neat and tidy. It smells of his cologne, or shampoo, or soap. Of him.
A few sports awards on a shelf. A couple awards for dirt-bike events. His helmet is on the shelf, too. Too small to wear, I am sure.
"That's my old one. I keep it because I won wearing it."
"So, you want to get cleaned up?"
I've never showered in anyone's house before that I wasn't friends with for a long time first. Or family. But the make-up is dried and cracked and feels uncomfortable. And the stiff, bloody jeans are rubbing my legs raw.
"Uh... yeah, sure."
He gets some clothes out of the closet, a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt. He holds them up to me to make sure they will fit. Having his hands so close to my body is incredibly exciting. I have to take them from him to release myself.
He leads the way to the bathroom, shows me the towels, the soap, the shampoo, and then leaves, closing the door behind him.
I am so nervous. I peel off the clothes, get into the shower. Just standing in the same shower he uses every day is a gift from God. I am too nervous to beat one off, but I sure want to. What if I get boned up sitting around with him? How embarrassing would that be? But I can't do it.
I wash away my disguise, and get out of the shower smelling like him. How wonderful!
I put on his clothes over my own underwear. How could I get closer to him than wearing his pants and shirt? I am wearing his clothes! His! The very idea is pure bliss, but this is fact. His chest has been next to this shirt. His belly. His shoulders. Oh! His legs have pressed against the material of these sweatpants! His thighs, his... Oh, God!
How can I go out there in this condition? I tuck and hike. I use the mirror to make sure I have hidden it. And to clean away the last of the makeup. I am exposed.
I walk out of the bathroom and back to his room, carrying my own clothes. He now wears a pair of gray sweatpants that are old and tight. They hug his awesome hips and incredible thighs. He doesn't have a shirt on as he stands in front of the window, outlined by the sunlight. His buttocks arc out behind him like a half moon, rounded and perfect. The shapes in the front are breathtaking.
The predictable happens in his sweatpants I am wearing. I move my own clothes in front of myself.
"You look a lot better!" he says, grinning so brightly that the sunlight streaming in behind him is eclipsed.
"Uh... thanks? You look..." Stunning! Beautiful! Perfect! "Better, too. I guess. I mean..."
"Can I be blunt?"
His usually tan complexion goes red.
"Uh... I guess."
He motions at the bed. No way! I sit down on the chair at his desk, shaking.
What's up? Is it time for the big joke on me? Are some of his friends going to jump out and make fun of me?
He stares at me, looking right through me. I felt it. It is like a warm shaft of sunlight, but all blue-green.
"Can I ask you something, and you'll only tell me the truth?"
"Uh... I guess."
He sits on his bed, inspecting the floor. For a moment, there is stillness. Then the blue-green gaze of the Adonis nails me in place.
"I'll tell you something first, okay?"
His face is redder now. So is mine.
"Okay," I stammer.
The blue-green swings away, releasing me. Something other bears the weight of it for now.
"No one knows, and I don't want anyone to know. But you...."
The stillness returns, and the world turns outside, but not in that room. In there waits with bated breath for his next syllables.
I see him swallow. I see the movements of his throat. He no longer looks so certain and so sure. Now he looks afraid and worried. I would never have thought he was capable of such. It pains.
The blue-green returns to me, bores into me, through me, and he says, "I'm gay."
The rest of the world stops.
My chest is heavy enough to crush its way through the Earth's crust to its core. My hesitant breath could blow over a high-rise tower. My heart could pump the entire oceans from shore to shore.
The blue-green turns away, gazes at something other. He swallows again. I can see his body shaking. His expression is one I'd never seen on him before, and one I never thought I would see him wear. He is scared and concerned. And he looks so vulnerable. It pains so deeply to see.
"I'm gay, and I think you are, too. I know I like you. You're... you've got, something. You're really... " His head shakes. His brows furrow. His shoulders shrug. He glances at me, then away. "Something."
I see his pulse in his smooth neck as he gazes across the room. It throbs in racing waves.
"Do you..." he chokes.
The blue-green returns. It enfolds me. It is warm, cool. Deep... endless... infinite.
"Do you like me?" he asks, his voice high and quavering.
The blue-green uplifts me. It holds me. It releases me. It sees into me, and it allows me to see into him. There is fear and bravery. Confidence and indecision. Hope and despair.
The discomfort he feels pains me. I only wish to hold him, to reassure him, to-
There is only one thing I can say.
More breath than voice...
"I love you!"