February 15th, 1970
Fred, I can't imagine what it must have been like for you, for everyone to only see you as a sports star, the golden child, just an American man. For you to have to hide this whole side of yourself. A very similar thing happened to my teacher back home in Hazelhurst, Mississippi a few years ago. Mr. Pettigrew. He was accused of exposing himself to one of his students. "Infamous crimes against nature" they called it. He swore it wasn't true. The student who accused him failed his class, and he wanted revenge. He went off to live with his sister in Meridian. I heard that he died two years later. They say he put in his will that he didn't want his name on his tombstone because it was worthless.
I'm sorry to say that I snooped around and found out that Ralph Cooper died this year at age 41. The things they accused him of were absurd. I found the house he used to live in. It has all kinds of obscenities written all over it. For a while he was considered the "queer" of Waterford. Well, you know what? This queer says fuck you.
I can't imagine what would you do if you were a gay high school boy nine years ago that had to watch that video. I saw it too. It's filth, I tell you. It's horrible. Our state attorney general even said it was "exceptionally well done and in good taste". The words they used, "a sickness of the mind", "demand an intimate relationship" is the most slanderous bastardization I've ever come across. Every group of boys it was showed to had to have included at least one gay kid. What a drag to sit there and take in the distorted ideas in this film, and not be able to say anything or comment upon it. That's the real perniciousness of this film... the unquestioned assumption that no gay kids were in its target audience.
But you had a relationship with another sports star while you were here? Right here in this locker room? Far out. I only had one buddy these four years, and he moved away. His name was Mike. I remember once he lowered his gym shorts right in front of me and pulled down his jockey. His prick looked huge to me, bigger than my dad's. He wrapped his hand around it, started to move his hand back and forth. As it grew, he moved his hand faster and faster until a stream of white shot out onto this floor. He taught me what blowjobs were, what his girlfriend did. I offered to do it to him. I really wanted it. It was around then I learned that boys weren't supposed to tell other boys they'd give them blowjobs. By then, it was all I wanted to do.
One day here, some gay kid had enough of this. Enough of living like this. He left a note and went to town on some jock. The note read:
"Your visceral disgust is indicative of everything. It says more about your kind than a million manifestos! You are foolish to underestimate the unbridled rage of the faggot. I wish you could be inside my body for one minute and know what it feels like to be me. It's like when I had tuberculosis, and my mom took me out to the Utah desert, and there was nothing but dry open space for hundreds of miles around us. That is what is inside of me. You think the world didn't exist before you were born?! You've suffered nothing! You have no idea what it's like to be gutted! To scrape yourself up off the floor! I matter!"
I saw that kid get pushed around every day. Lit matches thrown at him in the locker room. Heard he got the shit kicked out of him on the playground when he was a kid. And this football jock dumped his head in a toilet. It just made him snap! He followed him back to his locker and slammed the locker on his hand. Broke three of his fingers. That was the end of the season for him. Living like this, my life, it's exactly as he described. And that's the way it is.
-Alan L.
Junior year felt different. So different, than freshman or sophomore year. This time, I actually felt more adult than kid. And boy was it enjoyable. For my first quarter, I had adventure education. Pretty standard stuff. Harnesses, wires being tied to trees. I have to say, we've come a long way in terms of how the public views and treats gay people these past few decades. But society is only so much of the equation. I watch these boys, how they interact, it's by nature exclusionary of gay boys. But god is it hot. Stupid hot jocks and their stupid homoerotic shenanigans.
But they could never understand what it's like to be us. To have one trait that disgusts them so much they don't want anything to do with you.Name one fag who's a hero. Name one fag who's got a call from the president saying, "great game." Name one fag that's fucked every Dallas cheerleader. Name one fag every kid wants to grow up to be.
Gym class does have its perks, though. I think the iron of my sexuality was forged in the white-hot heat of the high school locker room. All the coursing hormones, the braggadocio, the emerging bro-ness... it all swirled together to make a potent sexual concoction. I can't smell dried sweat, spy a pair of sweaty Under Armour compression shorts or see one of those wooden slat benches without popping a raging, straining erection. I think a lot of other gay men have a similar thing going on based on the number of porn scenes I've seen filmed in locker rooms. Same thing goes for gyms.
I get copious amounts of eye candy. Jack Smith. Smooth black hair, 5'11". Total hottie. Current quarterback of the football team after Frank's class graduated. I heard he was called into Mr. Brenn's office once and when Mr. Brenn had to leave to talk to someone, he whipped out his dick and shot a huge load all over Mr. Brenn's desk. When he got back, Jack was gone, and he didn't even know how to process it. Rumor is he was caught fucking his running back Josh Lontai in the weight room. Probably true. He certainly thinks like a gay boy. Why clean up your load? Leave it like that and it becomes a statement.
Speaking of Josh Lontai, he has the kind of bubble butt that could make all the guys on the football team cream their white pants. Any of the guys would want to fuck this twink in his gym class.
Then there's Travis Pawelek. Blonde God. I call him God because he's certainly chiseled like one. He's about 6 feet tall and is sculpted like Zeus. I intentionally moved my lock closer to his. Once, as a result of my injury, I had to go to the nurse. When I got back to the locker room, it was empty as everyone else had already gone outside. I opened his cubic locker and sniffed his jock pants. Along with the help of Danny Canossa's gray army shorts, I shot my load in my pants, cleaned up, got my harness, and went outside.
Once, when I was alone with him after gym class, we sat down against the lockers, just behind the wooden slat bench.
"Wow, you're pretty strong," he said, complimenting my arm, sleeve rolled up.
"It's my other secret." I smirked.
"So, Brianna King? Big whore." He really dragged that last part. "She'll blow you, but she won't fuck if you're in this school. You'd have to go somewhere else for that. Probably Catholic. But she's not a dyke. She's a whore. There's a big difference." He said. I tried to laugh along.
"So you know Marisa Nicastro?" He nudged. I looked into his eyes. "So she comes over to interview me for the school paper, about being this great athlete and shit. And it's 4:00 O'Clock and my mom won't be home `till 6:00." He paused for a little moment. "Next thing I know, she grabs my dick."
"No..." I said in disbelief. I could feel it. The rush. The excitement. My dick hardening. It's all starting again.
"Oh yeah, she went for it." He said. He started palming his hardening cock through his black gym shorts and closed his eyes. "Not only that... she unzips my fly... she's got my dick, and she's got all these rings on. And they're cold but her hand's warm." He started stroking it faster. I could start to make out the shape of his cock. It was a little longer than average. And boy was it thick. Fit for a God like him.
"And she's rubbing... rubbing... Oh yeah..." He panted. His dick was almost big enough to make it through the bottom of the left side of his shorts. I felt my dick leak some pre-cum just listening to this erotic man.
"And then she's gotta go home." He cuts off the tension abruptly, only to start it up again. "And I'm there... and I'm..." He breathily whispered.
"You're hard..." I say, staring down at his dick. The definition of yearning is wanting something so bad it hurts. I want that dick. I reach over and palm it. It's pulsing in my grip. His eyes are still closed. Is this a sign for me? It must be. Is he letting me? He is. I should be so lucky. I reach my hand into his black shorts, past his Calvin Klein underwear and feel his heated, engorged penis almost speaking to me, asking me to get him off. I start rubbing. Faster, and faster. He starts breathing in a more uneven pace. I can see his chest rising and falling through his gray shirt. His muscles, absolutely entrancing. There was nothing else in the whole world. Just my hand, his cock, and the music of his panting.
Before I know it, he lets out this groan, like nothing I'd ever heard before, almost like it could start another universe. He shot out his load into his shorts. A good portion of his jizz shot out onto his knee. The rest of it left a huge white wet spot on his shorts. Most of it seeping out of his pants. He opened his eyes again and looked down at the mess of semen he made all over his shorts and the locker room floor. Breathing in the stench of his cum, I felt like I was in Heaven. I wished that I never had to get up and live the rest of my life.
"I shot buckets," he said still panting. He smiled and looked up at me and gave me a big kiss. He ruffled my hair, got up, and left. Did I do good? Did I please him?
God knows I tried.