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"The Stranded Boy, Chase" Chapter 3 - A Few Years Back
I've been attracted to boys since the age of thirteen. I can't recall ever being attracted to girls or even fantasizing about them. Unlike most of my peers, I was an "early bloomer," though I never much cared. While my face remained untouched by hair and smooth, I had plenty of hair elsewhere: a sparse amount around my nipples and quite a few on my arms, legs, and around my cock. I sprouted up to 5'10" to become the tallest in my eighth grade class and remained one of the tallest throughout high school. Additionally, my voice had already changed. I was said to be a fair reflection of my father, a symbol of masculinity. I suppose this was my best cover and a large part of why nobody ever suspected how I was turning out. I'd hear the boys in class and at lunch talk about jacking off, and I'd always eavesdrop and make mental picture of their actions - with them included. My masculinity turned out to be a bust, however, since I decided at fourteen that I would not go out for any varsity sports in high school - a huge disappointment to my parents, teachers, and coaches. I also kept aloof from my peers; I walked home alone after school, avoided movie theaters on weekends, refused to accept any invitation to dances, dates, or to "hang out" with the guys for fear that I'd be found out and they'd freak. I gave it the works, and so I was almost always alone. And since I was taller, stronger, and smarter than my classmates, my actions were never challenged.
I never let my gaze linger for too long on a boy. I wasn't an idiot; I knew that if I was found out as a fag, I wouldn't live to see my eighteenth birthday - which was when I decided I'd leave my rustic town. I never thought much of my fantasies. I knew that they weren't normal, but I also knew that I'd rather be a monk who lived his whole life without sex than be queer. But I couldn't avoid the fact that I was attracted to boys, that I fantasized mercilessly about them, that they were always the object of my jack off sessions at night. As the years passed, I grew more quiet and cynical - compliment of my overly pessimistic parents. I grew more introverted, but I also gained the sharp wit that comes with it. I made sure that no one messed with me, that only a look would frighten anyone who dared breathe wrong in my direction. Sure, I wasn't on the football team or the student council, but I made sure that I was strong both mentally and physically. By the time I was a junior, I was in the top 10% of my class. I read at least two books a week, and swam at the lake four times a week after hours - which was prohibited.
The lake became a safe haven, my sanctuary by age sixteen. It was often abandoned as most of the "cool" kids in town decided that it wasn't "cool" anymore to be found at a lake less than twelve feet deep when they could hang out at the beach or at a friend's pool. I couldn't care less, so I went there whenever I had the chance barring in the dead of winter. In the morning, I jogged to clear my head of all my demons - which were mostly thoughts of other boys. My senior year of high school, I easily could have been the least known student in school. In fact, I wished I was. At eighteen, I dyed my hair from the ever popular sandy blonde to jet-black. I stopped wearing my contacts so that I could wear glasses - I desperately wanted to distinguish myself from my peers. As it turned out, I could see quite well without either glasses or contacts - so much for being different. I slept in class daily without failing a single class, making sharp comments to anyone who dared bother me. All in all, I had no friends and thought I wanted none, despite the occasional sting of loneliness that would throb in my heart whenever I remembered that I had no one to share my witty jokes with.
Never once did I act upon the urges towards my male classmates. Though I hovered in a cloud of confusion, I knew with certainty that it wasn't accepted. Like I said, I wasn't dumb. I didn't, by any means, think that I was gay. In fact, I deliberately ignored that possibility. I didn't want to conform, but I didn't want to be a total 180 of my peers either. I thought of boys as much as I blinked, but I saw it as just part of who I was: the weird kid who wanted to see all the good-looking guys in his school naked, but who never considered BEING with them. Yes, I know that I'm weird.
Whenever a stunning guy walked by me, I'd burn his features into my memory. My gaze never dawdled, though. I looked; I remembered; I went home and jacked off. My curiosity never grew beyond this, or was it that I never LET it grow beyond this? I was never sure. I don't think I wanted to know how far I wanted my fantasies to go. Constantly, I'd assure myself, "You're not a fag. You're not queer. Just curious; that's all." I actually believed myself, too. I'd do it whenever I woke up with a boner, after a night of seeing either one of my classmates or teachers naked in my dreams. Surprisingly, no one ever noticed my continuous ascension towards faggotry, but I spent more and more time daydreaming about boys. Usually I'd wait at least until I arrived home to dream of them, but sometimes the guy's beauty struck so hard that I'd forget where I was, and suddenly, without my consent, images of his naked body would spring up at me.
This was the case with Nick. Beautiful Nick. He was so masculine, yet seemed to possess a dormant feminine quality. The truth was that I'd never seen him in school before. But I was the "least-known guy" there; of course I couldn't have known him. He might have been in one of my classes; of course, I'd have no clue because I was always making such a point of sleeping, reading, or gazing out the window instead of socializing. God, now he said he thought I was gay. How could anyone notice? I was so careful. I wasn't gay. I never thought of having sex with a guy, not even at eighteen. I only wanted to run my hands down their bodies, maybe while they showered. I wanted to feel their ribs if they were thin, or their pecs if they were muscular. I didn't want to fuck them or to be fucked by them. God, I'd never even considered it. I was so virginal for my age. Yes, physically, I'd developed earlier than most, but sexually, I was as innocent as they came, I suppose. I'd only been given one blowjob - from a girl - which wasn't even that great. I wasn't even close to coming.
Lately, things were getting out of hand. It had been days since I'd seen Nick. It was now Thursday, and he was nowhere in sight. I wanted to talk about our tutoring sessions. I wanted to tell him that Ms. Watts was giving me a hard time when I couldn't
answer her questions about his progress. Where the hell was this kid? I grew irritated. I wanted to know why my cock sprang up when his skin rubbed against mine. I wanted to know why he had only been doing well in History up until a month ago. I wanted to know why he liked basketball. I wanted to know what he looked like naked! No, no, no! I almost screamed. No, I don't want to know what he looks like naked.
I walked through the halls that Thursday with doubts marring my sanity.
(c) Copyright Nicholas Parker Written by Nicholas Parker Edited by Joseph