The first time I saw Donnie, he was on line at the school cafeteria, and he was talking. It turns out, he likes the sound of his own voice; likes to be the center of attention. I was a few students behind him on line.
"That bitch was hot." I heard him say, and I ventured a quick glance at him. I saw a slim, wiry young man, his auburn hair parted in the middle and just grazing his shoulder.
"She started riding me. Man, I just lay back and enjoyed the show." he said as a worker loaded enchiladas onto his plate.
"Little more salsa, baby. There you go." he said, then slid his tray down the line.
He seemed very cocksure, and that was something that I (secretly) admired in a man. The kind that liked to 'pound pussy', as they say, then crow about it to their male friends.
I sat at a table near his where I could watch him from the corner of my eye. He wore a black jeans jacket over a tee shirt, tight-fitting black pants, and rust-colored high top Converse sneakers. In my mind, I imagined him fucking a sweet blonde co-ed. I imagined myself there in the bedroom with them, watching, admiring their sexual energy and prowess.
Donnie was packing away big forksful of enchilada and laughing and kidding with his friends. I sat there and dreamed.
I said that I secretly admired cocky, swaggering type guys, and I do. I guess it's because they are everything that I will never be. I'm nineteen and I've had two girlfriends. Both relationships ended disappointingly. Leticia, my first, complained to me that I was distant, that our intimate times were awkward for her. She left me. And Rachel seemed to barely tolerate me as a boyfriend. I often saw her chatting with other boys in suggestive ways. When I finally confronted her on that she told me to 'fuck off'.
It was after that experience that I began to see that what I really wanted was to have a nice warm cock in my mouth. I wanted cock in my mouth, balls cupped in my fingers, and a pubic bush staring me in the face. I realized I was a faggot.
Once that became clear to me, I pretty much kept to myself socially. I watched lots of pornography in my free time. I didn't like the gay sites at all. I liked watching straight men stretching pussy and shooting big loads onto women's faces. A favorite fantasy was to be there as an assistant and cheerleader for the horny couple. I would see myself kneeling beside the bed and telling them how cool they were, how beautifully they were fucking, all the while reminding myself that I was a lowlife fag.
On campus, I did my best to track when Donnie would be somewhere so that I could be there, too. I was obsessed.
Donnie, it turns out, was no fool. He had antennae for any kind of sexual conquest and, at one point, he started noticing me. One time, in the bookstore, he caught me glancing at him. He walked over to me.
"What's up with you?" he said. "you some kind of a queer or something?"
His bluntness unsettled me and I began to stutter a response.
"I'm sorry! I... I... I didn't mean..."
Then, I just up and said it.
"Yes. Yes, I am a queer."
Donnie laughed.
"Figured as much. You been following me?"
"I have. I'm sorry. I..."
"Say you're sorry one more time and I'm going to take you outside and slap the shit out of you. Got that?" he said evenly. He meant business.
"Yes, sir." I said, then, wisely, shut up.
Donnie reached for a magazine on the shelf, tore a corner of a page off, and scrawled a number onto it.
"Call me tonight, fagboy." he said, then walked off.
I stared at the piece of paper, at the number written across the smiling face on a toothpaste ad. My heart was beating as fast as a hummingbird's., and my fingers trembled.
I called after eight. He answered after a few rings.
"Hi". I said. "It's me, Conrad."
"Conrad? Oh, right. The fag from the bookstore. So, are you busy?"
"No, no!" I said. "Nothing planned."
"Don't have any dicks lined up to suck?"
"No, sir. No plans at all."
"Good. Come on over, then. Maybe I'll take you for a test drive. Sound good?"
"Absolutely." I said. "Yes, I can come right away."
"Thought so. Okay, then. 414 Regis Street. Get your ass over here."
He hung up.
I didn't have a car, and the bus service at night was unpredictable, so I called a cab.