"Richard. Richard!" said Coach Smith
"What?!"
"You're drooling."
"Oh sorry... geez that's gross... I didn't... I wasn't... I'll pay more attention to you."
"I'd appreciate that."
But the truth was that I wasn't drooling because I wasn't paying attention to my teacher, it's because I was paying attention to him, Coach Smith, more specifically his butt. Coach Smith had an amazing ass; like a bounce a quarter off it bubble butt. His ass was too perfect for words, it was the very definition of muscle butt. Coach's ass looked amazing in all kinds of pants/shorts; dress pants, jeans, tracksuit bottoms, basketball shorts, cargo shorts, and with birthday suit pants... but I'm getting ahead of myself. I once heard a girl in my class say she had dreams about Coach Smith's butt and I don't blame her, she certainly wasn't alone in that confession. I had dreams about that booty on the regular, one might say I say I was obsessed with it... and they would be correct.
But I didn't dream about Coach Smith's butt solely, I dreamt about every part of him. Coach Smith was a God, in his late twenties he definitely was in fantastic shape; ripped arms, huge thighs, gorgeous calves, perfect pecs, and gorgeous abs (which I could only dream about until recently). Coach Smith wasn't just hot, he was funny, really funny. Everything that came out of his mouth made me laugh, I would gladly do any assignment he asked our class to do because all I wanted to do was please him. If I could make Coach Smith happy then I was happy.
Coach Smith and I had a strange relationship, for me at least I felt like I was more than just a student to him. He and I had a funny banter between us, every joke he made I would come back with another joke and even if none of my classmates thought what I said was funny he always got it. We would poke fun at one another, make wildly inappropriate jokes about the novels we were reading and geek out about comic books with one another. In many ways I feel like he saw himself in me, which I was fine with. Sometimes I felt like we were flirting with each other, or at least the way I acted around him was the way I flirted with someone.
I'm pretty sure Coach Smith knew I was gay. He asked us once to write what was more important Truth or Compassion and I managed to turn the essay into some diatribe about how people should be more accepting of gays. He gave me a 100. It wasn't like I was the most masculine acting guy in the school either, although when I finally came out after high school people were rather surprised. Coach Smith was a married father and way to respectable of a man to ever cheat on his wife especially with an underage... male... student (the odds were more than stacked against us).
Well my sophomore year ended, and I parted ways with Coach Smith. I gave him his end of year present (a Thor mask and socks with little cape on the back) and a huge hug. He told me something like "You're a fine young man and I can't wait to see what you do with your life because I have a feeling it's going to be something great." I left his room and cried for 10 minutes in a bathroom stall.
High school went on. I saw Coach Smith in the hall and we'd talk. But I still missed seeing him everyday and I could sense that he did to, there was just something about how his face lit up whenever he saw me. I graduated top of my class and gave a tear filled speech where I egged on the future while comforting the past and I talked about the teachers that had inspired me, with an extra long pause before I talked about Coach Smith. I saw him after graduation and our conversation went something like this.
"Coach."
"Richard."
"You're class was my favorite of all the classes I've ever taken."
"You were one of my brightest student's too Rich."
"I can't say I'm not going to miss this place."
"Yeah it's funny how kids hate high school when they're in it but miss it when they're out."
"I'm sure going to miss it alot."
"I'm sure it, the school, will miss you too. You really left a mark on this place kid."
"I was just being myself."
"Well don't ever stop doing that, being yourself. In my ten years of teaching I've never encountered a student with so much compassion and understanding. You can't let life rip away from you because it will try to really hard."
"I won't Coach."
"You promise."
"I... I... I promise."
And with that I went on my way.
I kissed Mark good bye as I headed out the door, suitcase in tow.
"Rich you need to hurry, the airline recommends you get there two hours early."
"Mark, that's bullshit and you know it."
"Fine, but if you miss your flight I get to point and laugh at you."
"I'll buy a dunce cap."
"I love you."
"You too babe."
I got hit on by five guys at LAX. Sometimes it's strange living in a place that's so gay friendly after growing up outside Dallas. I can't say it's not flattering but I would never cheat on Mark, my husband of two years, I couldn't betray his trust like that. We made a vow to one another, a vow millions fought for, and I'm not planning on through that away like some right wing asshole said I would.
The flight to DFW was uneventful, I got hit on by 3 flight attendants (two woman, one man), and there was a little turbulence but I like a little rollercoaster every once and awhile. I landed, got my bag, got called a fag after someone saw I was a member of PFLAG, and met my parents at the pickup lane.
I was a little bit nervous, but who isn't nervous when they come home, especially for your ten year high school reunion.
"How are things with Mark?" my tremulous anorexic mother asked.
"Good, we're talking about going to Uganda next year to adopt a baby."
"How exciting!"
"Don't talk about that shit around me," said Dad.
"Is that how this trips going to be Jim?"
"The boy knows how I feel about the matter."
"He's our son."
"But the queer PARTNER of his isn't."
"Husband, he's my husband."
"Not in Texas he isn't."
"DO YOU WANT ME TO GET A HOTEL ROOM?"
"Rich NO! Now Jim please, you'll keep your mouth shut if you ever want to see your grandchild."
"It won't be my grandchild."
"Pull over... Pull over!... GOD DAMMIT LET ME OUT OF THIS FUCKING CAR RIGHT NOW BEFORE I PUKE!!! I did NOT come back here to deal with this BULLSHIT! I don't deserve or accept this kind of abuse. I'm a grown adult and I DEMAND respect."
"Take your FUCKING suitcase bigman."
I stood on the side of interstate 30 and watched my parent's Lexus drive off, a covert PFLAG bumper sticker on the bumper, and grinned through the tears.
My hotel room was nice, I'd snagged a swanky room at the local Hilton for cheap with all the airline miles I racked up flying for job. I walked in the room and stripped naked. I laid down on the bed and just breathed. I watched as my stomach rose and fell... rose and fell... rose and...
The following day I awoke abruptly at 6:37 to the sound of a couple fighting in the room next door, from the sound of the door slam I'm betting he cheated on her. I ordered some blueberry pancakes from room service and settled in for some CNN. I called Mark with a mouth full of syrup and blueberry pancakes and tried to swallow as I broke out into tears.
"Your dad?"
"Ah huh."
"How far were you from the airport."
"5 miles."