Friends Even After This

My eighteenth birthday was a memorable one to say the least. It was the first time a boy kissed me, and to this day I relive that moment and all the ways I acted in the aftermath that I should have done differently. But regret poisons the soul and until I can fully apologize for my behavior, that poison will have some power.

I was the last of all my friends to turn eighteen, doing it two weeks after high school graduation. It had been a string of parties since graduation, culminating in my birthday party which I got the feeling was a party they would have thrown whether it was my birthday or not. But unlike the usual parties where beer flowed freely from a keg and eventually it became a game of dodge-puke as you walked around, this was a nice affair, with a buffet spread thanks to Mrs. Spirrozi. It was her son who spearheaded this shindig, but she did all of the heavy lifting. She had always kept an eye out for me, because she just sort of sensed that there was trouble at my house. She was a powerful, single mom who once threatened to kick my dad's after church when I was around thirteen. It created quite a stir in the community, and to this day I do not believe my dad has ever gotten over it.

The party was a big success with a dance floor that actually had people on it. I always enjoyed dancing, but that made me an anomaly at my school. I was dancing away and had this euphoric feeling like I was detaching from this high school crowd and on my way to better things. I would be leaving for college in two months, heading to the west coast and the eternal sunshine. When the song ended, I made my way to the bathroom, but there was a line. As I stood there waiting my turn, I heard Mrs. Spirrozi yell to me, "Chris, can you come here a moment?" I reluctantly gave up my spot in line and walked over as requested. When I got there, she whispered, "You can use the one in the master bedroom. I didn't want to yell that in front of everyone else." I gave a huge thank you and made my way to her room and into her attached bathroom.

After I achieved my short-term bladder goals, I took a gander in the full-length mirror to get a good look at myself. I wire shorts and a tank top, given the weather, and was happy with how I looked. I had been outdoors a lot and my tan was where I had hoped it would be. I left the bathroom and Tony Spirrozi was waiting, I assume skipping the long line to use his mom's restroom as well. He asked, "So how does it feel to be eighteen? Any different?" I shrugged my shoulders and answered, "Not really, but you've been there for a while, so you know that."

He laughed and said, "Yeppers, no magical change overnight. The one difference is that you're legal now. Free to do more things."

It was an interesting thought I had not really given much thought to, as I didn't feel particularly restricted. He came up with a silly grin on his face and said, "Hmmm, you don't look different either. I don't see where it says you're legal, but it must say it somewhere."

I laughed... at least until he put his hands on my cheeks and looked me in the eyes. It was really awkward. Then out of no where, his mouth is rapidly approaching mine and he pressed his lips into my lips. I clenched mine tightly closed and after a couple seconds pushed him away. As he stumbled back I said, "Fag!" I hurried out of the room, past Mrs. Spirrozi, who I hope hadn't heard it but from her expression probably did. I got to my car and just drove. I didn't want to go home, but I had no destination. I eventually pulled over and started spitting out all of my now impure saliva. What the hell did he do that for? Fuck, people would find out he kissed me, and I'd labeled as a fag too. If my dad ever found out that I didn't punch him in the nose for trying that, I'd be dead. God, let me out of this town.

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I still remember on my thirteenth birthday, when I was feeling particularly down, my mother said, "Being different is just another way of being special, and we all want to be special." It didn't mean much at that moment, but it has been my manta through many rough spots. As I stood their dejected in my mom's bedroom, having been called that terrible three-letter word by the boy I had been crushing on since I first realized I was 'different', she said it to me again. I was tired of waiting to be special. I wanted that night to be special. I had been planning this night for months, doing everything to make Chris's eighteenth birthday a special one, not a different one. I had been dreaming about him kissing me back, but it had gone horribly wrong. He was 6'1" and slim, and handsome like a model. He lacked self-confidence, which to me made him that much cuter.

That would also be the last time I ever took dating advice from my mother. What the hell was wrong with me, trusting my mom with such a fragile situation? She had always been supportive and she new I preferred men even before I figured it out. She had accepted me before I had accepted myself, so it was reasonable to trust that she saw the same thing in Chris that she saw in me. I'm honestly not sure if I saw it in him or whether I saw what I wanted to see in him. Either way, what's done is done and I'll be leaving at the end of summer.

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All summer, I lived in fear that my dad would find out about the incident at the Spirrozi house. He already had an issue with Mrs. Spirrozi after he made a glib comment about his femininity one Sunday coming out of church. I seriously thought she was going to deck him. In my dad's eyes, men only came in one flavor: rough, rugged, and straight. He had engrained that in my brothers and I. My oldest brother had joined the marines, which made my father extremely proud. My middle brother was studying engineering in college and had always excelled at sports like football and baseball. For me, I had taken a liking to tennis and volleyball. I had wanted to try swimming, but my dad vetoed anything that had me 'parading around in a g-string,' so tennis and volleyball it was. I entertained the thought of walking on the team once I got to college, but that wouldn't be for two months. And I had to live until then.

I became a recluse since the incident, not wanting to see anyone. Tony had tried calling and texting a couple times, but there was no way in hell I would be taking that call. I took my windfall of free time and spent it gearing up for school and playing tennis a few hours a day. When August finally arrived, I packed up the six-year old Toyota my mom and dad got for me, and I started my four-day trek west. It was an adventure, with my middle brother joining me for the first two days, and my parents for last two days. I got situated in the dorms and fell in love with freedom the second I arrived. I went to a few school sponsored social events and traded all sorts of information about where we were from and what our major was. At one of the many seminars that filled our mornings, I sat next to John, a guy who lived in my dorm, two floors above mine. He told me about club recruitment and the fare being held on 'the Quad,' as the central campus plaza was called.

After getting out of the slowest two hours of my life where we learned about cafeteria etiquette, John and I made our way to the quad and he stopped at a booth draped in several rainbow flags. He proudly told them, "My friend and I would like to sign up." I'm thinking, 'what the fuck are you saying "we" for?' I corrected his statement and told them, "No thank you, I'm not interested in signing up." They gave me a brochure and said if I changed my mind, there was contact information in it.

John trailed me as I walked off to nowhere in particular. When he finally caught up he said, "I'm sorry to have pushed you to join."

"Why would you do that? Why would you think I'd want to join?"

"We all need support at some point. Maybe you're proud and accepting of who you are, and that's great for you, but you could help others. And it might help you meet guys."

"What, are you saying? You think I'm gay?"

"Well yeah... I did think it. Damn, I'm sorry. Are you not gay?"

"What vibe and I'm giving off that would make you think that? I'm not gay and I think it's really disgusting. Whatever you do is your business, but you can keep your brochure and rainbow, and that stuff." I walked off questioning so many things. This was the second time in a few months some guy has made this mistake. I don't think I do anything that would lead people to think this, but obviously there must be something.

Once school starts, I'm falling into my routine of lectures, discussions, and homework. Biology lab is insanely time-consuming for so few units, but other than that school is going well. My lab partner, Rick, and I get together once a week to work on our lab reports the night before they're due. About the fifth week of school, we're working on it in the study longue on his floor when this guy walks up to him and plants a lengthy and tongue-laden kiss on his mouth. I look the other way, repulsed a little but at the same time intrigued, because Rick seemed straight as an arrow. When they finally break free of their mouth-grip, Rick says "Chris, meet my boyfriend Martin." He shakes my hand and says, "Nice to meet you. Sorry about the extended show there, but I wanted to make sure you know he's taken."

Martin gives him another kiss and then heads off into the hallway. I am stunned. Rick breaks the tension by saying, "Sorry about the shock there. I don't wear my preferences on my sleeve, so I tend to catch people off guard when they find out. I figured you might have known, but I wasn't sure. From your expression, I take it you didn't know."

I have no idea what to say and just spew some drivel out, "I had no idea."

"No worries. It's not like your gaydar is broken, because like I said, I don't show up on some guy's gaydar."

"I'm not sure I have a gaydar, because I'm pretty sure you have to be gay to have one."

"Oh my gosh, I am so sorry, I just assumed you were."

Damn, it happened again. I am curious why, and Rick is masculine enough that I feel comfortable asking him what it is. "If you don't mind, what is it about me that people think this? It's happened a few times now."

"That people thought you were gay?"

"Not just people, but specifically gay men. What the hell am I doing to ping your gaydar so frequently?"

"I'm not exactly sure how to explain it, but you just know... or usually just know. It can be something in the way you make eye contact. It can be a shy smile that you see but straight people don't. It can be the way your hormones don't go crazy around cute girls. It's not a bad thing is it?"

"It's not good or bad, it's just confusing. I don't want to pop up on people's gaydar."

"I'm not sure what to tell you. As someone who is proudly gay who often doesn't ping the gaydar, I am not sure what to tell a straight guy who pings it like you. Want to get back to work?"

"We should."

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It had been nearly four months since 'the incident' and I wasn't feeling any better. I thought being at college and having a fresh start would have helped, but it didn't. I hated being depressed, and I did my best to hide it from my mother when she'd call, but it was the new me. I had taken a risk and outed myself to the love of my life, and got that word in return. I hated being called that. On a whim I decided to stop in the counseling center and the receptionist, a stunning dark-haired man who looked like he just graduated from college, put my name in the appointment book and asked if I had a specific counselor I wanted to see. I had no interest in telling the whole world what I needed, so I agreed to see the first available.

He looked at me and then took a note pad out and wrote, "In a few words, tell what you need and I'll help get you the right counselor."

I wrote back, "I'm gay and confused."

He wrote back "Me too... but not the confused part. I have just the counselor for you."

I wrote, "Thank you.''

He wrote, "It gets better. My first few years were wretched, but it got much better."

I wrote "Thank you," and then took a seat in the waiting area.

A man in his mid-forties with a few strands of grey hair riddling his clean cut brown hair and hazel eyes came out and said, "Tony S?"

I got up and walked into his office. He asked me to sit on the two-seater couch and he took the recliner chair positioned at about a 135-degree angle from it. He crossed his legs at the knee, grabbed his yellow pad, and then asked, "What can I help you with?"

I said, "Four months ago I tried to kiss this boy I had been infatuated with for years, and he called me a 'fag'. I can't get over the rejection and I'm getting worried."

"I see. It's a confusing time as is, and an incident like that just compounds the matter. Did you reach out to him afterwards?"

"Yes, several times. I left messages and texts, but he never called back."

"Had he told you in advance that he was interested in you?"

"No, but I swear he was."

"Did he tell you he had feelings for men?"

"No."

"But you think he does?"

"I do. I can feel it, if you understand what I mean."

"I understand. But you need to understand that maybe he hasn't accepted that part of himself. Maybe he needs time and you threatened him by making him accept it before he's ready."

"So what am I supposed to do?"

"Ah, now we're getting somewhere. You are aware that it is in your hands. All you can do is learn and grow. Have you seen anyone since the incident?"

"Seen?"

"Share only what you're comfortable sharing here. What I'm asking is if you've dated, or have a boy you're pursuing, or if you've hooked up and how it went if you did. Again, share only what you're comfortable with."

"Oh, 'seen' as in a relationship. There is one boy who asked me out our first week here, but I was not ready."

"Is there anyone who interests you?"

I could feel myself blush, and I bit my lip and squirmed a little, before saying, "I think your receptionist is really cute."

"Hmmm." There was a pause and it made me nervous. "Is that the only thing in these four months?"

"Yes."

"Okay, well that's still good news. I'm going to ask you some more questions, and they may make you uncomfortable, and you only have to share what you feel comfortable sharing. Okay?"

"Okay."

"Have you physically been with a man or a woman?"

"No."

"Do you fantasize about men or women?"

"Men."

"Do you get aroused in these fantasies?"

"Very much so."

"Care to elaborate? And again, you don't have to."

"I think about being with a man. I picture kissing and caressing and undressing him. I get quite aroused thinking about this."

"Anything more?"

I could feel myself getting a little aroused and as much as I tried to fight looking, I wanted to see if he was too. He had his legs crossed, so I couldn't tell. Up until that moment he had been professional, but I was getting a little uncertainty welling inside. "Nah, that's pretty much as far as it goes."

"This is very good. Is there anything else you want to share?"

"I can't think of anything."

"Okay, so here's where we are. You are self-aware and have a healthy view of the world around you. You built up a romance in your mind that wasn't reciprocated, and it was deflating. That's the problem with infatuation and love is that it's a partnership. Just coming in today is a sign you are coping well with the trauma that followed that incident. I cannot tell you what to feel or not feel, but I can say you need to feel more. You need to explore who you are. You need to forgive yourself and trust when your heart tickles."

I wasn't sure he said anything profound or maybe even useful, but I really needed to hear his words. I said, "Thank you for that."

He sighed, and then said, "That is the professional I need to be speaking. Please indulge me for just a moment while the less than professional side comes out. I'm never suppose to share personal stories, but I think this is the exception. I was confused when I was your age. I too had a crush on a straight boy, although the verdict is still out on your young man. I remember thinking I could convert him if he just gave me a chance. Like you, I knew exactly who I was but had not acted on it. The day I finally let myself go, and fully be with a man, I never looked back. It was like this huge weight was lifted off my shoulders. Everything was suddenly okay."

I laughed and said, "So you're saying that once I have my first experience being penetrated, that it will all be better?"

"I cannot say that professionally and do not advocate that. But it did magic for me. Good luck."

I was emboldened and left the office. As I passed the receptionist's desk, the man behind the desk asked, "How'd it go?"

I grabbed his notepad, which only had our exchange on it and wrote, "Let's get coffee sometime." I left my number and email address.

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Getting together for lab reports was a little awkward the next time, but it got better as we both relaxed. I finally brought up the elephant in the room as we were finishing the last of our data tables. "I'm sorry if it was awkward last time. I've thought about what you shared last week, and I am really grateful you were so candid and open."

"I talked about it a lot with Martin and he had a wild idea that I think you'll shoot down."

"We'll see. What's the idea?"

"Well, Halloween is coming up in a week and the Pride club sponsors the most outlandish and over-the-top party you'll ever see. He wanted to know if you'd like to join us. What do you say?"

"It's just for gay people?"

"No, everyone comes. But we host it and get the deejay and food. It's really fun and you'll see the whole range from queens to allies. It might really help you to met some allies. It might also help with your homophobia."

"What makes you say I'm homophobic?"

"I like to call it 'phobedar', but let me ask you, do you think you might be?"

"Maybe a little."

"Was your household anti-gay?"

"Very much so."

"So being mistaken for gay is something you see as an insult?"

"I guess so. I mean, that sounds right if I think about it."

"Well come and see firsthand that people are people. There will be some freaky shit for sure, but most of us are the same as you, except we like giving blowjobs as much as getting them."

I laughed a little more than a courtesy laugh and asked, "Do I need to dress up?"

"Of course."

We completed lab work for the night and then I picked his brain for costume ideas. I didn't want it to be too mindless like a bed sheet as a ghost costume. I didn't want to be too cliché and crossdress. I had a week to figure it out. Martin suggested I go as a priest and that he and Rick could dress as little boys. I didn't take to the idea, but the idea was funny. We did something of the ilk and settled on me being Matt Gaetz and they dressed as young girls.

Halloween night came and it ends up that we took second place in the costume contest and got all sorts of feedback, much of it from people with a high alcohol content. One of their friends came up to commend them on their costume and then asked, "Who's your friend?"

Rick replied, "He's straight, Doug."

Doug replied, "What are the odds? I'm straight Doug. That's why I have crotchless panties under my dress."