Author - Handymanblues
Hiding In The Closet
(A gay friend of mine blew the door off the closet he was hiding in by letting me read his diary. I'll let you read it to. We all have secrets we're desperate to hide. But sometimes we get tired of hiding)
"I know what you are."
The words stared back at me on the library computer screen. I had no idea who had written them. The email handle simply read 'a blast from the past.'
Sweat now formed like a sickly film over me.
Who would email me such a message? And who would know my dreaded secret?
My heart sunk. All my life I've known that I was different than most of my school mates. That was because, as a man, I never did like girls. But I've always loved men.
I had just turned eighteen last week, and being the star high school quarterback meant that I had to pretend to be macho every day of the weak. No limp wrists or pretty in pink shirts for me. It was definitely not a school where gays would be tolerated, much less be allowed to quarterback the nation's eleventh ranked high school football team.
I was in my senior year, and I had football scholarships for all the top colleges coming out of my ying yang, yet none of it would matter if someone had managed to sniff me out. Being gay would get me booted off the team and leave me high and dry. Someone was out to sabotage me. But who?
Who? That was the question that needed answering. My parents didn't know, nor did my younger brother Michael nor my younger sister Frances. I had told no one over the years about my sexual orientation. Not a councillor, nor shrink, nor any teachers. And especially not any blabbermouth students. I refer to all students as blabbermouths, because that is exactly what they are. I told my sister never to tell any of her secrets to her so called best friends, because sooner or later she would end up having a falling out with them and they would reveal those secrets to everybody and anybody. She didn't listen and now everyone at school knows what her friend knows. I'm glad I never told her about me and my little problem.
What is my little problem? My little problem is my little cock, and the fact it only gets huge when guys are around. I've had a few close calls dating girls.
I routinely would go out with chicks for pizza or a movie just to throw those suspicious of me off the scent. My problem would come when some of those chicks were trying to get my pants off during said pizza eating or movie watching. I would always come up with an excuse that I was a man saving myself for marriage. Normally such an excuse wouldn't hold much validity, but since I belonged to a strict Christian church that frowned upon sex before marriage, I seemed to always be able to wriggle off the hook.
Religion was something that could get you out of a lot of such jams. At the same time, however, it was a double edged sword. For as much as it allowed you to keep away cock hungry chicks, it didn't leave any room for coming out of the closet.
Like most right wing conservative churches that preached heaven or hell, with no middle ground to be found, my church was a firm believer in condemning gays unfairly by spewing venomous sermons about Sodom and Gomorrah. Not only could gays never be saved in their book, but we were the worst kind of sinners in their eyes. It was not, therefore a palatable kind of church to worship in. And that saddened me greatly, because I loved the idea of being loved by my creator. I prayed often, and wouldn't quit praying sometimes even if the sweat over my body became large salty drops of moisture that coated me like an oil slick. But it was during such prayers, that my mood would at least lift my spirits onto higher ground. It was as though I could feel the almighty's presence, and as though his word that I read so very often would come back into my mind to comfort me. And yet, I had to ask myself. Why had God allowed me to love men as opposed to women? I had a great childhood, and had, up till now, lived the American dream. I had never chosen to be gay, and would have preferred to be straight. But I was what I was, with no explanation from God or anyone as to why!
Still, survival was all that mattered now, not why or how I was what I was. There was so very much at stake. Perhaps after high school, and then much later, perhaps after college, I could come out of the closet. But for now, attitudes around me were mired in condemnation for anyone that was different.
I glanced at the screen again.
"I know what you are."
Damn! The words were still there. I hadn't imagined them. This was the very first time that I had an inkling someone might suspect my sexual preferences. But who, dammit? I had never acted out on my strong sexual fantasies, nor gone to any of the few known gay hangouts in town. As far as anyone knew, I was as straight as an arrow.
I pursed my lips angrily. Even if someone suspected I was gay, they couldn't prove it. I had never tried to make it with anyone before, whether man or woman, and I had the excuse of being a staunch Christian to explain away my reluctance to stroke pussy. It would be merely their word against mine. Still, with women tossing themselves at me as though they were tossing themselves under a bus, it might seem strange to some that I had never once strayed. That was because most single guys in church rarely followed the rules. Most had notches in their Christian belts from screwing hot female babes whenever the mood struck them, then merely asking for forgiveness whenever their dirty deeds were uncovered and brought to the light.
In a way, it was almost expected that young men in church would stray at least once or twice to sow their wild oats. After all, cocks were bound to get horny over all those alluring female curves, and boys would be boys. Just like the woman caught in adultery with no guilty man present, men were rarely blamed if they messed up with some women or got that occasional girl pregnant. It was usually unfairly blamed on the woman herself, whether the powers that be cited her short skirt or her low cleavage as the reason for his indiscretion.
I was just about to delete the email, but then I decided to leave it on my computer. Perhaps if I thought about it, then I could craftily create some reply, and send a terse but thoughtful message back to them, asking what the heck they were talking about. The more they might email me, is the more clues they might leave behind, helping me to uncover their hidden identity.
I sighed bitterly then signed out of my email. Things had been going well, too well. And when things were going too well, that was usually when the rug got pulled out from underneath my feet.
For now I'd have to try and ignore the email until I could get more facts. And most importantly of all, I had to find out who had sent it and why. The very fact they weren't coming to me in person probably meant they wanted to see me sweat and worry. Some people got their jollies that way, seeing others suffer and become nervous wrecks. I also had to contend with the fact that many heterosexuals treated homosexuals like vermin, not wanting them around and discriminating against them on every hand.
Then again, the thought came into my mind that it might be a fellow transsexual that had somehow sniffed me out. I had recently read a news article claiming some people could tell if someone was gay just by looking into their eyes. A scary thought if true! And if it was some fellow gay that that had somehow sniffed me out, what would he want in return for his silence? A relationship? Or would they be determined to out me to the community and the rest of the students at our high school? I also had to consider that the reason the person hadn't 'outed' me, might be that I had never made a pass at men before, and had never had a homosexual relationship of any kind. It was a hard thing to convince people of if there was no proof or witnesses to substantiate such wild accusations. That didn't change the fact that in a homophobic community such as ours, you were always guilty until proven innocent. As well, the mere whisper of a scandal was sometimes enough to stir the pot to the point where bad feelings would come to the boil regardless of what was proven or unproven.
Just six more months to go in my senior year and then it would be off on a full scholarship to any Ivy league college I wanted, but not...but not if a scandal broke over my sexual orientation. My fellow teammates were not going to sit back and allow me to continue at the helm of their football team as quarterback if they were convinced I was gay.
And it wasn't only that I was attracted to other men, it was that I was a woman trapped in a man's body. For years I had fantasized about having a sex change, and putting on hip hugging dresses and killer heels. I knew all about the hormone treatments, having downloaded the info time and time again, pouring over ever scrap of information I could find on how it would eventually be possible to turn me from a man, into a vibrant, voluptuous woman, with large firm breasts and a tiny waist. My face was already very 'cute,' and so without the stubble and with plump eyelashes, a stunning wig, and lots of shimmering pink lipstick on my thick pouty lips, I would look just like a model.
So far, all my aspirations and thoughts of becoming the woman that was locked up inside of me, had been just that, mere thoughts. I had not acted out on any of my fantasies, neither breathed a word of my inner desires to any one, and yet...and yet...somehow, someway, someone had sniffed me out, or at least was in possession of strong enough suspicions about me that they were willing to stir the pot on a hunch. And the hunch was a simple one with complex consequences. I was a vibrant inner woman languishing in a man's outer shell.
XXX
I pretended not to be alarmed as I walked along the school hallway. Someone, somewhere, somehow was watching me. I felt it very important that I not deviate from my regular routines and schedules in any way. Whoever was claiming to know my secret might have only been guessing. If I were to act alarmed or nervous, then they would know that they'd struck a nerve and were definitely on to something. But if continued to act normal, then they might conclude they were wrong in their assumptions, and just disappear.
One thing I wanted to do was to deflect suspicion away by going out on a hot date or two. Some of the female students I had used as dating decoys at school had lamented the fact they never got to see the star quarterback's cock, nor receive much more from his hunky body than an innocent kiss from cool as a cucumber lips. I decided that I needed to act a little more hot and bothered toward the female sex. That way, if shit did hit the fan from someone spreading stories about me, the other students would likely not pay them any mind.
I whipped out my cell phone and dialed Delores's number. She must have spotted my number because she answered right away. She had been hinting strongly for months that she was desperate to go out with me, slipping her number into my shirt pocket and cornering me in halls, the cafeteria and the library, letting me know in no uncertain terms that she had quite a crush on me.
Being Friday, and seeing as how the Saturday football practice was set for noon, I felt it would be a good time to stay out most of the night with Delores, especially since she had such a big mouth. She was bound to spread the fact we'd have sex, but only if I could manage to sprout an erection, then keep it up during the night.
In my pocket was a Viagra tablet I had pilfered that morning from my dad's medicine cabinet. Having a female set of hands on my cock might not make it hard, but the drug would certainly force a blood flow there that would stiffen it nicely so it might stuff inside of her pussy.
As much as I was loathe to actually hump some chick, Delores had a rep for fucking guys at the drop of a hat, then bragging about it. Finally nailing the star school quarterback, when no other girl could, would certainly enhance her reputation as a man pleaser, causing her to want to brag endlessly about our night together, thereby escalating my rep as a womanizer, and diverting attention away should some other big mouth claim publically that I was really a woman and not a man.
There would, of course, be the necessary collateral damage from church members who would undoubtedly hear through the grapevine that I was not living holy for my Jesus. But I looked upon it as a necessary evil in defraying gossip that might come at any time.
By the time the final bell rang, Delores's bragging over our upcoming date was growing so rampant, that I had four guys come to high five me over my upcoming date with Delores, telling me they had gone out with her as well, and that they had scored big time with her, getting not only fucked but sucked on as well.
I told her I'd meet her at the local pizzeria at seven.
I arrived in my dad's car five minutes early.
