Monday, August 17, 2009

Same-Sex Experience

Monday, August 17, 2009
Ever since blogging about Adam's rant on the term rent boy, he's been bugging me to share an experience from my teen years.

(Adam, I hope you find this story amusing, and if it weren't for the anonymous nature of this blog I wouldn't be posting it at all!)

All right. I was seventeen-years-old, about one month into my senior year of high school. I was born/raised in the northeastern United States, where each fall the trees look like they're on fire and the smell of burning leaves and apple cider fills the air. My hometown -- however boring it may be -- is quite picturesque from October through November, actually.

But onto the sex -- or, rather, attempted sex. After a particularly rainy week, my friends and I were all looking to have some fun. Mercifully, the sun broke through the clouds on Saturday morning, and after going into town to enjoy the weather, we all ended up at a friend's empty house.

This friend, his parents are quite wealthy. So wealthy that they often jet to New York City or London on their own, leaving my friend (an only child) to his own devices. Armed with plenty of cash and an enormous Victorian-style home at our disposal, it wasn't long before pizza was ordered and marijuana began to be smoked.

For the record, I've only smoked once in my life -- that night. It just doesn't do much for me, and the smell can wreak havoc on one's clothes. That, and my parents were far more diligent than this wealthy friend of mine, and would have surely smelled it if they weren't at a family gathering which I wasn't forced to attend.

Somehow, someway, I ended up alone with one of the most popular guys in our class. He was tall, handsome, with dark brown hair and skin that was as fine as fresh snow. His eyes were a sparkling green -- like emeralds, according to a female friend -- and his build was muscular enough to make even a few of our teachers steal a passing glance in the hallway.

"You want any?" he asked, and offered me the joint.

"Sure." I took a deep puff, then put it out as I realized I'd used the last of it. The rest of the party was downstairs, but for some reason I'd ventured upstairs -- probably to use the bathroom -- and found Mr. Jock all by himself.

"So are colleges all drooling over you to play football for their team?" I asked.

He let out a chuckle. "A few, yeah. My dad wants me to go to (his alma mater) but I'm not feeling it."

"I understand that. Who wants to grow up to be exactly like their parents?"

As we opened the french doors to let out the smoke from the room, I felt Mr. Jock's hand brush against my back. I didn't think anything of it. That is, until, it traveled up my back and began to massage my shoulders.

"You look tense," he said. "Maybe you need some more weed."

No fucking way, I thought. Holy shit. No... fucking... way...

By the time his mouth met mine I was practically paralyzed. His lips parted, brushing against my own and all but asking me to return the gesture. Instead, I broke off the kiss, tasting his lip balm and the remnants of the joint we'd just shared. He moved forward, though I pressed a hand to his chest, gently pushing him back.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"I'm sorry, I think you got the wrong idea."

"Gay, straight, who gives a shit. You're the most liberal person I know when it comes to all that stuff. Besides, didn't you--?"

"No," I snapped, referring to a rumor that'd gone around about me during junior year, one that was completely false. "Look, I'm sorry if I gave out certain vibes. And I won't tell anyone what happened here."

Mr. Jock's face seemed fixed between anger and disappointment. After brushing past me -- letting his massive shoulders deck me in the process -- he went downstairs and left the party, loudly proclaiming that his own parents had returned early and wanted to know "where the hell he was."

To this day, no one knows about what happened upstairs. Well, no one but Mr. Jock, Adam and myself, and now anyone who happens to read this blog. I think about the jock sometimes -- whether his same-sex advance was just a blip on the orientation radar, or whether he's abandoned women completely.

Wherever he is, I hope he's happy. And while I'm proud of this blog, I certainly hope he never reads it...
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