I wake up, suddenly, in a cold sweat, breathing heavily. I run my fingers through my jet black hair as I try to bring my breathing down to a normal level. It’s the same recurring dream. Who am I kidding? It’s not a dream – it’s a goddamn nightmare. What makes it even scarier is, it’s not just pictures and made-up “scenes” my subconscious mind is flashing before my eyes – this shit happened to me when I was eight-years-old.

I’ve been able to suppress the nightmares for years, with the help of medication. That, and help from my psychiatrist, Dr. Foster. But, the dreams started again. They started the night after I lost my virginity, or what was left of it, to my boyfriend, Bryce. I thought the first night was a fluke – I had forgotten to take my nightly medication. So, I chalked it up to that. But, every night since being with Bryce, it’s been the same nightmare and I always wake up at the same exact point in the dream.

“If you tell anybody,” the deep voice says, “I’ll fucking kill you…”

I bring my knees to my chest and wrap my arms around them and begin rocking, slowly, back and forth. I don’t want it to get bad again. I don’t want to go back to that hospital. Not again.

I reach over to the nightstand next to my bed and check my phone – 6:38AM. Why even bother trying to go back to sleep? At least the nightmare waited this long. Usually, it’s always a little after midnight when I wake up, shaking, in a cold sweat.

My breathing has subsided a bit as I swing my legs over the edge of my bed and plant my feet on the carpet below. It still takes me a couple of minutes to push myself off the bed. Ugh! Fucking school. I’m sick of the bullshit and constant bullying. The bullying doesn’t bother me, like it used to. It’s just old, stale and annoying now. I can probably spout off the cheeky comments before any of the idiots even open their mouths.

– “Nice rubber bracelets, fag. Madonna, from 1989 called, she wants them back!”

– “Hey, fruitcake!”

– “I didn’t know the circus was in town!”

Blah, blah, ba-fucking-blah! It just never ends. Not even at home. I came out to my parents two years ago. My mother accepts me for who I am. My father, not so much. He blames the incident – the reason for my nightmares. Apparently, he thinks I caught this “disease” the night it happened. I think he’s pretty much disowned me. We barely speak. Our relationship consists of ignoring each other while in the same room, giving each other a wide birth if we meet in the hallway and an all-around yelling fight when he’s had one too many alcoholic beverages.

My little brother, Jace, is a little too young to really know what being gay means. He’s only six-years-old. He notices there’s something a little different about me – he just doesn’t know what it is. He always tells me his friends’ older brothers dress different and they play sports. I don’t have the heart to tell him that all of his friends’ older brothers are also homophobic assholes. Not that he’d even understand what that meant. He would just feel the urge to go tell mom or dad that I just said the “A-word.”

I make my way over to my dresser drawers and pull out a pair of skinny black jeans and slide them on over my lime green American Eagle boxer-briefs. I walk over to the closet and retrieve my purple studded belt and slide it through the belt loops. The metal hangers clink and clang together as I browse through my selection of shirts. I finally choose a snug-fitting black Nirvana t-shirt and slide it over my head. I lean down and grab my purple Supra Skytops and walk over to the swivel chair in front of my computer desk, sit down and shove my feet into the shoes.

I can already hear my mother pacing up and down the hallway, getting Jace and herself ready for the day. I’m seventeen, she doesn’t need to worry about getting me out the door anymore. Not like she used to, anyway – walking into my room, sitting on the edge of my bed, brushing my hair away from my face while saying, “Time to wake up, hun.“ Nowadays, she passes by my door, knocking on it loudly and says,

“Time to wake up, Logan!”

“Yeah, yeah…” is all I holler back.

I get up from the chair and make my way to the bathroom I share with Jace. It’s a long bathroom that separates our bedrooms. For the longest time, I used to have to barricade my door to the bathroom because Jace would open his door, leading to the bathroom, sneak across the bathroom and into my room. On more than one occasion, he caught me jerking off to gay porn. In one quick movement, I’d have to cover myself up and turn the computer monitor off.

I walk into the bathroom and flip on the light to do my usual morning routines, just like everybody else. Last thing I do is my hair. Oh, yeah… I forgot another typical insult I hear daily.

“Look, everybody! It’s Justin Gay-ber!”

Mainly because I do my hair the exact same way Mr. Bieber does his, post famous haircut. It wasn’t intentional. I didn’t have some sort of gay crush on that tool. In fact, I did my hair this way long before that douche rocket even did his hair this way. But, no matter how I did my hair, it wouldn’t stop the constant smart-ass remarks. It’s a vicious cycle.

I walk over to my nightstand and take my iPhone off the charger. I have a text message from Bryce. I swipe the text notification to the right, to unlock the phone and bring up his text message into full screen. The text reads:

“Hey, cutie. Woke up with a serious case of morning wood. Wish you were here to take care of it. Thank God it’s Friday, right? Can’t wait to hang out tonight, if you catch my drift! 😉 See you at school.”

I smile and reply…

“Morning, you handsome beast! I would SO take care of that situation for you, if I were there with you right now…”

I stop typing. Even thinking about sexual encounters with Bryce brings on a whole slew of horrible flashbacks to that incident. I shake my head – trying to dislodge the bad memories. No, I think to myself. No, get the fuck out of my head. I’m not going back to that hospital. I’m not going to be pulled away from Bryce.

“Fuck,” I say aloud. “Suck it the fuck up, buttercup!”

I smack myself upside the head a couple of times and proceed to finish the text message.

“…Hopefully we can hang at your place tonight. It’s such a pain trying to keep Jace out of my room. See you in a bit! We’ll meet at your locker, right?”

I hit the send button. It shows the status of the message as “delivered.” Then, immediately marked as “Read at 7:09” The message bubble, with three dots, showing that Bryce is replying pops up. I stare at the screen in anticipation. I get excited just texting this boy. Imagine how much I gush when I’m with him, in person. His gray bubble pops up with the following response:

“Yeah, that’s no problem, babe. My house it is! See you at my locker!”

I reply, once more, with a smiley face, hit send and lock the phone – storing the phone in my right pocket. I open my door and make my way into the kitchen to see what mom has cooked up for breakfast.

East Lancing High School – 7:46AM

I check my phone, standing at locker 104 – Bryce’s locker. The time reads 7:46. Where is he? I went and reviewed our text messages from this morning. Yup, he said we’d meet at HIS locker. I lock the phone and put it back into my pocket, just in time to see McKenzie – my best friend and one of the, if not the most, popular girls in school. You’d think us being friends might promote me in the rankings of East Lancing High. If anything, it made it even worse for me. All the other guys, my daily tormentors, were jealous that she hung out with me, always greeting me with a hug.

Two years ago, before I came out, she tried to hook up with me at a party. She wasn’t drunk, I wasn’t drunk. I unfortunately had to turn her down. She was the first person I came out to. I feared that she would be repulsed and would out me to the rest of the school. But, she didn’t. If anything, it brought us closer together. After I came out to her that night, we spent the rest of the night on the couch, at the party, holding hands. Before the night ended, she couldn’t help herself and kissed me on the lips. She just found me extremely attractive. That’s the downfall for a lot of the girls, here, at East Lancing. I don’t mean to toot my own horn; but, I have been known to melt a few hearts. Wow! That didn’t sound arrogant, did it. If only I would have been born straight – girls would be lining up around the corner. Sorry, girls. No pussy for me! I’m strictly dickly!

Like I mentioned, McKenzie spotted me from halfway down the hall and all but ran to me, and wrapped her arms around my neck for a hug.

“Logan,” she exclaimed. “TGIF!”

I accept her hug, wrapping my right arm around her waist. Sheesh! That got me a few nasty looks from the jocks down the hall. I couldn’t help myself, though. I winked at them. I’m quite the smart-ass. I have a feeling my sarcastic, smart-ass demeanor will get me in some serious trouble some day. She released her embrace and stepped back a bit.

“So, what’s up, buddy,” she asks. “Got any plans this weekend? If not, I got ‘The Fault In Our Stars’ on blu-ray. We could totally binge out on empty calories and watch it.”

“That sounds great,” I say, smiling. “But, I have plans with Bryce tonight. Shhhhh.”

I wink at her. Here’s the thing about Bryce, he hasn’t come out, yet. He’s seen the constant bullshit I have to go through, daily, and he doesn’t want to go through that hell. So, he plans on coming out shortly after graduation. Or, at least, that’s what he tells me. His parents don’t even know. They don’t suspect a thing. And why would they? He’s been active in basketball and baseball since middle school. He’s had the occasional girlfriend – before discovering his homosexuality.

She winks back. She knows. I tell McKenzie everything and I know I can trust her. She would never out Bryce. She’s straight, obviously; but, she understands how hard it can be to be gay in a world that still doesn’t fully accept same-sex couples. She’s amazing. I hope she settles down with a good guy someday. She deserves only the best.

“Oh, that’s fine,” she says. “You two be careful! Wrap those winkies, now!”

“God, Kenzie,” I say, blushing. “Say it louder next time! I don’t think Captain Fuckstick of the football team heard you back there!”

She makes an, “Oh, shit! Sorry” face and shrugs her shoulders.

“Anyway,” I say. “So far, I’m free Saturday – if that invite is still good for then.”

“It’s a date, sexy,” she says, nudging me in the shoulder. “Well, I’m gonna’ get to class. Tell Bryce ‘hey’ for me.”

She winks at me and makes her way past me. You know what, perhaps I should try and embarrass her. I smack her on the ass as she passes me. She spins around, eyes wide, covering her mouth with her free hand.

“Oh, Logan…” she says. “You’re so forward!”

Again, she winks, smiles and turns around – making her way down the hall. Well, damn! That backfired. I check my phone, again – 7:52.

“Shit…” I mutter under my breath.

The first bell, that starts school, will be ringing in under ten minutes. Just then, Bryce rounds the corner. Breathing labored from running down the hall. Looking at him, you wouldn’t know he was gay. Short brown hair, brown eyes, wearing the typical straight guy apparel – a white American Eagle shirt, loosely fitted faded blue jeans with a hole on the right thigh and big hole on the left knee, and white and black Under Armor tennis shoes. He smiles when he spots me at his locker. I smile back. But, the smile disappears just a quickly as it appears on his face. His eyes open wide, as if to say, “Oh, shit!”

Next thing I know, I’m being slammed up against his locker by one of the jocks. I think I mentioned his name earlier. Ya’ know… Captain Fuckstick? Yeah, that’s him! Here we go, again. It startles me, at first. But, once I realize it’s him, I sigh. Well, it is Friday. Better to get the harassment out of the way before the weekend approaches.

“Hey, faggot.” Captain Fuckstick, a.k.a. Josh Maxwell, says. “What the hell do you think you’re doing smacking McKenzie on the ass like that? You stay the hell away from her, you hear me?”

I cock my head to the right, popping my neck – it’s a stress reliever. Well, one of my stress relievers, if you catch my drift. I look back at him, with a cocky smile on my face.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Josh. Can you come back later for your daily pissing match? You see, the bell is about to ring. Perhaps we can continue showing the size of our dicks during lunch period or something. But, from what McKenzie tells me, you might come up a little short in that competition.”

Yup. I told you. My smart mouth would get the best of me. Josh looks at his buddies, that decided to huddle around him, and chuckles a little. Before I know it, the wind is knocked out of me when Josh’s fist connects with my gut. My backpack, which was slung over my right shoulder only, falls to the ground as I drop to a knee, coughing and gasping to re-catch my breath. Captain Fuckstick and his buddies laugh it up as they walk away.

They pass Bryce, who eyes them, maliciously. He then sprints down the hallway to me, and helps me to my feet. I finally catch my breath. Out of habit, when we’re alone, I grab his hand, intertwining our fingers. He quickly shakes his hand free from my grasp.

Oh, that’s right. My bad. He’s “straight.” Heavy air quotes around the word straight.

“Damn it. I’m so sorry, Logan,” he say, quietly, so nobody would hear. “I should have gotten here sooner. Car problems. Mom had to drive me here.”

It is all I can do to not wrap my arms around him and kiss his big, pouty lips. I settle for a smile. A smile is harmless, and in no way tells the rest of the school, “Hey! Bryce is gay!” right? He flashes a quick smile of his own.

He walks me to my first class, math. It’s on his way to history class. We have 7 classes throughout the day, and not a single one we share together. Major bummer. But, I do have 3rd hour English class with McKenzie, so, that kind of helps.

Bryce is always paranoid, walking down the hallway with me – always scanning the hallway for people who might spot us and think there was something more than friendship. I’m not gonna’ lie, it kind of hurt. But, before dropping me off at my classroom, if the coast was clear, he always made up for it and made some sort of physical contact to let me know he cared for me. Be it either him swiping his hand across my shoulder blades, running a finger down the back of lower bicep, or, if I was really lucky, and nobody was in the hallway, he’d squeeze one of my ass cheeks.

With him being late to school, and it being one minute from the first bell, today was a “squeeze” day. I grunt under my breath and look back at him. He flashes an arrogant grin at me before sprinting down the hallway, hoping like hell he made it to history class before the bell rang. I find an empty desk in the back of Mrs. Smith’s math class. Bryce squeezed, more like pinched, my left ass cheek so hard, I still feel the stinging sensation as I sit down. But, I wasn’t complaining.

Uuuuugh! Seven more hours of this horse shit before I’m free for the weekend. Free to be in Bryce’s arms. Free to be absolutely ravished by him. Let’s just hope I can keep those bad thoughts away. Those bad thoughts that have been haunting my dreams again.

That Night, Bryce’s House – 7:32PM

I pull up next to the curb in front of Bryce’s house on Sycamore Street. “Love to My Cobain” by Jeffree Star playing loudly over my car’s speakers. I look at the house, peering through the windows, thinking Bryce might be watching for me to arrive. I turn the music down and look harder at the big window at the front of the house. Turning the music down, right… like that will help me “see better.” Why do I always do that? Suddenly, the front door opens. He steps out and waves me to him. He was watching for me.

I climb out of my black 2010 Ford Mustang and half-walk, half-run up to his front porch. A stupid smile is plastered on my face. He grabs me by the front of my shirt and pulls me into the house. His hands fall to my waist and he slams me into the open door, causing it to bang against the wall. His mouth goes for my jugular vein – as if he’s a vampire or something. He kisses my neck and I suddenly feel like melted movie theater popcorn butter.

“Fuck, B,” I moaned.

Oh, yeah! To avoid any confusion, I usually call him “B.” I called him that once, and he said he liked it – especially when I moan it, kind of like I just did. Even though I loved what he was doing, it suddenly dawned on me – his parents’ vehicles ARE in the driveway.

“I don’t mean to kill the, fuck…” I moaned again as his tongue went up the nape of my neck to my jaw, right below my ear. I regain my composure. “I don’t mean to… to kill the mood, B. But, aren’t your parents home?”

“So, what if they are?” he asks. He then brings his hand up to my neck, in the choking position and plants his lips onto mine. Needless to say, I was fucking hard.

If he wants to play this game, so will I. I quickly grab the crotch of his pants and push him forward. The front door opens up to the kitchen, so, the kitchen table is right there when you walk in. I push him towards it and he falls, back first, on top of the table. Before he can even move, I move down to the crotch of his pants and start un-zipping and un-buttoning his pants. He quickly brings his hands down to where mine are, and push them away. He quickly stands up and pushes me away.

“The fuck are you doin’, Logan? My parents are right down those stairs,” he says, pointing to a door just to the right of the kitchen.

“You started it, B,” I say, my eyebrows raised, staring at the plaid-colored erection poking through the zipper of his jeans.

He grabs his cock, still covered by his plaid boxer shorts, and shoves it back into his jeans. His eyebrows are still down in a serious manner; but, a smile stretches across his face. He walks back over to me and gives me a quick peck on the lips.

“Come down and meet the parental units,” he says and grabs me by the hand. “But, remember… we’re ‘just friends.’”

“No shit, B,” I say.

He pulls me by the hand and leads me to the basement door. I stop right before we reach the door, pulling my hand back. He looks back at me.

“What’s wrong,” he asks.

I give him wide eyes, as if saying, “Seriously? You’re asking me that?” I bring my hands down towards my crotchal-inner thigh region, and place my hands down there as if I’m presenting him with some kind of special award. I still had a massive hard-on. My tight black jeans showed a perfect outline of my seven-inch cock. In fact, the jeans are so tight you can see the outline of the head and I’m sure if you looked hard enough, you could see the big vein that supplies a majority of the blood to “little Logan.”

“Well, B, because of your handy work, I have this to deal with this first. Unless, of course, you want me to go down there like this,” I say.

“No. No, you’re right,” Bryce says. “Get rid of it.”

“The fuck you want me to do,” I ask. “Chop it off?”

“I don’t know, man… do something,” he says.

I close my eyes and try to think of totally non-sexy things. Houseplants, soiled diapers… I open my eyes and see Bryce staring at me.

“Stop looking at me like that, B,” I exclaim. “You’re making it harder… literally.”

I close my eyes again. Okay… non-sexy things: jean shorts, booty shorts on fat chicks, Grandma… There! That worked almost immediately.

“Grandma, grandma, grandma…” I mutter under my breath.

“Wh-what?!” Bryce exclaims, laughing.

“It works for me, okay,” I say, opening my eyes. “There! He’s gone!”

Bryce opens the door and we make our way down to the basement/family room. I’m kind of nervous. This is the first time I’m meeting his parents after all!

　

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