Date: Thu, 13 Aug 2009 12:43:02 -0700 (PDT)
From: ghostofoldtrafford@yahoo.com
Subject: The Road To Acceptance I

NOTE: This is a true story. MY story. It's a story about love, sex,
friendship and hatred. It's about being gay. If you find it offensive or
disagree with the actions depicted within...well, why are you on Nifty?

Names have been altered for privacy purposes.

For criticism, insults and, why not, appreciation, you can contact me at
ghostofoldtrafford@yahoo.com

I hope you enjoy.


THE ROAD TO ACCEPTANCE

Chapter I

Just call me J. I was born in Romania under the communist regime. True, it
was towards the end of it(and as such, during the harshest years of
Ceausescu's rule), but the way people's opinion of homosexuals was shaped
certainly wasn't helped by almost half a century of oppression. Hatred for
gay people was ingrained in the very fiber of society. But how could it be
otherwise? The regime didn't tolerate homosexuality. And the people
resisted the regime with their faith in the church. When nowadays, 90% of
the population declares absolute trust in the Church as an institution,
above the military, police, Parliament and so on, and the Church condemns
homosexuality...how could it be otherwise?

But enough about that. Let's talk about me. I'm 22 now. I'm about 175 cm
tall. If you don't use the metric system...well, I'm sure you can figure
the conversion out. I've always had a slim body, suited for athletic
purposes. I remember standing on my head during gym class once and my
teacher complementing me on my abilities. Oh, he was such a kind man. And
not too shabby looking either.

 But I digress...I put on some weight during my last year in high-school,
mostly due to eating as a way to combat depression(we'll get to that
later). But throughout college I started working out and even though I'm
nowhere close to a Greek God, I'm not exactly Jabba the Hut either. No
6-pack, but a flat stomach nonetheless, firm arms and legs, nice ass(or so
I'm told), though a bit more hairy than I'd like. I have green eyes. I love
my eyes. And so does everyone else who has ever commented on them. Too bad
they're so bloody useless. I'm half-blind. So, I wear glasses. I need to
cut my black hair short, as I can never keep it under control otherwise
which, in addition to the glasses, brings about the Harry Potter
comments...

I have a friendly smile. I'm shy most of the time, but once I'm comfortable
in my surroundings, I love to laugh. I have an intoxicating laugh. Heck, I
make myself laugh just thinking of my laughter. Got me in trouble in school
plenty of times, laughing during class.  My face isn't beautiful. It was
once and maybe one day will be again. I broke my nose when I was 9 or
so. So it is slightly misshapen. Nothing monstrous, mind you, but enough to
make me sigh at times. I'm not a fan of plastic surgery, so I may never
address the matter. Besides, the way I got it is an important reminder to
me, so I don't mind it too much.

Okay, now that we've got that out of the way, we can really start the
story...

I grew up in a town of around 100,000 people. I loved it. Plenty of trees,
parks, hills and mountains, a lake, a few rivers. There were dozens of
children close to my age in the neighborhood. A kid could be happy growing
up here. And for a while, I was.

I used to spend my summers at my maternal grandparents' place, about 30 km
away from town. Again, more mountains, a beautiful river, green grass and
blue skies. When I was 7, as my mother divorced my alcoholic father, I
became more quiet, kept mostly to myself. To put it simply...I wasn't
having a great time. When summer came again that year, my cousin, C., came
to visit. He had been raised by our grandparents, as his parents were busy
making a life for themselves in the capital, during harsh times. When he
was 8, they judged him old enough to take care of himself while they were
at work, so they took him away to Bucharest.

He was 14 when he came back. Both of us were only children so we found
solace in each other, despite the age difference. We were inseparable, so
one day he took me by the arm and dragged me up the stairs in the house,
towards the room we both shared. Once there, I sat on the bed and he pulled
out a couple of magazines from his backpack. I raised an eyebrow.

"I thought you were supposed to have school stuff in there."

"There are other things a boy must learn besides what school teaches you."
He said, as he winked. He threw me a magazine.

I gasped. On it, a nude woman was lying on a bed, legs spread, revealing
her...private parts.

"W-w-w-what is this?" I stammered.

He almost broke out laughing. "A present from my friend who came back from
Germany right before I came here." Going to Germany -- and many other
places -- for commerce seemed to be the favorite pass time for Romanians,
trying to make a living. Buying used cars and selling them here, for
example.

My cousin jumped on the bed and opened the magazine. He gave me a sidelong
glance. "Go on, then. Take a look."

My heart was pounding, threatening to burst out of my chest. I opened the
magazine at random and there, on the page in front of me, a man and a woman
were having sex. Now, I may have been only 7 and never even had a "birds
and bees" type of discussion, but...growing up with dozens of kids around,
well, you hear things. I was fascinated by the image. But I found my gaze
drawn to the man most of all. He was young, lean and sported a huge
erection. I felt my own penis start to stir. I had already discovered the
pleasures of touching myself, so my hand drifted almost involuntarily down
to my crotch. I turned the page. The woman had the man's hard cock in her
mouth. The image drove me crazy. I started massaging my erect penis through
my pants. Next to me, I heard the sound of a zipper.

I turned my head and was left breathless. My cousin had taken off his jeans
and briefs, down to his knees. He was holding his rock-hard cock with his
right hand, slowly masturbating. I was too awe-struck to even move. My eyes
were glued to the thing. It must have been a good 17cm.

He looked up from the magazine and smiled at me. "Wanna touch?"

I knew I should say no. I knew I should get the hell out of that room, but
my hand extended towards his penis and I soon found myself jerking him off.

"Oh, that feels so good. Now, do you wanna do what that woman did?" he
said, nodding towards the picture that had captivated me.

"Put it in my mouth?"

He just nodded.

I thought about it for all of 2 seconds, then lowered my mouth and took it
in. I just stood there, with my cousin's cock in my mouth. It
tasted...well, it tasted kinda like a finger, but the skin was far more
delicate. It was hard, yet soft at the same time. I liked it. C. put his
hand on the back of my head, then said "Bob your head up and down. Careful
with your teeth. Just think of it as a lollipop."

And so I did. By the end of the summer, it had become a common practice. He
would promise to reciprocate, but never did. I didn't mind. I was enjoying
myself enough as it was. Then summer was over.

A year later, we picked up right where we left off. And the year after
that. But after I turned 9, he stopped. He didn't even spend as much time
at my grandparents anymore. He had found himself a girlfriend. Heck, from
the snippets of conversations I overheard between him and my uncle -- not
his father, but our mothers' brother, a man only 10 years C.'s senior --
he had found PLENTY of girlfriends. Or rather, one-night stands. My cousin
was a horndog.

So, I tried to find myself a replacement for C. I did. A neighbor. We
messed around like you often hear kids tend to do. Mostly handjobs and
oral. Until one day, when we were caught by his older brother. He went
absolutely insane and jumped me. He was 17, twice my size and easily pinned
me to the ground. He kept yelling at me, calling me "fag" and "cocksucker",
as he repeatedly drove his fist down towards my face. I was a bloody mess
by the time he was done with me. My nose was broken, a few teeth as well,
and I could barely see out of my left eye, which had already swollen
badly. I coughed up blood as he got off me, still trembling with rage.

For a moment, looking at me, he seemed scared and...remorseful. The moment
passed. The anger was back.

"You stay away from my brother. You stay away from EVERY kid. Lock yourself
in your house, you freak. I catch you again, you're dead."

Stumbling, I left their apartment. I got home and barely managed to close
the door before collapsing to the floor. My mother found me like that a few
hours later, when she returned home from work. She cleaned me up and asked
what happened. I told her I got into a fight. So, she beat me, to teach me
to never fight others again.

I assume my neighbor never told anyone, since I was never attacked by other
kids on my way to and from school. But I did as he said. I became reclusive
to the point that other kids made fun of me for never coming out of the
house.

My neighbors moved away a year after that and I was free, but fear had
settled into my heart. His words kept ringing in my head and they would
continue to do so for years to come. "Fag!" "Freak!" Words that would
follow me throughout the years.

TO BE CONTINUED...