Growing Up Denying I was Gay
By Brad Healey firstname.lastname@example.org
Note to readers: my Email address was wrong on the header of the last chapter. If you sent a note using it, will you please resend using the correct address, above?
Continuing my true story of growing up during the 1970s – "looking straight", but knowing in my heart I was gay. Instead of accepting this and growing up unconflicted, I tortured myself trying to turn straight. Along the way I got into quite a bit of mischief.
Chapter 6: Junior High Baseball
I had tried
out for the school baseball team when I was 14 years old and in the eighth
grade. Unfortunately, my physical exam disclosed that I had a hernia and
wouldn't be able to play until it was repaired. Since that was impossible in
such a short time period, I decided to help out that season by keeping score
and helping out the coaches instead.
Eighth grade was just around the time that my hormones began raging white-hot and I had noticed an almost constant, unexplainable, curious attraction to other boys. I was slightly concerned about this phenomenon, but I figured it was all a passing phase of curiosity, and that it would disappear as I grew up. But for the time being, I was so sexually curious about all the other boys who at that magical age were in all stages of sexual development, ranging from still being tiny undeveloped little boys to others who had already begun morphing into men.
Being on the baseball team was a breathtaking and humbling experience for me. I loved the game, but wasn't very good at it I'm afraid. I loved to play but usually warmed the bench while the more qualified took the field. This gave me lots of time to gaze at and admire the other boys I most adored, the fine crop of adolescent specimens that made up our team. Blonde, square jawed Jack was the catcher (I'll tell you more about him in a chapter to come), Curly brown haired, blue eyed and smooth faced Frank with his extra tight baseball pants played third base, Billy the long legged, slim left fielder with the longish blonde hair: they were my favorites. I enjoyed the graceful ease with which they moved, gliding through every movement, whether catching a ball, throwing to another player, or swinging a bat while warming up. To me, they were so beautiful yet powerful in their effortless athleticism.
I had to admit my frustration at not being able to play on the field with them that year. I'll admit that one of my favorite parts of baseball were the locker room showers after the games. I loved the chance to be near my slim and much more athletic friends as they stripped to the buff without a care, tumbling into the steamy showers, laughing and shouting as they washed their newly developing bodies and soaped their hair, toweling off afterwards and engaging in naked horseplay that frankly made me go wild inside with growing teenaged desire reserved in more normal boys for the cheerleaders and other pretty girls.
I thought that my skills of observation were very stealthy, and that no one was even slightly aware that I was scanning the room like a voyeur, drinking in all the forbidden sights that I was so legitimately able to see, by virtue of the fact that I too was a teenaged boy. "Hey Brad! Want a closer look?" yelled Glenn the blonde curly-haired centerfielder one day, still wearing his uniform jersey and baseball stirrups but naked below the waist, pushing his bare groin towards my face, grotesquely grabbing his small genitals and twisting them in my direction. I was mortified; caught red-handed in the act of a serious felony! I pretended to be grossed out by Glenn's antics, but I'll admit I could barely look away from him for even an instant, as my hyperactive brain "filmed" the incident for later erotic use.
This was one of the most confusing parts of growing up gay, I realize now. While teenaged boys and teenaged girls were kept carefully sequestered by our society from each other as they entered puberty, leaving straight boys to their imaginations when considering how girls their age might look unclothed. Boys' having sleepovers with sexually developing pubescent girls would have been a shockingly off-limits escapade, a scandal that no parent would permit, as reputations would have been ruined as neighborhood tongues wagged.
But, consider my world for a moment. I was totally boy-crazy, yet there were no prohibitions from seeing other boys undressed in all sorts of situations—in fact the situation was quite the opposite! Changing for gym and taking showers was mandatory for everybody in my school. Sleepovers with pals were a regular occurrence, gratefully welcomed by parents who could then go on to bed themselves without having to worry about kids staying out late or getting everyone safely home before lights-out. Sleepovers to me represented a supercharged environment to try out my newfound sexuality, coaxing and cajoling other boys to drop their inhibitions along with their shorts, and show off their developing bodies with peeks if I just asked, maybe sleep naked, or hopefully to jerk off with me—even convincing some other boys to do much more. Boys, even straight ones, are so unbelievably horny at 15 and 16 that once aroused they'll often do practically anything with another boy, as long as they are confident that the secret will be kept. I suppose I was known for being very, very good at keeping secrets.
Keeping score hardly worked up a sweat and so gave me no good excuse to join the other guys in the shower, but I often found myself getting unbelievably aroused at times during the practices. One afternoon while the coach ordered all the boys to sit around him while he talked strategy, I couldn't take my eyes off of 12-year-old Frank, as he absentmindedly played with himself through his trousers while the coach talked. I could see that he had given himself a prominent erection extremely visible through this tight white pants (the guys were supposed to wear "cups" for protection but we hated them and would skip wearing them as often as we could. Frank was obviously not wearing his cup today) "Brad- go back inside and get my rulebook!" the coach ordered. I was angry. I wanted to hear the strategy talk too, and being ordered around like a lackey in front of the other boys was not something I liked. I trudged back to the school building cursing under my breath. I would have been happy just sitting with the other guys keeping an eye on Frank's progress as he absentmindedly nudged his erection. I went into the empty locker room and found the stupid rulebook the coach wanted.
Then I had a devilish idea that made my own penis stand erect in my pants. Rubbing it I sat on the end of the players' bench and while keeping my eye on the door, I extracted it from my trousers. I tugged it from my open fly and rubbed it as it poked out into the cool air of the room. I thought of what Frank was doing and how he might look erect and naked. I stroked mine quickly and before very long at all I felt the pressure building. Standing and facing the bench I watched ribbons of my sticky sperm fly out in four or five good hard squirts across the floor in front of Glenn's locker, some landing on the bench where Glenn sat to dress.
Satisfied with my naughtiness, I zipped up, straightened my clothes and rejoined the team outside and gave the coach his stupid rulebook. After practice I watched in smug satisfaction as the boys came in from outside, standing in front of the lockers to dress. Glenn sat on the bench right where my flying emission had landed, sitting down and pulling off his socks as I imagined how my fresh spunk was soaking into his socks and pants while he dressed where I had just come.
It served him right.