This is a story of friendship, commitment, love and trust. It is not a sex story. However, this story deals with love between male teenagers. If you are offended by stories involving love between two teenage boys, please do not read this story. There may be some sex scenes in this story; however, sex is not the main theme. If you are under age 18 or 21 or it is illegal to read this story where you live, don't read it. Reproducing this story for distribution without the owner's permission is a violation of that copyright.

Author's Note : Hey peeps. This is my new story...which hopefully will be the foundation for a novel. The idea for this story actually came from my friend Jamie. He was going to write the story but alas he's busy writing Book II of the Scrolls of Icaria. This is not the complete idea but just a single character of the original idea...There are seven teenage boys between the ages of 14-19. This story is about one of them Jonathan Greenwich and he happens to be sort of 'gay' you'll see as the story unfolds.

My thanks to Ed the Editor and of course to Jamie.


Sam (sam_lakes@hotmail.com)

Hey! And don't forget to write and let me know how you like the story so far.

The Secret Life of Jonathan Greenwich

by Sam Lakes

Chapter 1

I looked down at the deserted streets of Cambridge Old Town. Like the rest of everything in Cambridge Old Town they were barely recognizable as streets, just paths between decaying buildings centuries old. Very little grew here and what did grow here simply aided in nature’s demolition of the area. No one lived here. No one visited here. There was no way to get here except a long forgotten tunnel.

Cambridge had been made an island and left to decay on its own. An eyesore when compared to the clean, soaring superstructures of concrete and steel towering a thousand feet into the airspace of New Boston which lay just across the river. A dying monument of how Multi Corp had saved the world.

One world, one culture, one government, one religion, one language, and one company – Multi Corp. Multi Corp owned the land, the buildings, the food, the water, the air, and the people. It owned everything.

The world had evolved to a better place, so Multi Corp said, but I think most people knew that was just PR and bullshit that Multi Corp shoved down everyone’s throat but dared not voice their opinion. Technology had certainly evolved, we now had Multi Corp’s Refreshing Air – Ionically Charged for safer, better breathing - completely free of pollution and dust mites and a thousand other things that were said to be bad for you. Of course you had to pay for it because as Multi Corp says it’s the bottom line that counts. And the bottom line was always profits.

They say we are a ‘homogenous’ society, which means there are no borders, no nationalities, no religions except for the religion called Multi Corp – it was law that you had to believe in the company and the company would believe in you. Discrimination was against the law but it was still there, it still existed, it was so easy to get ‘around’ the issue with a little intelligence. Multi Corp would have us believe it was a perfect society. It was life as it should be.

Had we evolved? In ancient times – I think it was called the Industrial Age – they had royalty, and commoners, and finally the poor which were just a lower class of commoner. Today they have management, the slang is ‘Aristos’, and the employees, slang term ‘Collars’, and the unemployed, slang term ‘Dregs’. I think it’s the same old shit, different name.

I have been coming here to Cambridge almost every day for the last two years but today was neither a usual day nor a usual reason for being here. I came here today for the solitude, the solitude I needed to make a decision.

The sun is setting as I watch the street and buildings below begin to fade and become hidden under night’s cloak, slowly disappearing from view. It was just another day was coming to a close as I stared across the river at the city, New Boston with its sleek steel and concrete structures and dazzling lights representing the pinnacle of commerce, business, and a model city for a bright future given to us by Multi Corp.

Beyond the dazzling lights and the superstructures hidden from my view were the tenant houses of the Aristos, the Collars, and finally the hovels of the Dregs. I knew they were there because that’s where I lived.

If I leave now I can be home by dinner and no one would be the wiser except Peter – Peter would know something is troubling me. He would persist in questioning me while I would persist in denial until we’d argue and then like last night and the night before I’d end up hating myself even more and he would be angry and upset.

Peter Greenwich, my best friend, my brother, and my savior for before Peter brought me into his life and his family, life was not life – it was barely existence.

My mother died during childbirth. My father I never knew, probably some useless Dreg like my mom. So, I was born a Dreg and was raised in the Multi Corp Foster Care Program or the common name FCP. As a Dreg you could only be in the FCP if both your parents were dead so there were lots of Dreg kids that lived in the squalor and had abusive parents. I, of course, was never adopted as a baby because I was a Dreg of unknown origin (meaning my mom was probably a whore and who knows who my father was), hence I was passed from home to home and finally when I was eleven I was placed with a Collar class family. Dreg-born kids were never placed with Dreg parents, that would be not in the interest of the Corporation. The corporation needed workers, not useless Dregs. In my case I was always placed in lower levels of Collar class because Multi Corp would pay them and because I was of unknown origin. No one in the levels above blue collar of society ever wanted me. I may be some genetic throwback of some sort, I suppose, or have some genetically passed on disease hidden within my body, of course throughout my young life I had been tested and retested, DNA scanned and hundreds of other tests and always found ‘clean’ and healthy.

My FCP Care Counselor was Miss Farnsborough, a pleasant, very overweight lady now in her late forties, escorted me from the transportation stop. We seemed to be walking a long ways past the seemingly endless row of blue-collar row tenant houses, all exactly the same. After what seemed an hour’s walk where the only sound was the heavily breathing Miss Farnsborough we stopped in front of one of the houses.

We waited in front of the house while Miss Farnsborough caught her breath, “Now, Jonathan, please try and get along with these people, they are very nice and have a son your age. They come highly recommend by the local FCP Council. And please don’t run away again, otherwise my dear I will not be able you help you get placed again and you will be sent to juvy. You would not want that, now would you?”

“No, Miss Farnsborough, I’ll really try hard this time, I promise,” I said quietly. Juvy was the worst place a kid like me could go. I was small for my age, with sandy colored hair, steel-blue eyes. I guess I was kind of cute because in the last three years 8 out of 12 homes I had been placed in I had run away from because of attempted rape or molestation. I had escaped untouched but terrified. I knew Juvy as the whorehouse where my body would be used by older guys and guards. It was definitely a place I feared more than anywhere else and Miss Farnsborough said “Statistically, Jonathan, you are above the average in the area of attempted rape and next time, true or not your story will not be believed.”

I had already met my new FCP parents and they seem really nice, but then so had all the others in my past and I soon grew to be skeptical. I prayed that these FCP parents would not prove to be the same.

“Jonathan, this is our son Gary. Gary, why don’t you show Jonathan your room?” said Mrs. Plebo, my new FCP parent.

Gary was the son of Mr. and Mrs. Plebo. He was eleven but much bigger than me. Actually, he was a fat ass bastard who hated me from the start and reluctantly showed me his room.

“This is my room, got that, dreg, MY room, not yours. My bed, my books, my posters, my closet with my clothes, my computer, everything is MINE! You don’t even think of touching anything of mine. You understand?”


“The sleeping bag in the corner is yours.”

“Okay. Thank you. Where do I put my clothes?”

“You don’t, dreg. They stay in your backpack. Put your backpack on your sleeping bag then get out of my room. You only come in my room to sleep. If you want to do well here, you will do my chores as well as your own. Now get out!”

I had lived in some pretty bad places but this was the worst. At first I was hopeful that Gary might change after he got to know me. But after a few weeks I realized that that was never going to happen. He refused to talk to me unless it was do or re-do his chores. There was nary a kind word. I was the dreg slave and that was it. I had to deal with it. I had to accept it because the alternative was Juvy and somehow he knew that.

My life was simple. Wake up in the morning, if it was a school day I was allowed a five-minute cold-water shower. Put on my clothes and try to look as neat as possible. My breakfast I was allowed one bowl of corn flakes dry or with water. Lunch was provided by the FCP School services. It was always soy burgers, soy fish (yuck!), soy pizza or soy something and a cold glass of rice or soymilk. The FCP kids had their own lunch line. Dinner for me was leftovers; you know, any food left on the family’s plates that was not eaten. Most nights I went hungry.

Two months later on a Saturday, Gary had some of his friends over, I had finished my chores and his as well by late afternoon and walked into the living room where his friends were laughing and having fun.

“What are you doing in here, dreg? Get out!”

“But you said I could meet your friends if I did your chores!” I cried.

“Everyone, this is my pet dreg slave,” said Gary and he and his friends laughed. They all laughed except one boy, Peter, who was just looking at me. I had seen him at school several times and talked to him only once.

“Now get out of here! Go stand outside, you stink like a rotten dreg!” and they all laughed.

I had had it! I turned and ran up to his room and grabbed my backpack. As I came back down the stairs Gary yelled, “Hey, dreg! Who said you could go in my room?” His friends snickered.

“Don’t worry, I won’t ever go in your fucking room again. I’m leaving! I’d rather die in Juvy with somebody’s dick up my ass than stay here,” I said, desperately holding back my tears. I turned and left, slamming the front door.

I was halfway down the block when I heard someone calling my name.

“Jonathan! Wait up!” Peter called. I stopped, where else did I have to go. “God! What a fucking asshole Gary is! I only went there because... I wanted to…never mind, it’s not important” I turned and started walking. Peter was a bit taller than me, dark brown hair and chocolate colored eyes and soft caring features. He followed alongside me, neither of us saying anything. After ten minutes he asked, “Jonathan, where are we going?”

I stopped and looked at him and smiled, “I have no idea. I’m just walking. Haven’t really decided yet.”

“Good. Well, turn left at the next corner.”

“Why? Where will that take us?” I asked.

“I am taking you to my place.”

“Why? You need a pet dreg too?” I asked sourly.

He gave me such a scowl-looking face. “NO! It’s gonna be dark soon and, and it’s not safe for you out here on your own.”

So I followed him home. Peter has this intangible quality about him. He has this like totally positive attitude. He talked the whole way and well I didn’t say much but he chattered away, saying how great it would be if I stayed with him and now that I wasn’t living at Gary’s I could stay with him and such a fun future we would have. It was like he knew I would be staying with him for the rest of my life and there were just no two ways about it.

I on the other hand doubted that life would ever be that kind to me. I figured once he got me home his parents would be so appalled with the stray dreg he was bringing home that I be on my way in a flash, hiding from the FCP Delinquent Officers and/or the cops, living out of restaurant dumpsters. That was the life that had been dealt me. I never won. I always lost.

I briefly met his mom, she was very nice and I liked her instantly, but surprised she didn’t politely ask me to leave. Peter then took me up to his room.

“Here, “ said as he took clothes out of two of his drawers and stuffed them into the other drawers, “You put your clothes in here and you can put some of your clothes in my closet. I’ll get us a snack!” And with that he left the room.

I didn’t even bother to put my stuff away. What point would there be because he’d only be coming back with a sad face, telling me that his Mom or Dad would want me to leave ASAP. I began thinking about how I would avoid getting sent to Juvy. I’d sleep to late afternoon when school got out and then search out and find only the best dumpsters. I was getting quite excited with my fantasy because the reality was I’d be virtually starving and I’d be so weak that eventually I’d be caught and sent to Juvy and that’s where my life would end.

When he came back fifteen minutes later with a dish full of cheese and crackers. I was still standing where he’d left me.

“Jonathan! You haven’t unpacked a thing!” He shook his head in mock disapproval. “Here let me help,” he added as he took my backpack and started putting away my things. Everything I had fit in one drawer. “Well, I’ll have to talk to my dad, you hardly have any clothes at all! Well, in the
meantime you can borrow some of mine – I have too many anyway. Mom said you could stay as long as you like and she says Dad will probably agree. My dad is awesome, you’ll like him I am sure. I think we will become best friends, Jonathan, isn’t that great!”

I stood there looking at him for a second. There must be a catch – it’s got to be some sort of trick. But what if it wasn’t? My emotions almost got the better of me but I quelled them, thinking that this was just some sort of joke.

We talked about school a bit and the people we knew.

“Jon, can I call you Jon?” he asked.

I nodded.

“Jon, Gary is not my friend. I’ve never liked him…I used to see the way he treated you at school. You were always polite and if someone needed help you always gave it. The only reason I went to Gary’s was I wanted to see you and meet you and become your friend. And I thought if we became good friends you could come stay here and not have to live at Gary’s and not be treated like a slave.”

“He always called me dreg slave…his parents thought it was funny and cute. I’m never going back there, I’d rather be eaten by the wolves of Cambridge.”

“Well, that’s not going to happen! You’re going to stay here with us and be part of our family.”

I felt like I’d soon wake up from this dream or that his dad would take one look at me and scream ‘OUT!”

I was savoring each moment because I could not believe that it would last. I was enjoying his company as we sat on the floor talking when his mom called to say dinner was ready.

He stood up and I stayed seated on the floor and reached over for the plate of cheese and crackers we hadn’t eaten and I was about to take one when he said, “Well, come on.”


“Mom called us for dinner.”

“Oh, uh, I thought this was for me. This will be fine, really.”

“Silly, that’s a snack, we will eat it later. Now, come on!” He smiled and reached down and gave me his hand helping me up. I followed him down the stairs.

As I walked into the eat-in kitchen Mr. Greenwich gave me a concerned look. Maybe he was worried that he or Peter might get a disease from me. I was about to tell him I was biologically clean and tested eight times when Mrs. Greenwich spoke to me.

“Jonathan, you sit here across from Peter and I will sit here opposite Fred,” said Mrs. Greenwich with a friendly smile. Peter was glowing with happiness sitting across from me. I blushed. I couldn’t believe I could make anybody happy, after all I was just a Dreg.

“Help yourself, Jonathan,” said Mr. Greenwich. He had such a deep voice and he was a handsome man I will say and he had kind eyes. I realized at that moment that they must have been white collars and pretty well off compared to Gary’s family.

“Thank you, sir,” I said timidly. I served myself an absurdly small amount of everything so as to appear polite.

“Jonathan! An ant couldn’t survive on what you’ve served yourself! Now come on, we’re family here, get yourself a decent serving, “ said Mr. Greenwich warmly.

He said “we’re family” and it cut through me like a knife – in all my eleven years I’d always been treated as a low-life, a dreg. It was as if all my suppressed grief for eleven years broke free and sitting at the table I couldn’t control my emotions. No one had ever treated me like anything else than a dreg of unknown origin. I tried not to cry but the harder I tried the more impossible it seemed, then the dam broke and a cascade of tears rolled down my cheeks and then on to my dirty shirt. I couldn’t speak. I sat there silently crying with my head bowed.

Mr. Greenwich got up, came over and scooped me up in his arms and then returned to his seat where he held me tightly in his arms. “It’s okay, my boy, you cry, just let it go.” And for the first time since I was five I cried out loud. Nobody threatened to beat me for making such a noise or told me to shut up. He talked so gently and quietly and so lovingly and I cried for the years of enforced silence and for the years of loneliness and for the love I never received. He just held me and let me cry. I felt so safe and for the first time in my life I felt loved. I felt love from them all.

“I-I don’t understand. I don’t understand. I-I-I’m a…I’m a…a dreg… I’m a dreg of...of unknown origin. I-I’m… a dreg of unknown origin.” Another wave of grief washed over me.

“Jonathan, Jonathan, listen to me. You are not a dreg. You are a young boy, a child and from what Peter has told us a very caring child. Who cares that you are of unknown origin, you are you. You are not some label that some uncaring person has given to you.”

“But you said I was part of the family now. I can’t be a part because the FCP says I have to be adopted. And Miss Farnsborough, my FCP Counselor, says nobody wants a dreg of unknown origin and she said there’s too much paperwork.”

“Oh pish-posh,” said Mrs. Greenwich, “bureaucratic poppycock! You let Fred handle those stupid insane people! You are now part of this family and don’t you ever refer to yourself as a dreg within my hearing. And I mean that!”

“Well, Jonathan,” he looked over to his wife and Peter and then lifted my chin and looked me in the eyes and smiled, “like it or not you have a family now and forever if you want.”

I continued sitting in his lap and after several minutes it seemed I mustered enough courage to ask, “Can I call you Dad and Mrs. Greenwich Mom and will Peter be my brother?”

He chuckled. “Well, Melissa, what do you think?”

“I would love it, Fred, “ she said and held out her arms. I got off my new dad’s lap and ran to her, giving a big hug to my new mom and she hugged me back and gave me a kiss and I pulled back and looked at her.

“What?” she queried.

“Nobody every kissed me. Can I give you a kiss too?”

“Hon, you can give me as many kisses as you want.” So I hugged her and gave her at least ten kisses.

“And how do you feel about that, Peter?” asked my new dad.

Peter giggled, “I always wanted a brother, Dad. I think it’s gonna be awesome!” He opened up his arms and I ran to him and hugged him. He hugged me back.

“Can I kiss you?”

He blushed and looked at his mom and dad and said, “Yeah.” So, I guess I gave him at least twenty kisses and we both giggled.

Finally, I went over to my new dad and looked at him. He smiled at me. “Can I kiss you?”

“Well, if you don’t I’m going to be really sad,” he replied. So, I kissed him several times and then I whispered in his ear ,“Peter is right – you are the most awesome Dad in the world.” He gave me a hug and a kiss.

I sat down in my chair and I ate my fill.

To this day I can recall what we ate that night five years ago like it was yesterday – fried Chicken, mashed potatoes, gravy, green beans, and for dessert pecan pie a la mode.

That night I got to take a hot shower and Peter gave me some nightclothes to wear. He shared his bed with me, no more sleeping in the corner or on a sleeping bag.

I was lying on my back near the edge of the bed staring at the ceiling, still not believing I was a part of a family when Peter grabbed my arm and pulled me closer to him.

“Jon, you’ll fall off the bed if you sleep on the edge.”

“I didn’t want to crowd you,” I said. I felt so safe lying next to Peter and so loved.



“I love you and I will always love you.”

“Me too, Jon, me too.”

I was nearly asleep when I heard him whisper, “Jon?”


“Can I kiss you goodnight?”

I didn’t answer, I just leaned forward and kissed him on the lips.

“Can we always kiss like that every night, Jon?”

“Un-huh,” I said and nestled my head into his chest.

Peter and I became inseparable pretty much most of the time. We each had our own interests and activities but we always had our time – our time.

I chuckle to myself when I think about one time when we were fourteen, almost fifteen, even though at the time it was sort of a bump in the road.

“Hi, Mom!” I said as I gave Mom a hug and a kiss – I did that everyday when every I got home and I would always give Dad a hug and kiss too. My name was now Jonathan Greenwich. “Where’s my bro?”

“Upstairs. And where have you been?”

“At the Sports Arena on the hover boards, woosh – woosh “ I said as I swung my hips from side to side. “Mom, I love hover board and I am not that bad on one cuz I am still small for my age. They are so neat you lean forward and it goes forward, lean to the right and they go to the right, lean to the left they go to the left, lean back and they slow or stop, lean back hard and they reverse. They float an inch to five inches of the ground. You can do all sorts of tricks with them when you’re good Last week I did a double back roll and twist!”

She shook her head, “Those things scare me!”

“Aw Mom, they are super fun.”

“Just don’t kill yourself on one of those things,” she said.

“Me? Never! I’m pretty darn good! Honk! Honk!” I always add the Honk! Honk! when I toot my own horn. “Anyway Mom, I got to go hug my bro! See ya!” And with that I dashed upstairs and flung open the door to our bedroom only to catch Peter in an embarrassing situation.


With a horrified look he turned off the image screen before I could see what he was looking at.

“Get the hell out of here! I hate you! Can’t you ever knock!” he screamed.

I closed the door and returned to the kitchen and plopped down in my chair. It was the second time that week I have interrupted him doing that stuff. I was staring at the kitchen table. It was the first time he ever said he hated me. I know he didn’t really mean it but lately he was so quiet like he was troubled and he always sleeps way over on his side of the bed. I barely get a good night kiss any more from him. A tear rolled down my cheek and splashed on the table.

“What happened now?”

“I interrupted him.” I wrapped my left hand around my right index finger and pushed it in and out several times.

“He hates me. He doesn’t even give me a goodnight kiss or hug and he sleeps way over on HIS side of the bed!”

“Oh, no he doesn’t hate you,” she sighed, “He’s just embarrassed that you caught him. Just like you would be if he caught you.”

“Yeah, but I don’t do that.”

She raised her eyebrows in disbelief.

I blushed, “I’m, I’m not big like Peter. Everybody’s bigger than me and everybody has hair down there but me. I’m as bald as a bowling ball down there. I tried doing it once and it sort of felt nice but I got bored after a minute or two so I stopped. That’s why I don’t do sports at school – ‘cause everyone will make fun of me for not having any hair and they’ll call me Mr. Tiny Weenie! Mom, is there something wrong with me, I’m almost fifteen and I have no hair! The only thing that has changed is my voice is a little deeper and my teeth.”

“Your teeth?” she smiled.

“Yeah, see!” I hooked my two index fingers around my upper lip and opened my mouth so she could see my canine teeth. They were now very sharp and pointed and sometimes they would extend for no apparent reason so they looked like fangs. But I didn’t extend them at that point or even mention it because I felt it was weird and I knew other people’s teeth didn’t do that.

“You have beautiful teeth, Jon, and don’t worry, you’ll get hair soon enough,” she chortled.

Peter came into the kitchen. I looked up at him and then back down at the table.

“Mom, I’m going out for a walk alone,” he stressed alone, “I’ll be back by dinner.” He scowled at me and then left. I went upstairs, lay down on my side of the bed and cried myself to sleep.

For two days Peter avoided me as much as he could and for two days I cried when I was alone. I hurt so badly I thought my heart would rupture. I kept trying to talk to him but he was cold and distant. At lunchtime on Friday I saw him sitting by himself and I went over to join him. As I set my tray of food down on the table he started to get up.

“Peter, please! Please just tell what I’ve done wrong. Please, we need to talk. Oh God! My teeth are killing me!” I didn’t mean to say that but it came out. For the last two days my teeth were really hurting and right at that moment the pain was unbearable, worse than they had ever been. I could feel my teeth beginning to extend – I could feel the fangs starting to drop – any second they’d be visibly outside of my mouth. I panicked. I slapped my hand over my mouth and ran out of the school.

I slept that night in a deserted condemned rat-infested building and arrived home very early Saturday morning.

As I entered through the kitchen door I saw Mom sitting at the kitchen table. She looked at me but before she said a word I said, “I stink really bad, Mom, let me take a shower first, then I come back down. I’m sorry. I’ll take any punishment you want to give me, just don’t kick me out.” She nodded and I went up and took my shower. I disposed of my clothes in the garbage bag, wrapped a towel around my waist and quietly went to the bedroom.

Peter was sleeping peacefully as I got dressed then I quietly left the room, grabbed the garbage bag out of the bathroom and went downstairs.

Mom and Dad were both in the kitchen now. I put the garbage outside and returned, sitting down at the table not looking at either one. I was so ashamed of myself. I felt like a worthless Dreg.

Dad spoke. “Jonathan, first of all, I love you with all my heart. Your mom and I would never, ever kick you out” I nodded but didn’t speak. Dad continued, “We both love you so much, but if you ever pull another prank like that and make us worry like we did last night, I will – I will…I don’t know what I will do but it won’t be pleasant.”

I really wanted to tell them what had happened but I was scared…and confused about myself. So, I changed the subject.

“Peter won’t talk to me, I didn’t mean to walk in on him. I swear! But now he hates me,” I started crying.

“Jonnie,” Mom said softly, “Peter is going through some rough times and he’s scared and confused too, but he loves you and he knows you love him too. He’s promised me to talk to you today. He is so sorry about upsetting you yesterday…he cried half the night worrying about you. Have you had any sleep?”

“’bout an hour or two.”

“Well, you go up and get some sleep, honey, and don’t worry, things will work out.”

I left and went to bed.

Visions of what had happened after leaving school haunted me but soon enough exhaustion took its hold over me and I had a welcomed dreamless sleep.

I woke to see Peter looking at me. I smiled. He smiled and reached over and gently ran his fingers through my hair. I always loved it when he did that.

“Purrrrrrrr,” I said. I looked away and then back at him, “I’m really sorry, I promise I will always knock before I come bursting into the room like that. I swear on my life, Peter.”

“Jon, that’s not why I was upset. I wasn’t upset with you. I was upset with me!”

I was confused.

“Jon, I’m – I’m g-gay.”

“Oh, okay…so”

“You understand what I am saying to you – I’m a homosexual.”

“Oh, okay…so do you have a boyfriend?”

“Jon, I love you. I have loved you ever since the first day I saw you at school.”

“Does that mean you want to have sex with me?”

“Yeah, if you want.” He smiled.

I sighed really big. “Peter, I love you more than anyone or anything since that first day. I owe you my life, my love, and life without you would be unbearable and I would welcome death with open arms but I-I, I’m not a homosexual or anything sexual…look!” I pulled down my boxers, “No hair…” I couldn’t believe my eyes, my first pubic hair, “I- I have a hair!”

“Peter! Look! I A hair! Wow! I’m not hairless!” I said as I jumped out of bed and ran into Mom and Dad’s room.

“MOM! DAD! Look I have a hair!” I exclaimed as I proudly showed them my one long pubic hair, “Oh and look! There are a few little bitty tiny ones starting to grow. I’m going to be a man!”

The two laughed and Dad said, “Yep I think so, son!”

Peter was smiling and shaking his head.

“What, Peter?”

“I-I, you’re just…I mean I would never run in here and show my mom and dad my pubic hairs!” he laughed.

“Yeah but you’ve had pubic hair since you were thirteen and me! I’m nearly fifteen! This hair means a lot to me! It means I can join the sports team!”

I’m sixteen now and have plenty of hair. I’m still small for my age. Peter and I still sleep in the same bed and I generally sleep spooning Peter, but we never have sex. I’m impotent and I show little interest in sex – I like kissing though and there’s nobody I love more than Peter but I think he’s getting frustrated with me.

It’s a problem but not my worst problem, not by a long shot. I don’t know how to tell Peter or Mom and Dad. I am so afraid that they will hate me, that they will be afraid of me and want me to leave. I’ve tried to give it up I’ve tried to quit. I’ve tried to change. I can’t…it’s a part of me and it’s what I am and I can no longer deny it.

Sitting up here thinking about it isn’t making it go away. I know Peter is worried and pissed off with me because I have all but ignored him this last month. I hate to say it but I been so self-involved with my problem trying to sort things out trying to figure out myself trying not to fear my future and worrying if Peter will still accept me for me. I know I have to tell him. I can’t keep putting it off any longer.

If only I were normal.


Well what do you think- Sam. sam_lakes@hotmail.com