A New Beginning
Carl Fuller, the new 9th grader in class, begins the story of this teenage romance. Lets listen as he describes a very confusing and embarrassing day in his life. Oh, and by the way, if you are under 18 you shouldn't be reading this (because it may contain some naughty gay stuff). But then again, if you're over 18 you shouldn't be reading it either cause that makes you some kind of a perv...hehe! Anyway, Carl begins...
I didn't even know I had been staring at him until he turned in his desk and looked towards me. I was still kind of wrapped up in my fantasy about him and didn't clue into the fact that I had been caught. I saw his eyebrows droop into a kind of a frown. I thought "...eyebrows, wow, they arch so perfectly. Eyes, what a gorgeous dark blue. Eyes??? Oh my God, he's looking back at me!"
I snapped my head towards the front of the class so quick I should have gotten a severe case of whip lash. And then in my death throws (the court hereby sentences you to death by embarrassment) I slowly slid down in my desk. I didn't stop scrunching until my knees bumped up to the chair ahead of me. By then only my eyeballs and forehead were sticking above the desk surface. This was not a difficult feat because at four foot ten inches tall I was by far the shortest dude in my class. A class which, by the way, was only one week new to me since I had just moved here from out of state. So here I was, the new kid - scrawny, short, goofy looking with my dumbo ears and now I had just `outed' myself.
"Coach, take me out of the game. I don't want to play anymore." That was the first thing that flashed through my mind because that's what my old friend Chad had made up. We would laughingly say this to each other if we wanted to be somewhere else. Chad, - oh God how I missed my buddy. He was 12, two years younger that me and a little bit short for his age too. That means his little bit short and my really short kind of cancelled each other out so we were the same height. He was a total brain and so, even though he was younger, I looked up to him as the leader. That was another thing about me, I was a definite follower, no leadership material here. And now he wasn't here to give me advice. He wasn't here to help dig me out of the holes I was so good at falling into.
I was so busy doing my pretzel imitation under my desk that I hadn't noticed that class had ended and nearly everyone had filed out the door, everyone, that is, except for one hunky looking dude that kind of settled down onto one knee at the side of my desk. He was staring into my eyeballs which were barely peering above my desk. I thought "wow, what gorgeous eyes. Oh my God - it's HIM!"
The chair in front of me was empty now so it didn't even slow down the progress of my continued slide below the desk. I heard this laughter erupt. A laugh that started low in his throat and then ended with a sorta squeak. (If you've gone through puberty you know what I'm describing.)
"Hey dude" he said - still chortling, "see if you can spot the gum I stuck under that desk last year. I'll divvy it up with ya." And that sent him into another bout of laughter.
By now he was talking to my cowlick cuz I was indeed staring at the bottom of the desk. So I answered him...
"um, which one is yours - the Dentyne or the Double Bubble?" At this he really busted up and kind of fell onto his side in the isle. That's when the booming voice of Mr. Clayborn, the math teacher, sounded out.
"All right you two. Get your butts out into the hallway. You're going to be late to your last class of the day."
I don't know about you but authoritative adult voices get my immediate attention. Hell, when you're a pigmy, every voice is intimidating. I swiveled out from the desk, grabbed my math book and was shooting down the isle before the kid on the floor could even get to his feet. Besides, the easiest way to avoid embarrassment was to run like hell. "Take me out of the game coach!"
"Hey, new kid. Hey, ...wait up!"
Uh-uhh buddy, I'm gone. There's no way I'm going to stick around and look at you face to face. Well, face to face if I had a stool to stand on. Cheeze, I'll bet the guy is at least 5'9". I was so ashamed that he'd caught me staring at him that I could feel the water works starting. It was bad enough to let him know I was a perv without him seeing that I was a cry baby.
I was probably 30 feet into the hallway by the time he reached the door. "Hey hold on dude!" I glanced back at him and saw that he wasn't going to, like, chase me down or anything. So I just slowed down, blended into the crowd and wiped my traitorous eyes on my shirt sleeve. God, what a baby. What a shrimpy, faggy baby!
I screwed up the combination on my locker twice before I got it opened. I just sort of tossed in my math book thinking "shit, I bet Clayborn assigned some math homework and I was so spaced out I didn't get it. Oh well, I'll just answer all the questions at the end of the chapter and then I'll at least know I did the assigned ones. What the hell, It's Friday night. No school tomorrow. I got the whole weekend. It's not like I have a life here in Boise anyway. And, I'm sure as hell not going to be making any friends here once that dude passes the word on me". I could hear him now, "Hey, that new kid, the pigmy, he was perving on me in Math class..."
Maybe Mom would let me call Chad this weekend. I could tell Chad anything. Hell, he even knows that I`m gay. He's the one that's kept me from making a fool of myself up till now. He knows that when I'm stressed out I go into my head a lot. It's like I use fantasy to replace the world around me when that world has turned shitty. I did that once when I was watching TV with Chad over at his house. He started talking to me but I was all spaced out, not paying attention. That's when he came up with "take me out of the game coach. I don't want to play anymore". The big problem was that, for the last nine or ten months, all my fantasies have been about sex. And they couldn't be about normal sex, you know, thoughts about boobs and twats - oh, noo! I have to think about boys and their equipment and their cute rounded butt cheeks.
It's a good thing my last class, History, is just a few feet from my locker. I grabbed my book and made it through the door just as the tardy bell rang. My desk is in the back row so I was able to slip in just before the bell finished ringing. "All right class... American revolution" our teacher said, in her screechy, fingernail-against-the-blackboard voice. "Now, who can tell me yadda yadda yadda..." and I'd tuned myself out.
I was caught up in my misery and didn't need to add the American Revolution to it. Shit, that would be double misery. All I could think about was that kid laughing at me, laughing at the pervert. I was formulating a plan to help dig me out the umpteenth hole I've dug for myself. There must be something I could tell that cute guy in Math about why I was starring at him. How about...
"you look like a double for my beloved cousin that just died of leukemia" or...
"I was spacing out on something outside the window and you just happened to be blocking my view?"
Crap, why not say "I just happened to notice how curly and cute your blond hair is". Or...
"I was merely wishing that I could lick that beautiful dimple on your chin."
Shit, I was growing a boner. If I was a farmer on a boner farm I would have a record harvest for this year. I could use my dick to carry my book bag it was hard so often.
Well at least I had stopped bawling. I wonder if the cute dude saw my weepy eyes when I glanced back at him in the hallway? I hope not, it would be just one more thing for him to tell his friends about me. And that he had plenty of friends I had no doubt in my mind. With that athletic looking body he was probably some kind of a sports jock and they always have plenty of friends. At least he wasn't a midget with mousy brown hair and a cowlick that stuck up like a turkey feather. And he didn't have ears that looked radar cones. Once, I tried to grow my hair out enough to cover my dumbo ears, but that is a lost cause. God, why to they have to stick out like that? Add plain old brown eyes to the mix and a billion nose freckles and what do you have? What you have is Opie, the little kid from the Andy Griffith show! Then there is the real kicker. Are you ready for this? My boner is the same length and thickness as your middle finger! Yeah, that's right, if I dropped trou in front of you I would be giving you the finger with my dick! I popped a boner in class in my old school and didn't get it covered in time before this one kid saw it. He pointed at it and said, just as loud as he could...
"look, it's Carl the bug fucker".
Now how the hell do you live that down I ask you? You don't. My new nickname for the last three months before I moved was `bug fucker'. Or when they really wanted to get my goat it was Opie the bug fucker. It was another kid that pointed out how I resembled Ron Howard in the Andy Griffith show. At least Ron Howard grew up to be a fairly tall, good looking dude. Course he's bald as cue ball. Shit, that's probably one more thing that fate has is store for me.
I was getting ready to get out the little hats and noisemakers for my pity party when the bell rang. Thank God; the last class. Thus endeth my first week of class at my new school. As the frog on the poster in my bedroom says
"I'm so happy here I could just shit!"
I was feeling closer to normal now as I popped open my locker. There was a lot of bustle and loud talking and laughing all around me. Friday, schools over and the hallway is full of happy kids. It feels kind of infectious so I'm even half way smiling as I gathered up my homework stuff and slipped it into my book bag. Actually my book bag is the gym bag I had from my old school. I'm glad we don't have to dress out for gym here cuz I don't want to have to hear bug fucker again. I was just thinking about how I was going to have to get Mom to take me shopping for a new backpack that weekend. Somehow I lost my old one when we moved. I didn't really have all that far to walk home with my books, just three blocks, but I didn't like using my geeky, old, laundry bag. I like to blend in with the crowd just as much as any kid. No since asking for trouble.
I was actually feeling pretty good as I stepped outside into the bright sunlight. Kids were sweeping by me, dashing for the bike rack or towards the buses lined up in front of the school. As I walked down the steps of the building I glanced ahead of me on the walkway. In the center of the walkway there is a circular brick planter with our flag pole stuck in the center of it. I stopped at the bottom of the steps and just stared, sort of slack jawed at that planter. Sitting on the damn thing, watching all the kids as they walked out, was the guy from math class. His head was swiveling back and forth. It was obvious he was looking for someone and wanted to make damn good and sure he didn't miss whoever that someone was. The scary thing, the thing that instantly dried out my mouth and made my heart beat against my eardrums was the certain thought that I was the someone he was looking for.
Have you ever had a million thoughts run through your mind in just a few seconds? They say that when a person is about to die that their entire life flashes through their minds. Well, I was quite certain that whatever was about to happen wasn't going to end in my death, but I was trying to think of any way possible to avoid this meeting that was going to get me `outed' to the whole damn world. My sneaking-away plans were blown when I saw his head swivel in my direction and his eyes locked right onto me. His head stopped swiveling as I knew he had just spied the person he was looking for. Yep, I was the someone.
A little voice in my head just sort of sighed and said "fuck it dude, you might as well get it over with." Now I knew I must have been upset because I almost never use the f word. Not even in my head. Oh, I would say shit, or damn or Jesus but the f word just isn't in my vocabulary yet. Actually, I think people who use that particular word are kind of ignorant. They fit right up there with the people that say `nigger' or `queer'. Course that's just the way my Mom describes them too, ignorant. Guess the parental influence does rub off eh?
I felt my feet sort of plod along in his direction. His eyes never left mine. His face had a kind of neutral expression so I wasn't sure if I was going to get smacked or just yelled at. I stopped about three feet in front of him and just sorta lowered my book bag down by my foot. By this time I was looking at the ground in between his feet. I was feeling kind of numb and dead inside. I just wanted to get this over with so I could go on home and feel numb and dead in a place a little more comfortable and a lot less public.
I heard him clear his throat - a sort of `uhhmmm'. Next I heard a sort of a sigh and then what sounded like a choking sound. None of this sounded consistent with what I expected to hear and so I dared to glance up towards his face. What I saw just kind of shocked me to my roots. His face, that handsome, gorgeous face was kind of screwed up like he was trying really hard to keep his emotions in check. I don't mean angry, screaming at me, really pissed off type of emotions either. He looked like he was just a few seconds away from bawling. I thought, "what the fuck have you done to him Carl?" I didn't simply get this guy pissed from perving at him; what I've done is to really hurt him on some deep emotional level. Maybe he's had some tumultuous problem with a gay person before or maybe he was being molested at home or something. Oh shit, oh fuck. I am such a horrible creep. Here is a guy I would give my left nut just to cuddle up to and instead I've torn his heart out. I was wishing he would scream at me, call me a filthy fairy faggot at the top of his lungs or start punching on me. Anything but this. I felt my own waterworks start to give way.
Is Carl a creep? We don't think so do we? Confused, upset, a little bonkers, maybe. Anyway, all this is from poor, little Carl's point of view. Let's go on to the next chapter and see if we can get a little clarification from someone else.
Copyright by Callmepaul@postmaster.co.uk Jan 15, 2007