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crying out loud

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It's Trick-y [Aug. 8th, 2003|11:56 pm]
crying out loud
we_cry
[queeraswriter]
[Current Mood |artisticartistic]
[Current Music |Jerry Cantrell]

Hey, peoples...My name is Travis. Here is a work of mine telling of a time that incited some tears of my own. Reading and reviewing of course welcome. Then again, the equivalent is five pages...hence, why I cut this. Enjoy!

Please note: Names have been changed in this to protect the innocent…and the guilty ones.

From a lot of experience, also in the quest of sort of describing what I want in the ideal mate, it has been a long time part of my philosophy that the perfect one is going to have something or the other in common with me. Well, so I don't go on my normal streak of being especially vague or general, might I introduce myself for those that are just meeting me or are being introduced to me for the first time. I am a writer. Writing, from a long time back, has been my life's blood. Whenever I have a free moment, I normally can be found in my room with my nose in my notebook. In addition to this, I love classic rock music and especially have a love for opera. I enjoy various forms of literature, but especially love the work of certain abstract thinking women such as Sylvia Plath.

In addition to somebody preferably having some likes in that ballpark in common with me, there is another branch to the concept that I have found that most people that I have some kind of physical interest in just really cannot meet. This would include such things as dreams and aspirations, wanting a serious, long term relationship, and, most importantly, not driving to make the glue that holds a relationship together be making sure that the sex is still good. On the other hand, when I bring this up in conversation with someone, the first assumption, nine times out of ten that somebody makes, is that I am a goody-two-shoes and my wish is to remain celibate. This would surely be very false; I want to eventually do something like lose my virginity and have a relationship where sex is part of it, but when it comes down to having to put out just to keep a mate that I feel is slipping away, that is where I am going to show him the door.

I will ask one to consider these two branches of my dating philosophy as I tell my story of something that happened to me a few years back, in the populars and outcasts game known as high school. Even still now, and what I discovered first hand, setting foot for the first time on the campus of Hanford High School during the end of August 2000, homosexuality still stands as the biggest taboo, and the number one thing that people are still ridiculed about. Surely, I overheard somebody one time, a kid raised on old-southern redneck-ish principles, joking around one time and referring to a friend by the N-word, but then again, just walking around the campus, or hearing some of the conversations all around, the word "faggot" was and is still an everyday English word by many. One very common instance of this was in a sentence such as, "man, I can't believe that guy said that about my girl; that guy is such a fag!" Then again, a close second is one of the things that I am trying to get at here; not being out to anybody, but then sticking out like a sore thumb in their eyes. Just for that reason, that gave those select few the license to mock me, give me 'fashion tips,' tell me how wrong I am for liking to do what I do, for the music I listen to, or whatever. Then again, I was also soon to find out that one of their hobbies, much like using the slur as an anti-endearment for someone, is to brush me off with such statements as, "Leave me alone, you fucking faggot."

Mind you, at this time, I was just about to turn fifteen. For those who can't get a grip around that, I was fourteen at the time. I met with a friend a year beforehand in my Russian class, and I was in it with him for the Second year curriculum. At the beginning of the year, Lenny, this guy, was dating a girl of whom, in somewhat of my own denial and trying to prove myself, found especially attractive, despite the fact that the rest of the school thought otherwise of her. Maria, this dark mistress of sorts, wore a black leather trench coat, and somewhat showy tops underneath, black pants, several different colored pairs of sunglasses and black boots very similar to one of the pairs that I own. Not to mention, based on the fact that she also was into incense and candles, wrote relentlessly and listened religiously to Marilyn Manson despite her strongly religious mother, that was everyone else's grounds of labeling her "that crazy bitch."

At this time, though, I somewhat was really denying who I really was. By the age of thirteen, I knew that I was gay, although I didn't show any of the stereotypes that our society has so well embraced; feminine vocals and gestures, love of disco and show tunes, a certain kind of dress and knack for fashion, etc. Anyways, a bit of time after I had begun to somewhat get to know Maria, her and Lenny broke up. On the way home from a long day at school, I was sitting on the grass listening to Korn while waiting for the bus. Suddenly, out of nowhere from one direction, Maria appeared and sat down in my vicinity. Knowing who she was, let alone trying to show some real courtesy, I stopped my music and took off my headphones. To make a long story short, this is how the whole thing went. Maria and I get to talking about her past relationship, and a bunch of other things, leading to us discovering that we had quite a bit in common. In the duration of the wait for the bus, we apparently had clicked a lot, and a relationship was on. Just to make the whole thing cemented, we sat together on the way over to the transfer station, as she put her arm around me and somewhat cuddled up with me, somewhat so we would both stay warm (it was November…hello). Once off the bus, it was a few more minutes to wait by sitting in the shelter and out of the dreary gray weather. We're talking a little bit more, when Maria brings up the topic of kissing. The conversation gets a little less logical, when she peers in, arm still around me, and it happens…a kiss that lasts seemingly for an eternity, whereas it was really, like two and a half minutes. We exchange phone numbers, give each other one more kiss and hug, then part ways.

By this point, I was still sure about this, but then I was destined to treat myself to a 'normal' life (by society's standards). While I am in the relationship with Maria, another issue to me has to do with a class that I'm not doing too well in, and the douche bag of a teacher that is teaching it. Mind you, science is not exactly my favorite thing to read about, let alone anything that comes easily to me. During this time, I was taking a year long Biology course from an instructor that expected grad school quality from a bunch of high school freshmen, sophomores, juniors, and seniors…not exactly too encouraging. In wake of failing a couple of exams, and a progressively slipping grade (though never failing), I sought out help at the makeshift Hanford High tutoring center. I tell the attendant there that I was there to get some help with some Biology stuff, and I was pretty much a novice with it. Nobody else there was remotely educated or knowing about any branch of science really, except for a certain five foot nine or so, dark haired, medium weight sophomore with the sexiest eyes and feminine voice….God, he was really something. So, we shake hands and introduce ourselves. "Joey's the name, by the way. And you're Travis, right?" he inquires. I say yes, and we are getting down to business on my current assignment about heredity and fruit flies.

In between him giving me a few tips about doing the stuff that was plaguing me and keeping me up trying to do the shit for god knows how long, I couldn't help but stare at Joey's seemingly perfect (in my book) features; pretty big arms, perfect build, for I love guys with meat on their bones, flawless complexion, beautiful brown eyes...anything that any guy at a meat market would just eat up and make scream "Wilbur!" Anyways, I couldn't say anything not only because I was still closeted, but also at the time for me, a feminine voice was just something of a stereotype about alternative-life folk.

From then, on, I couldn't stop thinking about Joey. Then again, to the world and society, I was this weirdo metal head that wore black and flannel, listened to Slipknot and wrote poetry and short stories. However, the fact that I was still straight made me feel more like a commodity. On the other hand, during one session of talking to Maria on the phone, she revealed a secret that she hardly ever told anyone else, and sure as hell wasn't going to blurt out before her mother. "I'm bisexual," she piped up, probably somewhat praying that I wasn't going to hang up the phone on her or break up right there. All I can say now is, if only she knew the truth about me!

As time went on, I continued to go to the tutoring after school, not only really to get homework help in Biology and sometimes Algebra, but also so I could be in the presence of him. I began thinking that I really wanted him and even wished for it, but I was in the wrong position in more ways than one. Besides, I thought also that he was taken and in a good, steady relationship. On the other hand, then came an infamous phone call that I made to Maria on a Friday night, asking if she wanted to go see a movie with me the next day. Unfortunately, she couldn't as she had to baby sit her little brother…apparently.

About three or four days after that, a couple of people approach me with such comments as "It's not surprising that the bitch left you," and "I heard the news, and I'm sorry, Travis," in a half-hearted pity-sending tone. Finally, two more days and about twenty or so people later, Maria finds me out in the school's foyer, arm around a taller and older guy. "Oh yeah, Travis. This is Mark, my new boyfriend. We're through," she states, just nonchalantly. I felt crushed and horrible, as I thought it was really something that I did to scare her away. On the other hand, it got to a point where Maria began referring to me as "Asshole," not talking to me at all, and even spreading a couple of fallacy-riddled rumors about me around school on such things as my penis size. Keep in mind, though, I was uncomfortable, as she wanted to have sex with me, and I didn't. In other words, she was so full of shit, as she had never touched, let alone see my penis. One more week later, I found out from a reliable source that the "babysitting her brother" thing was bullshit. Instead, she went over to see Mark at his place, and they wound up having sex…no remorse, no "oh my god, I just cheated on my boyfriend," no nothing. Certainly, that relationship was toast.

Sort of trying to get back into the swing of things emotionally after such betrayal and dealing with someone so lust-driven, I began to think, "Fuck her! You can do a lot better than that!" I don't know if it was her to do it or what, but then again, it sooner or later was bound to happen. With a few days before the end of freshman year, I was beginning to put two and two together once again, and considering a past statement that my mom told me a long time beforehand, "there is nothing wrong with being gay, and I would love you just the same if you were." After several bouts of "what if's," I sacked up, lifted my head up high, and acquired some determination. At the age of fifteen, following a big hug and reassurance of both my mother and sisters' approval, I finally came out of the closet.

Afterwards, I was living under the statement of "you really have to lay low." Certainly, I did, and I only told a few very close friends. This also included my new found friend, of whom it seemed like I could tell a lot more than "I have a test coming up on cells," Joey. Once I did, I felt a lot of power, and was glad that I did. Shortly after, Joey revealed his true self….holy shit! We exchanged phone numbers, and were on. Over that time, I felt so awesome…he called a whole hell of a lot, we talked a good while, and I felt comfortable about it. I was so on top of the world…I had a boyfriend!

I wish that I had learned it in time, though I guess really it was my hormones talking. And when those talk too loudly, surely one's mind cannot be heard at all. When Joey would call, surely igniting a rather long, up to about an hour or so chat, one of the first things that the guy would ask me was "Are you in your room with the door locked?" I just wish I could have put the pieces together well before I hurt myself, come to think of it now. Anyways, I never saw the tell tale signs of anything like that. All the guy ever really wanted to talk about was sex, how he wanted to have sex, and some of the past relationships that he had had.

One night in thought, writing in my diary, with the sounds of A Perfect Circle playing in the background, I pieced together everything, and found a lot of fallacy. The ultimate thing that I wanted out a relationship, if one will recall, is intelligence and common interest. Based on what one knows about me, this sure as hell wasn't fulfilled; Joey was really into country music, wore such swagger, drew and painted, spent much time doing extra work in his art classes, and although he basically hated my music, he did write poetry like me. On the other hand, this was never one thing that he did, and I later found out that he just was learning basics of it in his language arts class, and was "inspired" by me to go around in his room and pull out an old poetry portfolio project that he had to do back during the eighth and ninth grades…very primitive stuff, and not really that deep…certainly, no evidence that he was trying, let alone really enjoyed that particular art.

Finally, it all hit me like a ton of bricks; the lusty phone calls, only ever talking about sex when he was around me, nothing in common, and just basically taking up poetry…whoa! "What a fucking asshole," I thought to myself. It wasn't me that he wanted at all…it was a piece of meat. He didn't care about the relationship…he just cared about getting a quick fuck. And as for the poetry, he was going to great lengths to try and woo me and make me think that he was for real about wanting to be with me, then get me into the sack. Eventually, I got the balls to just quit calling him, assertively reject all of his come-ons (including one in which he tried to initiate oral sex on me), and to begin warning people about him, only to find that a lot of my sister's friends had seen his true colors bright and glowing. With their recommendation, and a new feeling of power and independence on me, I went up to Joey, rejected one last "hey baby, wanna go into the other room," and basically told him to "fuck off."

I felt great right after doing what I had to do. Joey hasn't basically spoken to me ever since, but then he did end up shooting me a bunch of dirty looks and snide comments when we took Geometry together during my sophomore year. Surprisingly, I began to feel like shit shortly after, and had a breakdown. Really, I didn't feel bad about doing what I did, but I felt awful…I had been had…used…thought of as a slut. Not exactly the best feeling in the world.

Luckily, tears do indeed dry up quickly, and my head didn't stay buried in my pillow for that long. One session about writing a poem about my experience, and a newfound strong friendship with a group of my sister's high school friends that would write fan fiction and get together to watch anime, and Joey was a thing of the past. Now, I can look back and laugh at somebody so desperate that he has to go to that great of lengths to find someone…and he didn't even try an online chat room. My discovery was solidified once and for all about a month later, when I heard of a new guy that loved country music and had been playing the guitar for years…a guy who had been courted by Joey. At the beginning of the year after the incident, which was my junior and his senior year, Joey enrolled in a class to begin learning to play guitar. Surely, I am pretty sure that he is just stuck in his ways, but I am glad that I am no longer a part of it.

And even if I am over that, there is still one more part of the entire scope of this story that still makes me crack up. Remember Mark, the guy that Maria dumped me for to get some hot nookie and apparently her new relationship? Well, the bliss was short-lived; three years after, Mark, as well, came out of the closet! Now isn't THAT ironic?
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