© December 9th, 2015
I love him from his head to his toes and I simply can’t understand why. It’s not supposed to be like this between two friends such as him and me. We’re buddies. In fact, we are the best of buddies. So I’m allowed to love him, just not the way that I do.
We walk home together from school every day and we kid and horse around the entire way. We play basketball together on those warm afternoons, and I admire how the perspiration makes his smooth, soft flesh glisten in the sunlight. We lie together in my bedroom and talk about everything our fifteen year old minds dream up. We know each other intimately. I’m more intimate with him than I’ve ever been with anyone. And when he dozes off on my bed as he so often does during our talks, I cannot help but just sit and admire him, my sleeping beauty.
I know he’s a little dorky. Some kids have made fun of him. He’s not exactly a movie star type. But the truth is he’s my type. I haven’t stopped to think about whether that makes me gay or not. Before him I never had a type. And I can’t imagine a time where he won’t be my type.
Perhaps I’m young and stupid and I just don’t understand yet. Some of them say it’s just a phase that we grow out of. We all experiment, they say. But the truth of the matter is that the only true experimentation I have done up to this point is browsing the web to see if perhaps I can find a picture of some naked lady that does for me what he does. So far that experiment has been a complete and utter failure.
I’ve come so close to telling him so many times exactly how it is that I feel. The entire scenario of how exactly things will go is completely worked out in my mind.
“I know,” he says to me with that smirk that melts my heart. “I’ve always known. And I’ve felt the same way for a long time. I’ve just been afraid to tell you.”
With the truth now out in the open he and I embrace and I can freely enjoy the warmth inside I feel when I hold him close to me. And that’s when I go in for the kiss; our first kiss. Oh, how perfect a kiss it is. Well … As perfect as a fantasy kiss can be when the truth is I’ve no real experience to compare it to.
That’s the fantasy and scenario in my head that gives me the most comfort on the days when he’s so sweet and beautiful that I can feel my feelings for him almost bursting out of me. It’s that fantasy that gives me hope that one day I could tell him the truth and stop hiding what I’m feeling without losing the best thing that’s ever happened to me. It is that fantasy that helps me get through the day when I realize just how foolish I am to love him so much.
But then again, perhaps I am not so foolish. And perhaps my scenario isn’t too far-fetched and delusional. I mean, he and I wrestle around a lot together. He does tell me things he tells nobody else. I massaged his neck once when it was sore and he didn’t bat an eye. He is almost always receptive to a hug and never even hints that I’ve physically pushed a boundary. So maybe he and I aren’t so different and perhaps my fantasy can become a reality.
I think perhaps I’ll tell him today, while we’re sitting here playing video games. He’s in a particularly good mood today and maybe, just maybe things can go the way I’ve dreamed.
“Hey,” I begin, “Can we talk for a bit?”
He continues playing the game, unblinking and not looking away from the screen.
“Did you hear me?”
“Sorry,” he says, his concentration breaking. “What were you saying?”
“I was saying I wanted to talk to you about something.”
As I say the words I can suddenly hear my heart pounding in my chest. Each thud of my heart feels so loud and hard that I’m sure he too can hear it.
“Is it important?” he says, glancing at his watch.
“Well,” I begin as the inside of my mouth goes dry as a desert, “Kinda.”
He looks up at me with a concerned but only half-serious look, his eyes smiling. God, those eyes get me every time.
“Okay,” he says.
I suddenly find myself lost for words. So many times have I rehearsed what I was to say in my head and now here I am unable to say anything at all.
“Umm,” my mouth says as my heart screams, “I’m in love with you. From your golden head to your crooked toes I’m in love with you!”
Finally after what feels like the hundredth “Umm” he interjects.
“Can this wait?” he asks politely.
I clear my throat and respond in the affirmative.
“Alright,” he says. “Because my girlfriend’s coming over later to meet my parents. She should be here in about a half an hour actually. But we’ll talk about this maybe later, okay?”
“That’s okay,” I say. “It’s not that important.”
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Paul Edward Fitzgerald has always had a passion for writing and writes primarily in the realm of LGBT interest, horror, and suspense.
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