Love At Its Finest

Being gay was never something that I sought out or even wanted. It came to me much like my dark curly hair, and brown eyes. I had no choice in any of these matters, there where never any alternatives from which to choose. It's just the way it was meant to be - plain & simple!

Without going off on a tangent, I'd just want to say that nothing aggrivates me more then hearing a young person say "You don't know how hard it is to be young and gay these days" obviously they are referring to post 2001 and the new millinium. Even though I will sit down and share my early memories of being a gay student starting in the mid-70's, while in my mind, I simply want to yell "Fuck you! and what you're going through!" But I don't, because I've sat down with men in thier 60's, 70's, and listened to their tails of being homosexual in the 1930's and 1940's. 

How wonderful it would have been in 1977 if I could have run home after school and logon to the world wide web over my DSL hi-speed connection to chat with thousands of other boys like me, boys who where fond of other boys. But that outlet wasn't there for me in junior high, or even high school for that matter. Hell, be the time my 10-year high school reunion rolled around, all that you could really do on a PC was make a flight reservation, rent a car, or order flowers. 

In 1977, I was all alone in this great big world with these thoughts in my head. But I am proud to say that the moment that I became extreamly fond of one boy inparticular, even fell so hopelessly
in love with him, I never denied it to myself. I never tried to explain it away as a quirk, phase, or anything of the sort. I loved him, I was in love with him, and it was wonderful. The feeling made me happier then I had ever been in my entire life.

For a long while it was my special secret and I liked it that way. James wasn't my best friend, but a friend none-the-less. And he was a neighbor, so I saw him before, during, and after school. The weekends we spent together more often then not. There was a pinball arcade just a short walk from our house, and James and I [Alex Rubio] would be there most Saturday mornings. I'd spend
many evenings collecting soda bottles from elderly neighbors who didn't care about the return and they'd give them to me.

For the younger readers. Once upon a time, soda came in glass bottles that you'd get 10 cents for the small bottles and 20 cents for the big ones when you returned the emptys to the market. I'd also wash cars and what ever I had to do so that I have a pocket full of quarters for James and I come Saturday morning. 

Back in those days, pinball wasn't a jip like video games are today. If you where good, 25 cents could last a long time in a pinball machine. Ironically, James and I both had favorite machines that just happened to be in a far corner, and right next to each other. What was even more ironic then that was that fact that they where both Elton John pinball machines sandwiched between two Sonny&Cher machines that nobody liked. This left James and I alone in our own little corner of paradise, as I used to call it. 

James liked the "Pinball Wizard" machine, while I like the "Captain Fantastic" machine. Neither of use where aware of anything gay about Elton John in those days. But I remember hearing a song by Elton John on KFI, a local L.A. radio station called "Someone Saved My Life Tonight" and it became "our song" eventhough I could never tell James that, so I guess it was more like my song that reminded me of him.

I spent $6.99 to buy the album "Captain Fantastic and The Brown Dirt Cowboy" because my song wasn't out as a single, or a 45 as we called them back then. I made the mistake of listening to it alone in my bedroom one night while looking a school pictures of James, and things he had written in my yearbooks, without my headphones on. At one part in the song, Elton sang "It's 4 o'clock in the morning....DAMN IT! And I'm sleeping with myself tonight, sick and tired thank god my music's still alive"

Mom charged through my door, pulled the LP off of the record player, and snapped it in half. Two days later on Sunday, I had to confess at church to Father Joe that I was caught by my mother listening to filth and thouching myself through my PJ's. and caused myself to become aroused. I wish then that I would have had the balls to tell mom that it was Father Joe, and Bro Jacob that showed me that little trick to begin with. I might be alot of things, but a snitch is one thing that I could never be accused of. Hell, Brother Jacob listened to Ozzie & Judas Priest so I'm not sure how Elton John became such filth in my mothers eyes. 

Either way, junior high was over in a flash and high school was on the horizon. My love didn't seem to have any room to grow, but to my amazement, everyday that God granted me another day on his wonderful creation, I loved James just a little bit more. He was a first generation American of Scottish decent, with hazel eyes, strawberry blond hair, covered in freclkes from head to toe, and the most beautiful thing that I had ever layed eyes upon. I was a first generation American of Spanish decent. My father being from Madrid, and my mother from Barcelona.

James spoke perfect English without a hint of a Scottish accent. His mother on the other hand was a bit difficult to understand even thought she was speaking English....I think. As for his Grandmother or [Gran] as he called her, I couldn't decifer a single word that old woman said if you put a fucking gun to my head, yet James understood her perfectly. 

My parents attended the university in America, and thus spoke fluid English with the megor hint of a Spanish accent. The kids that spoke Spanish at school hated me because my Spanish from Spain was a bit different from thier Spanish from Mexico. Therefore, I was stuck-up because of how I pronounced certain words, or opted to call things by thier name and no the slang terms often used my Mexicans. 

Infact, I was very light skinned and most people where surprised when they'd hear me speaking in Spanish. Over the years, I tought James to speak Spanish and Italian. It drove his family up the wall when we'd speak in either language. I recall one conversation with James in the car while his mother was taking us someplace. He asked me in his best Spanish if I had ever tasted my own semen, and of course I said no, then paused for a second and said yes, but not purposely. James started to laugh and he told me that he knew what I meant. I asked him to explain and he knew exactly what I meant by "not purposely". He told me that he was masturbating in bed and when he came, I wad flew right into his open mouth. He thought that it was odd because of the 10,000 other times he'd masturbated, it never squirted it any further past the center of his chest. 

I told him that he should keep his had flat on the pillow and stop trying to catch it and we laughed our asses off having this conversation right there in front of his mother. It became something that we did only infornt of his family so that it could never be taken too serious, or something that we would never say to each other alone in English. That would never happen. One thanks giving with 20 or 30 relatives around I mentioned to James in Italian that I had just figured out that I could suck the first two inches of my own penis.

This was my first inclination that James was repulsed by anything gay. The look on his face told me everything. He asked me if I was kidding, and I had no choice but to say that I was kidding. It was also the first time that James caused me to feel hurt. Somehow in my blind love, and in lieu of all the sexual conversation that he have had, I expected him to ask me to prove what I said was true. I did my best to finish eating and then went home, vomited, crawled into bed and cried myself to sleep.

When I woke up in the morning I found that, yet again, I was more in love with James than I was the day before. It was my fault that I had said that to him, and therefore I deserved the look of utter disgust that he had give me lastnight. Even as our friends started to find their first girlfriends, James and I remained content being buddies, having lude conversations, but always in front of others who could not understand us.

But as high school progressed, James grew like a weed and ontop of working out, he made the varsity football team. We begin to spend less time together at school and my contact with him soon was limited to after school and weekends. He began wearing these oversized bulky sweat shirts no matter what the weather was.

One day after school he invited me over and while up in his room, he told me to turn my head away and I thought that to be odd because I'd seen him naked almost daily for all the years that we'd been friends. But I didn't fuss and turned away while I thought he was changing clothes.

"Okay! - turn around." James said.

I did and I couldn't believe what I was seeing. He had been spending months hiding the results of his working out under those sweatshirts. I just sat there on the corner of his bed with my mouth hanging wide open. He was ripped - I'm mean 6-pack, pecks, the whole 9-yards. As if I wasn't aroused enough, he had to take it a step further.

"Here's the draw back though." He said. 

James lowered the front of his sweat pants to show me his penis. He thought it had gotten smaller, but it hadn't. My comment caused him to give me another one of those odd looks.

"It's not smaller James. Your dick is just as big as it's always been. It just looks smaller because it's not dangling between those chicken legs you used to have." I said.

"Shit! I think you're right!, turn around again." and I did ans sat there listening to James masturbate to make his penis erect. I heard him walk over to his desk where I knew he kept his ruler. Fortunately for me I could see as ass throught the mirror on his dresser.

"You're right! Alex - 6-inches dead on. Boy it sure does look smaller thought." James said.

I wasn't even aware of the fact that James and I where about to have the most sexual encounter to date. I can't begin to describe the pleasure out of the look on his face as he found the words to suggest what he was about to suggest.

"Hey Alex! - Do you think that you could.....I mean would you be willing to do me a sort of wired favor?"

"When was the last time I said no to you James?" I said almost with a mad tone of voice.

"Well....this might be the first time." He replied

"Well I can't imagine saying no, so go ahead and ask." I said.

"Well..... you said that you where 6-inches dead on, and....um well I was wondering."

"Oh God! - I knew that's what you where getting out, but I'm not letting you watch me get it hard so turn around for a second." I said.

"Oh yeah! sure - no problem." James said.

My cock was already as hard as a rock so I just pulled it out while he looked away. I think I counted to 60 in my head real slow, so it was like a minute and a half.

"Okay, you can look now." I said.

So we compared dicks. James swore that I was fucking huge and I told him to hand me the ruler. I showed him that it was 6-inches and then he measured his again. we stood side-by-side in front of his full length mirror. I had to agree that mine looked quite a bit larger on my 30 inch waste and shinny legs compared to his 34 inch waist and muscled thieghs.

I was just about to but mine away and was not embarrassed to let James know that I needed to go home right now so that I could make it go soft. He opened his bottom dresser drawer and out came a roll of paper towels. I tore on off and said 

"Let's race. But you face that way and I'll face this way" James said.

So he said "Ready - Set - Go!" and exactly 24 strokes, and 15 seconds later, I flooded the papertowel in my hand with the largest amount of semen I had ever let lose at one time.

"DONE!" I said.

"No way!" James replied and demanded that I open up the wadded up paper towel and show him. I did and he was shocked.

"Fuckin' Shit Alex! - You cum alot. Okay, Turn back around." James said.

He had to work at it, so hard that I heard his balls slapping. About a minutes later he showed me his cum in his paper towel that was slightly more then half of what I let go of. He even showed me his mess while his slimy dick was still hanging over the elastic band of his sweats.

These are the types of things that James and I did together that made me love him like I did, and what kept me hanging onto the thought that eventually, he would feel the same things that I felt in my heart for him.

I could tell the next day that he felt guilty, not just for asking me to see my erection. but for masturbating with me in his bedroom, even if we didn't actually do it in fornt of each other. To me it was natural and I bagan to have dreams of us just doing it, but not together, but for each other. I don't mean mutual masturbation, but like me doing it while he watched me then him doing it while I watched.

I became depressed how James could just see me as a friend and not someone that he could love and want to be with. I never had dreams of James and I having sex, nor did I want to have sex with James, or anyone else for that matter. I wanted to hold hand, I wanted to lay down next to him as closely as possible and listen to him breathe, I wanted to hear him say "I love you Alex"

At school, I could only sit at distance and watch him with his football buddies. I knew better then to walk over and try and take part in those conversations. I felt cheated because I loved him, and had for several years now. He'd confided secrets in me that I would never betray. I confided all of the secrets that I had, except that I loved him more then life itself. 

I had fallen in love with James out of the blue, and as I mentioned at the beginning of this story, it occurred spontaneously, and without there ever being any other alternative. That is...until my natural and uncontrollable desire for sexual contact left me weak and unable to resists the suductive advances of Jared. 

One one sunny day during lunch, I sat in a spot where I could watch James safely from a distance. I didn't even notice that someone had sat down on the cement planter about 3 feet away from me. It was Jared, a guy who I didn't meet until a few years ago when he showed up halfway through the 11th grade. I knew him well enough to make small talk, but small talk wasn't what Jared had come to make.

"You'd better be careful." Jared said. 

"Careful? - Careful about what?" I replied.

"Careful about being so obviously in love with James Blaylock." He said.

Of course, I gave him some choice words and told him that I didn't know what in the fuck would make him think that, except that maybe it was because all faggot's think everyone else is a fag.
I closed my book and left and avoided Jared like the plague. I was terrified that he spread his suspicion around campus.

A week later I found a note that had been stuffed through the vent in my locker. I'm not new to notes being stuffed into my locker, but not an entire 8.5 x 11 sheet of notebook paper written on ever line on both sides.

Jared Wrote:

I'm so sorry that I pissed you off, and I'm even sorrier if I was wrong about what I said. But I have to say that I don't think that I was wrong. As far as calling me a faggot.......I am offended by that. Only because you "claim" not to be gay. If you are not gay, then I would kindly ask that you never call me that. If you are gay, then you can call me faggot until hell freezes over - but of course only when nobody can hear you. 

It's been a week since that day I approached you on the wall and you havn't told a single person what I said or it would have gotten back to me by now. So, ask yourself this: Has anyone said anything about you and 'you know who' that might have come from me? Would it take more then a week for a rumor like that to get around this fucking school?