Seymours Endless Story - Vol. 1, Jerry & The Landloard

I feel so sorry for kids that have to grow up in these times. Although I have heard so many people say that their generation was the best time to grow up, I think as homosexual humans, we have a unique capacity to look beyond the surface and see the good in just about everything. I think that now would be a good time to make something clear about this story. It was written by Seymour for one of his multiple personalities, Jerry. It was written with the presumption that all of its readers are homosexual. If you're not a homosexual, them I am sorry. We cannot all be perfect, but I hope that you will continue to read it anyway. 

I am going to be another homo to claim that my generation was the best era to flourash as a potential gay-boy. I have done a lot of research, spoken to many gay-boys and men in an effort to learn how their experiences differ from mine.

As for the boys, not much has changed from when I was young. Except that you're generation has become more open and "in you face" about your homosexuality. As a 40'something year old man, from a small town, now living in my big gay house, on my little gay street, in the big gay city. I applaude your strength and courage.

The men that I spoke with are very diverse. I suppose that your early gay life depends very much on where you lived it. I mean, how much differance can there be in the gay life of an 18-year old boy in, let's say: North Hollywood, California and then compare it to an 18-year old from Anoka, Minnesota. From that premise, The point is well taken.

The men that I gathered information from, gave me a rundown of their gay life from the time that they realized it up until breakfast that morning. When I sifted through all of my notes, some even made copies of photographs. I came to the conclusion that gay men all seem to have a "golden decade" that they draw their happest memories from. I'm not saying that all do, but most. 

From those that I interviewed, the majority of their happiest moments took place between the ages of 15 and 25. I suspect that this my apply to all people, homo and hetero alike. But nothing moved me more then my gay neighbor, and apartment manager Tom. He has lived down stairs from me since I moved in 12-years ago. I was 29 when I moved in and was still in the closet. I have always had a difficult time when ever my private life became public. I've always felt that people how knew me, and respected me, would feel let down. But it was Tom who changed my way of thinking.

Tom soon endeared himself to me and all of my friends. He also became the life of my parties. I used to introduce my infrequent overnight guests to Tom as a high school buddy on business from out of town. Tom later told me how much fun it was to watch who quickly I could formulate a lie to cover up the identity of an overnight guests. 

About 6 months after I moved in, Tom was walking past my door as a friend and I where leaving to go to a local Starbucks. I introduced my friend to Tom and he made a very quick and cleaver observation.

"Hasn't either of you mothers told you not to go out in the cold with wet hair?" Tom asked us.

I still hadn't figured that what I was about to tell Tom, he already knew. But nevertheless, it opened my eyes to the old addage; "with age, come wisdom"

"Look Tom, I'm not sure how someone your age will feel about...........um about."

"About what? about two men loving each other? Having loud sex and keeping their landloard up til all hours?" Tom said, taking pleasure in my shock and embarrassment.

I was speachless and it didn't help matters when my friend put in his two cents.

"See! I told you that he knew" My friend said. "I'll bet you've loved a man or two yourself." My friend said to Tom.

"My name is Tom, and yes I have. I've loved only one man."

This is about the time when Tom bacame a huge part of my life. I had always thought that faggotry was invented in the 1960's and there where no queers prior to that. Later that day I ran into Tom again and he showed me an old photograph. It was not just a snapshot. It was a studio photograph of two very good looking young man. On the back was written: Edgar and Thomas. Allentown, Pa. 1939 and a simple notation 

Dear Edgar,

Please be careful and come home the instant
this war is over. Tomas and yourself are the my
everything. Keep the photo close as your guide.

love,

Mother

Tom pointed out that he was the guy on the right. I could still see the resemblance between the youg man in the photograph and the old man standing next to me. I naturally assumed that the photo was of Tom and his brother. It wasn't. Edgar was Tom's first love. I could tell that Tom wanted to share this with me and I was very interested.

Tom asked me what I was up to. He just wanted to make sure that he wasn't boring me. It's something that I've noticed that elderly men do. I told him that I was hoping to hear more about Edgar. That old mans face lit up like a Christmas tree. He invited me in for coffee and I left 5 hours later, a different person.

Of everything that I learned about Thomas and Edgar, the most remarkable thing was that they fell in love and confessed these feeling to each other back in 1931 at the age of 12. I recalled 3 or 4 times where tears just came flowing down as I listened to Tom recite a story for every picture that he pulled out of an old Buster Brown Shoebox.

For the first couple hours, I waited patiently for Tom to get to the part about the life that he and Edgar had spent together. I wanted to hear about all of the places that they had been, the things that they have seen, and the love that they shared. But it never happend. Edgar's plane was shot down over the Sea of Japan just two years after that photo was taken. He was only 21-years old. Thomas was now approaching 70 and he told me that he has never allowed himself to fall in love with anyone else. I was shocked to hear that.

"Jesus Christ Tom! Why not?" was my response. I wanted to cry over the life he wasted loving a dead guy.

"Because I know I'll find Edgar in heaven soon, and I want to be able to say that I've kept my promise."

I wasn't sure if I could listen any longer, or if I even wanted to. I am not an emotional person by nature and I never really have been. I just grabbed Tom and just shook him by the shoulders. I was kind of pissed.

"You stupid, stupid, foolish old man. You've thrown your whole life away. God Tom! There is no heaven. I hate to be the barer of bad news, but you fucked up. So now when you die, what will you have? Nothing!"

Tom was taken aback by my outburst. However, he knew that I had deamons in my own sole. 

"Stupid queer boy. Don't you think that I've thought of that. If you're right and there is no heaven, then I will have spent my entire life loving the one person who I know loved me back. Who loves you Jerry? You have a new boy every weekend. You're still looking for the very thing that I have. You'll never find it at the rate you're going. So now when you die, what will you have? Nothing!" Tom said mimmicking my voice.

I could feel the sting of having my own words thrown back in my face. What Tom said was certainly cause for reflection. It really made me evaluate my life. I thought about all of the guys who have told me that they loved me, and tried to recall the very moment that they said it. I was shocked to realize that in all of these cases, it was just seconds before, or actually while they were cumming.

I apologized to Tom, and I felt like such a piece of shit. Here was a man with a capacity for love that I will never know or understand, yet he chose to continue sharing it with me anyway. I asked Tom to tell me about the time that his eyes first saw Edgar. He gave a slight smile and you could tell that this memory had come to his mind as clear and vivd, as if it happened yesturday. But just as quickly, it was met with a quiet sob, and a couragous fight to hold back emotion. Men Tom's age are famous for this. They stop and apologize for showing their emotions, and collect themselves before continuing.

"He was an angel with a smile that could light up the world." Tom said looking past me at the blank wall above me. Like a movie screen where he's watching this memory being played.

"My mother had taken my sister and I to the public swimming pool. God-aw-mighty! it was a hot day. There must have been a thousand people there trying to ecsape the heat. I was lying there with my mother to my right and my sister to the left. I was just scanning the crowd from left to right when I saw Edgar standing on the edge just before he plugged his nose and jumped in. I found it odd that I bacame worried until I saw him pop back up from below the water. I watched him for a solid hour. The fun he seemed to be having with his sister. The way his yellow swim trunks fit him. He had golden blond hair, and green eyes. I could feel myself growing against the warm cement as I watched him. I knew that I should have looked away but it was too late. I closed my eyes and had a vision of me kissing those rosey-red lips. I shook slightly as I spilled out in my shorts.

"Good Lord! That's incredable." I said.

"What? that boy's where queer way back then?"

"No, that they could cum without usuing their hands." I said

I had to keep Tom on track or he'd go off on a tangent, and I really wanted to hear about the key events between he and Edgar.

"So then what Tom, did you go and talk to him." I asked.

"I'm gettin' to that, keep your shirt on!" Tom said 

Tom said that he wanted nothing more then to swim over to Edgar and strike up a conversation. But he had to wait for his Woodrow Wilson to go down. Apparently this was slang for an erection back then. Tom did eventually get in the water and slowly made his way throught the crowd of baithers, as he called them. He got as close as he felt he could and just watched this kid playing with a girl that was obviously his sister.

That's when Tom learned of his future lovers name. He heard the boys sister call out "Edgar, watch this!" and the boy turned and actually applauded some simple feat of acrobatics. Brother - Sister relationships where very differnt then. I know this, because I have two bitches in my life that are legally my sisters. But I digress.

Tom continued and described his initial observation of Edgar with an obvious lustful tone of voice. "I just kept looking at his face. He was so handsome and I hoped that he might fine me the same way. Mother had always told me that I was as handsom as my father. This worried me because I didn't think of my fater as handsome. But Edgar was, and I wanted a closer look." Tom said. 

I excused myself and told Tom that I needed to run upstairs and check my phone messages. I told him that I'd be right back and could I bring him a cold beer or something, but Tom was partial to coffee no matter what the temperture was at the time.

I ran upstairs and called a guy to break a date so that I could get back to Tom's and hear his remarkable story. When I returned, Tom showed me a picture of he and Edgar at the public pool where they met, but it was taken the next summer when they where both 13-years old. They were both very attractive and I could see how they would find each other that way. I wanted to know how Tom could have spotted Edgar out of the crowd. There must have been 100's of boys his age there, why Edgar.

"I saw him and I just knew, I just knew it!" Tom said

"Knew what?" I asked.

"I knew that that he was like me. you know, queer."

Tom said that they both confessed to having feeling for each other not soon after they met at the pool that day. But it wasn't until they were 14, going on 15, that they attached the word "love" to these feelings. I had a similar attraction to a boy when I was about that age. I wanted to hear from Tom what it was like to get himself prepared to actually put those feelings into words and say them out loud. 

I wanted to know if Tom felt the way that I did when I found myself unable to hold my feelings inside. To my delight, Tom wanted to hear about it and as painful as it was for me to recall, I wanted to tell Tom about it and it finally clicked. This is why Tom was happy to tell me about Edgar. It makes it all real and thereby brings you closer to parts of your life that made you feel so alive. Even if they make you sad. So I told Tom about Jeff.

Jeff was my best friend when I was 15. I eventually fell so deeply and utterly in love with him. I foolishly thought that God wouldn't have made it possible for me to feel this much love, if there wasn't at least a chance for him to love me back. Even if it wasn't as much as I loved him. I remember being scared to fucking death when I finally told Jeff that I loved him, and rightfully so. He crushed me with his words in an instant. And I realised that I had so selfishly destroyed a friendship because I was a fucking faggot who couldn't just go jack-off and keep my mouth shut. Jeff was kind enough to keep my secret and suggested that we just not be friends anymore.

"Just forget that we ever met." where his exact words.

I just said "Okay, sorry." As we got up and walked away in different direction. But believe it or not, I stopped and turned and watched him walk away throught the schoolyard. In my sick and faggotly twisted mind, I waited and watched just incase he realised that he was wrong. Maybe, just maybe my confession made him realize that he loved me too. For years I pictured him turning and looking back to see me there waiting. He never did look back. As much as I begged God for devine intervention to make him turn around, he didn't. 

Once he reached the corner of the schoolyard. I watched him climb the chain link fence. "Please God!" I said one last time. But I lost sight of him when he walked down the sidewalk and out of view. My legs seem to give out from under me and I fell to the ground and cried until I couldn't cry anymore. This was the first and only time in my life where I not only thought about, but attempted to take my own life. I couldn't even do that right. What a faggot!

The next morning I got up and sat in my closet. I heard my mother come in my room and knew that she would think that I had alrday left for school. That would buy me the first day, but eventually questions would be asked why Jeff wasn't coming over in the morning to walk to school. Or coming around at all for that matter. I had no intention of sticking around to answer any of it. I just decided that I'd leave.

I knew that my Dad would be home way before my mother, so I taped a note on the door that leads from the garage into the house.

Dad,

I'm in the hallway bathroom. Please don't come in, I did it with your shotgun. Just call 911 and have them get me out of here before mom get's home. I love you both very much.

Your Son,

Jerry

I taped the note to the door and then went and got my dad's shotgun out from under my parents bed and walked straight into the hallway bathroom, I sat on the toilet with the shotgun between my legs. I put my mouth over the end of the barrel, and pushed the trigger down with my toe. CLICK! nothing. 

I eventually realized that my dad had removed the firing pin for some reason. It was funny because I was actually pissed that I wouldn't be able to end my life, and now I was going to be late for school. I got dressed without a shower and made it just in time. On the way to school I got a chill when I thought about how resolved I was to end it. It was like I couldn't leave fast enough. Not more then 30 seconds elapsed from the time that I got the shotgun from under the bed , carried it into the bathroom, and pulled the trigger with my toe in the bathroom. I didn't sit around reflecting on my life. I wanted to fucking leave, that's it!