A gay story: Looking for Love Pt. 01 FYI. No sex in this chapter.
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Hi there, I’m Peter Richardson, though to my friends I’m Pete. I’m in my early 40’s now but at the time of this story I was 18.
I was in high school. I wasn’t the best student, in fact I needed tutoring for my English classes. Ironic really… of all the languages I took in school I was worst at the one I spoke best.
My school had a programme where the older students in the final year will help teach those who need it in the lower years and it was totally optional of course. I still hadn’t met mine by this point. I was alone in the library, as always, when suddenly.
“Hey, you must be Pete? I’m Jake… your tutor?” a rich deep voice said.
I turned round and saw him. I was a little taken aback by him. Don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t gay but I certainly knew beauty when I saw it: he was tall, probably about 5’10 or 11, short and styled dirty blonde hair, a slim toned body (so I’d been told by the girls who watched him swimming) and a chubby baby face, he was actually quite cute I thought.
“Why are you thinking that?” I internally scalded myself as he sat across from me, which in itself was weird. I was a big loser through school… I had no friends and the only time people would be in my proximity or talk to me was to abuse me either physically or mentally.
Yup… my life sucked. People always say “things will be different!” Or “you’ll meet someone new!” very unlikely I thought but something did seem a little different about him.
“Erm yeah I am, sorry, I was a million miles away… how are you?”
“I’m good yeah man” he smiled, his mouth wide and his teeth shone like pearls, he obviously looked after himself, much unlike me. “I can’t stay very long, I have swimming practice, I just wanted to introduce myself while I had time.”
“Oh that’s cool, well here’s what my teacher wants us to go over” I handed him a pile of books and bits of paper “I’ll give you my number so we can arrange for you to come to mine and get this done.”
I gave him my number and with that he smiled and we parted ways, him to practice, me to home.
When I got there, I lay on the couch and for what must’ve been an hour. I just lay there thinking about him… he was the first person who was ever nice to me and I wanted to get to know him better. All I knew now was the he had a brother in the year below me but they didn’t talk a lot, in fact, they seemed very distant… one full of anger and sadness. The other full of hurt and longing, but I didn’t want to intrude.
It also struck me how different we are: him a smart funny and popular guy, every time I saw him walking through town or the corridors he was always chatting and hanging around with lots of other people, he really kept himself looking good, he swam a lot so that took care of the body, he wore tight fitting clothes to show it off, he had a tan which combined with the toned body, and the big blonde hairstyle he sported drove the girls, and guys crazy.
Whereas I: at 6’4 was taller than him, I didn’t have any friends, I almost never went out unless it was important or my parents had started fighting… again, I was a bit podgy, I always wore baggy clothes and was very pale and with my long dark hair, I soon became the personification of repulsiveness.
I know they say opposites attract but why would someone so different optionally want to spend time with a loser like me… and seem happy about it?
I could’ve stayed thinking about it all day but I was awoken by a loud ping from my phone. I picked it up and saw I had a text from an unknown number
“Hey man, it’s jake, I was wondering is Friday ok for you? I’ll come over and we can go over that novel your teacher gave you?”
“Sure yeah Friday’s good, see you then.”
The teacher had given us ‘Maurice’ and truthfully, I hadn’t read any of it. I glanced at the blurb and when I figured it was a novel about gay people I was disinterested and just put it down. In fact the only person I could say was interested in that was Terry, the class queer, I smiled a little thinking about him as he’s probably the only person in the world less popular than I was.
My phone sounded again “cool, see you then x” he responded.
I wondered why he put a kiss at the end of the text? But I dismissed it as a mistake as I was very tired and had to sleep before another miserable day of torment and lectures.
It was now Thursday. The day had passed reasonably uneventfully. That was until I was walking home… I knew I heard footsteps behind me, but that didn’t bother me, I was used to it, what was different was the first that suddenly connected with my face as I got closer to home.
It connected with such power it sounded like a thunder clap and I could feel that my nose had been broken. When I eventually opened my eyes I could see that it was Daniel and his cohort of other jocks Ryan, Shaun and Jason.
“Hey fag” Daniel shouted, sneering as he said it. Typical jocks! They pick on the weakest person and in my case since they never saw me hanging out with girls they instantly assumed I was gay.
They all started punching me… all the blows landing in the regions they knew would bruise and hurt me the most, but that no one would know about. You see, this had been going on for a long time, I’d be in school or on my way home or at the park, they’d appear, beat me up and leave me alone.
It had got to the stage now where I wasn’t bothered by the torment and beatings, they had become somewhat of a ritual, part of my everyday routine, I could lay there and be alone with my thoughts.
But this was different.
As I lay there all I could think of was Jake. It was probably stupid of me but from what I got from him so far, maybe he was the first person who actually… liked me?
As I came to my senses the jocks ran off and I just got up and dragged myself home like I always did. I thought about texting Jake to tell him… but didn’t bother; I’d see him tomorrow, maybe he’d care enough to notice…
Friday came and I awoke to a text from Jake.
“Hey man, what time do you want me to come over tonight, I don’t have practice to I can be there earlier if you like?”
“Sure, 6pm?” I was strangely looking forward to the idea of having Jake over at my house, the last tutors I’ve had, I’ve tried everything to get away from them.
“Cool, I could meet you after class and we can walk back together?”
“Yes” I replied hesitantly, hoping that I didn’t run into Daniel and co again, seeing me walking beside another man would only strengthen the idea to them that I was a “fag” and give them more reasons to beat the shit out of me.
The day passed uneventfully, luckily, well to some extent I never saw and of Daniel or the cohort of jocks. It was good that I never saw them, as Jake and I could talk in peace as we walked home… but bad because past experiences has told me that the next time I bumped into them was worse when they’d had time to recover.
I smiled when I saw him eagerly waiting for me at the school gates, grinning from ear to ear, his teeth shining in the afternoon sun.
“Hey man, shall we?” he greeted me, as happy as I was he seemed to want to see me, it made me a little uncomfortable, the mild courting gestures he made before we left “sure! My house is this way, I replied.”
We talked all the way there, you know, the usual crap, “how are you?” And “what do you want to do when you graduate?” To be honest I drifted in and out of the conversation quite a lot, until he asked me.
“So… is there a Mrs Peter?”
“Erm, nah man, but I’ve got my eye on a few girls in the class” I replied, but he seemed strangely hurt when I told him that.
We reached my house before I could think about it anymore, and we didn’t waste any time getting down to it… (the book that is haha).
We read through a fair bit of the book and I realised I could relate a little to it, Alec, the groundskeeper was somewhat of a recluse: thrown in amongst socialites, abused by those above him, dishevelled looks and unwashed dark hair (ok my hair isn’t that bad but you know what I mean) and Jake was much like Maurice, blonde hair, many friends, had next to no worries in life and practically guaranteed to succeed in whatever he did.
As we read the book, I felt something start to graze my hand, it felt strange, good strange though, and it felt warm… I didn’t much bother with it. Until I saw his hand in mine, unknowing of what to do I panicked and fiercely pulled my hand away and back in my pocket.
He didn’t say anything, he just looked upset. Not because I ripped my hand away when I saw what was going on, but because of the look I gave him.
It was hard to describe what it looked like. I was angry don’t get me wrong, but not because he touched me… it was because he didn’t tell me. It was kind of a “I’m not like that what the fuck, but don’t stop” look, though I think from the very noticeable scowl on my face he thought it wise not to say anything, in fact, he just got up and left.
That night I lay in bed, I thought about texting him; but couldn’t think of what to say. I thought of calling him; but that didn’t seem right, and it was getting late.
But I couldn’t stop thinking about that look!
I felt so bad about the look I gave him, not saying anything, scaring him away from me… pulling my hand away.
It scared me how it made me feel… it didn’t appeal to me, the idea that a man can love another man, yet, his hand in mine felt so good: it made me feel safe, loved, like someone actually cared for me. Perhaps it was the loneliness talking, or maybe I like it more than I thought I did.
What’s happening to me…
4 weeks passed since the event, I hadn’t seen him in school. I tried not to think about it; but I could help but feel his absence was entirely my fault. I still thought about trying to call him; but it didn’t seem right, what was going on my head seemed like something for a face to face conversation.
As I walked into school on Friday I decided I’d text him, I very much doubted he’d be in at all today. Worth a shot… right?
“Hey, I’ve not see you in a while, are you ok? Do you want to come over to my place tonight?” My thumb hung over the send button as I questioned whether it gave off the wrong signals or not.
The day passed, again, nothing exciting, my bruises a little sore from being assaulted in the bathroom at lunch. I was just about to head back home when my phone pinged.
“Yeah, I’m ok, I’ll get you at the gate again, see you” I could tell he was in a weird mood… it was like he’d changed: no kisses, no smiley face, nothing. I had a lot more making up to do than I thought.
“Hey, how are you?” I asked tentatively. God he looked terrible: his hair was untamed and frizzy, his face was dull, his clothes looked like they hadn’t ever been ironed, or washed, I could still see stains from various drinks and meals, and was that… blood? What had I done.
“I’m good, we’re going back to mine though, it’s not far” on the way there I tried many times to talk; but all I could manage was a few stutters as everything I wanted to say just seemed wrong.
When we got to his flat I was shocked to say the least, it looked as bad as he did: the carpet and the walls were dirty, dishes were piled up. All that was clean in some way we’re 2 glasses I saw on the table.
“Can I get you a drink?” He offered, heading over for the glasses and an almost empty bottle of vodka.
“Yeah ok” I muttered, I’d never actually tried straight vodka but there’s a first time for everything I guess.
We sat in silence for a while, he flicked through TV channels and I slowly nursed my vodka. He settled on a western. I’d seen it before but fell asleep before I could see the end of it last time, it was about a woman whose husband was a notorious dweller, everyday shed beg him not to go out and do it again, and everyday he refused.
I eventually broke the silence.
“So, what happened after you left?”
He stared at the floor for a moment, before looking me straight in the eyes and said “I don’t want to, not now” he said softly. I could see he was hurting so I sat next to him, I was going to put my arm round him but it seemed too forward.
I stuttered for a moment “are you gay?” I instantly regretted asking, he didn’t lash out at me, as I expected him to… instead his head fell onto my chest and he began to cry.
“When you looked at me that way, it hurt, it hurt me a lot…” I never said anything as I knew he was right “I left you’re house, and I knew I couldn’t go back, I couldn’t go back to my own home either, not like that.”
He paused for a moment to dry his eyes and compose himself a little.
“I’m gay…”
Those words didn’t shock me. Usually I’d be disgusted by that… but this was different, he was different, I could see how hurt he was and much like me, sometimes all you need is someone to talk to, I felt… strangely connected to him.
“My brother knows, but I couldn’t tell my family. When you did that, I knew I had to tell them, but I had to calm myself down… I’m ashamed to say it but I got drunk, I staggered home, mum and dad were already still awake. It was 3 am before I got back, there was a lot of shouting, mostly my mum shouting at my dad, I stood up, told them both to stop it, and then I came out. My mum just cried even more than she was already doing, my dad… he hit me, he punched me in the face and then manhandled me out of the house. I only ended up here because in one final act of love my dad gave me the keys to this place before vowing never to see me again.”
He looked like he had more to say but he just started crying uncontrollably, I put my arms around him and held him close to me to try and calm him down. I forgot what was happening. I lost my train of thought when I was overcome with emotions myself: confusion, longing, lust.
I tried to focus on other things, the wall, the film, but I couldn’t, I pulled his face up and kissed him, softly and gently, his lips were sweet and soft like cushions, and wet from a mixture of the vodka and the tears streaming down his face.
The passion in that kiss was amazing, our lips were trembling. He bit my bottom lip slightly and I began to moan, but I was awoken by a gunshot in the film.
I opened my eyes and pulled myself back to the edge of the couch, I sat in silence for ages “Pete… say something” I couldn’t, I got up and ran, and ran, and ran, I didn’t even take his emotions into account… again.
I did however this time see the end of the film and I now felt like both characters in it: the husband finally met his match and got shot dead. Like him I ignored listening to what I knew deep down would be best. And the wife as she knelt there crying over her deceased husband. I was now alone… through my own fault of not doing any more to try and stop it or make things right and through the fault of others… again.
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Ok folks, it’s my first time doing one of these so all feedback is welcome. I hope you like it 🙂
PS: the aftermath will be explained in chapter two. I would’ve done it here but I didn’t want to fill it up too much.