Personal Problems
1
CHAPTER 1: Chapter One
There was an awkward silence as John looked at his hands, then up at Mr. Newhall, then out the window.
Mr. Newhall: Is there anything in particular that you would like to talk about, John?
John: Well, to be quite honest, and I don't mean to be rude or disrespectful, but... well, I'm not quite sure about why I'm here.
Mr. Newhall: Your parents didn't discuss with you the reason they set up this appointment?
John: Not really, sir. All they said was that I'd been rather withdrawn lately and they wanted me to come talk with you.
Mr. Newhall: Well, there are no hidden agendas here, John. I counsel many of the students. That's why I come here to the campus every week. And these sessions are for you and you alone should you decide that you'd like to come back again. Basically, your parents contacted me because they were concerned about you and as you've indicated, concerned about your seeming withdrawal from them. Specifically, they were concerned with changes in your behavior since your return from a recent field trip.
John: The geography field trip?
Mr. Newhall: Yes, as I understand it, you were gone for two weeks?
John just looked at the doctor with a blank smile, while the fingernails of his right hand began to press deep into his left wrist.
John: Yeah, we visited several other schools, Cornwall, some others. Had a great time. I've been a bit tired since we got back. I think I just need to catch up on some sleep. We had a lot of late nights.
Mr. Newhall: Your parents were concerned. They seem to feel that you were in a rather nervous state after the trip. Tired, distracted, the sorts of things that parents notice about their children.
John: Well, you know parents.
Mr. Newhall just smiled.
John: I still don't really understand why I'm here.
Mr. Newhall: Well, your parents felt that you might need someone to talk to. They did mention that your family members don't tend to discuss their personal problems with each other and they simply wanted to give you the opportunity, if you needed it, to talk with someone.
John: Personal problems? From going on a geography field trip?
He sat back and chuckled.
John: Sounds a bit ludicrous, doesn't it? It was just a field trip. To look at rock formations. I mean it's not like we were abducted by terrorists.
Mr. Newhall: Well, either way, that's the reason they made this appointment for you. Whether you come back again or not is entirely up to you. If you feel that there's no reason to, I will certainly abide by your decision and will inform your parents accordingly.
John: Well, there it is then. I mean... I really don't mean to be impolite, sir, but this all seems a bit silly.
Mr. Newhall: In that case, I assume that you would prefer not to return?
John: I can't really see as there's a reason to.
Mr. Newhall: Very good, then. Just one last question, John.
John: Sir?
Mr. Newhall: Do you keep a journal?
John: You mean like a training journal?
Mr. Newhall: No, I mean a journal for writing down your personal thoughts, a place to write the things that you don't feel comfortable sharing with anyone else.
John: Well, no, I can't say as I've ever kept a journal like that, sir.
Mr. Newhall: Then all I ask is that you consider doing so. Just write down the date and what you're thinking about. You might find it helpful.
John smiled politely. Mr. Newhall stood up and held out his hand.
Mr. Newhall: Well then John, it's been a pleasure chatting you and I wish you the best. I hear you're quite an athlete. Good luck with your games.
John: Thank you, sir.
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16 September: Well, this is my fourteenth entry. I've gotten rather used to writing in here almost every day. I don't see where it's got anything to do with personal problems, but I've just kind of gotten used to doing it and I save up stuff to write about during the day, things I don't want to forget to do, things people have said to me during the day that I think are funny or daft or fucked. I'm supposed to be writing things that I wouldn't say to anyone else but I don't really have much to write along those lines. On our way back from this last meet, Christina put her hand right down my trousers when we were stopped at a crossing. She does things like that. And it felt great. Now there's something I won't be mentioning at the dinner table, heh heh. She's got a great car. I wish it was mine! Other than that sort of thing like girls putting their hands down my trousers, there's not much to tell. I guess I just Well, I guess that either I'm not a very interesting person or else I just don't have that many secrets. Sorry, Mr. School Counselor.
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29 September: We blew the other team away today, OF COURSE! God, it feels so good to run like that, just run full out until my lungs feel like they're on fire and they're ready to burst, it hurts like hell and it feels so good. I love track. I love running. I love it more than just about anything. I know they're looking at me and I like that too. I mean the crowd, the spectators, the girls. The girls are definitely looking at me. I suppose the other team is looking at me. And my own team. And I like knowing that they're looking at me, I mean the spectators and all. I like it a lot as a matter of fact. Now there's a secret that I wouldn't tell anyone. I think I have a decent body. I mean I think it's nice. I like it, I'm bloody proud of it and I think I'm hot as a matter of fact. And I think I look good out there on the track with hardly anything on. OK, here's a REAL secret, not just one about me being vain and thinking I'm hot. I like standing naked in front of the mirror and just looking at myself and imagining, just imagining that we compete naked, that I'm in ancient Greece competing naked in the real Olympics, the way they did, everyone competing naked. I know! Pervert! Now THAT is definitely an official secret. Fuck me! That's a pretty fucking dodgy one. Definitely wouldn't mention it in the changing room. Well, good job, Dickson. Mr. Newhall would be proud. You DO have secrets. You want to be a naked Greek olympic athlete. Christ! That's fucking hilarious! Excellent secret.
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18 October: To tell you the truth, I'm getting a bit bored with writing in this book over and over, talking about boring everyday stuff. This is my thirty fifth entry and there's just not that much about my life that's all that interesting to me. I mean as far as secret type things go. I just don't have all that many interesting secrets. I don't really think that
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20 October: I'm not quite sure why I'm writing this. I decided to stop, it was just getting to be a pain. It was fun at first but now it's just gotten to be boring and I don't especially enjoy it so why should I do it? If this journal is something I'm doing for ME, then ME is bored with it and ME doesn't want to do it anymore.
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(crossed out) 23 October: Opening this book puts me in a shite mood. I have absolutely nothing to say so I won't bother even trying to come up with
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24 October: I'm doing it again. Writing in here when I don't have anything to say. Cheers, John. Cheers yourself, John. Done anything psychotic today? Not really. Later. Later.
Sincerely, John.
What's the point? It's like talking to myself.
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(crossed out) 25 October: It was the way
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(crossed out) 26 October: I
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(crossed out) 29 October: Fuck me. I'm so full of crap. I do have
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(crossed out) 29 October: It was the way he touched me. It was
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(crossed out) 29 October: He was so gentle when he was drying me off. There was a lot of wine. I just wanted him to keep touching me. I wanted him to, that's the strangest part and then I ran and I
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3 May: Yeah, I know, it's been awhile, half a year. And it's happening again. It's fucking happening again. I thought that if I just didn't think about it, and especially if I didn't write about it, it'd go away. That it was a mistake. Or that it was the wine. People do weird things when they're pissed, right? Things they wouldn't normally do. Right? Right. I knew all along what this whole fucking journal idea was about.
It didn't work. I mean look at that. Look at what I wrote the last time I tried. I mean I couldn't even fucking say it. FUCK ME why is it happening again. I've never felt so fucking scared in my life as I do right now. My hands are shaking so bad I can hardly write. I just want to curl up into a ball and pretend that it's all just a stupid bloody mistake, that it's the worst fucking nightmare I've ever had and that I'm going to wake up. I nearly kissed him. I nearly fucking kissed him. Fuck me I
I'm back. I had to get up and wander around the room if you can believe that, just wander around in circles like a stupid git, picking things up and putting them back down again and well I'm back. I don't have anyone else to talk to. Not a single person on the entire planet. Talk to. That's a good one, Dickson, you're talking to a book. It's happening again. It's happening again. It's happening again. It's happening again. But this time it wasn't next to the sea at night after getting pissed on too much wine. I was in his bedroom with him. Steven Carter. His name is Steven Carter. Steven. Steve. He's beautiful. And I almost kissed him. I can't fucking believe I'm writing this. He's beautiful. And I wanted to kiss him. He was totally honest. He's gay. He said it. He knew when he was eleven fucking years old. He actually knew. And I was in his room with him. I was on his
bed with him. Right there. He was right there. And he looked right into my eyes and I couldn't look away. I couldn't. I've never felt anything like that in my life. I couldn't look away even though I was petrified, I couldn't look away. And then I ran. We almost kissed, he was so close I could smell his skin and feel the warmth from his lips because they were so
close to mine. Right there. And I ran. I don't even remember what I said. I just jumped off the bed, grabbed my stuff and ran as fast as I could to get as far away from him as I could.
Why is it happening again? Why can't it just be a nightmare? Just a nightmare that I had one time before and now I'm having it again and now I get to wake up. Please. Even if it means that I'm just going to keep having the same nightmare over and over and over for the rest of my life, right now I don't care about that, I don't care, I'm too fucking scared, all I care
about right now is waking up. Please. I just want to wake up.
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Chapter Two
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5 May: I can't stop thinking about him. I try but I can't. I can't wake up.
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6 May: I can't sleep. It's the middle of the night and I can't sleep. That's hilarious. So which is it? First you say you can't wake up, then you say you can't sleep, what can you do? I don't know who I am, I haven't a clue. And that's another lie. One after another, one lie after another, this book is the only place where I can tell the truth and I'm still lying. That's kind of sad. I can't stop thinking about him. I met him in the park. I was cottaging. I was cottaging. I was looking for someone. I was looking for someone to have sex with. I can write it. I didn't think I could. I can write it but I'll never say it out loud, I'll never say any of this out loud and that's the truth. I can't believe I'm writing this. If my mum or my dad ever found it, if one of my mates found it, my life would be over, full stop, my life would be over. I feel like I'm plotting to murder someone and this is the evidence and they could put me away for life if ANYONE ever read this. It's so stupid to be writing this down but I can't hold it all inside anymore, I can't. I can't sleep, I can't eat, now I know how a murderer feels, he can't escape from what he's done and he's looking over his shoulder all the time. Even if he commits the perfect crime, even if he hides the body where no one will ever find it and gets rid of every single fingerprint and has the world's most air tight alibi, he knows that he's going to have to be really careful to hide the truth for the rest of his life. He knows that he's going to have to think about every word he says before he says it for the rest of his life. I feel like a murderer. I didn't do anything near that bad but I feel like I did. I didn't murder anyone. Did I murder anyone? DID I MURDER ANYONE? Maybe I murdered John Dickson. That's a laugh. John Dickson, happy well adjusted normal boy John Dickson has just been done away with by none other than, John Dickson, the pervert.
I've been so nervous this week, my stomach has that knotted up feeling all day long, mainly because I'm so afraid I'll see him. I even wake up with it if I've actually managed to fall asleep for a few hours. I'm so screwed up. I met Steven in the park. I was looking for someone. I went to the men's loo in the park because I was looking for someone to have sex with. I met him the third time I went to the park looking for someone to have sex with. A boy to have sex with. Sex with a boy. I wanted to have sex with a boy. There. Have I said it enough times, Mr. Newhall? I'm going to have to burn this book. If anyone ever reads it, I
Nothing happened the first time. I was so nervous and scared that I felt like I was going to vomit. And even before I got there I was thinking what am I doing? What the fuck am I doing? It's not like I planned it ahead of time either. I went home after practice and I came up here and I laid down on my bed and I put my hands behind my head and I just started thinking about our next meet and all of a sudden I was getting up and walking out of the house and heading to the park because I knew that that's where men go when they're looking for someone, they go to that loo near those woods and they hook up with someone who's there looking for the same thing and they have sex in the woods and they leave and they go back home as if nothing unusual had happened that day at all. But nothing did happen. I didn't even go inside, I just walked there like a zombie, and the entire way I was asking myself over and over what the fuck are you doing? what the fuck are you doing? And I just kept walking until I got there and I walked right past it and kept going and I was still saying to myself what the fuck are you doing? And I didn't have an answer to the question. I didn't have a single answer which is a lie. One more lie, there are going to be so many, what's one more?
The truth is that my body wanted sex. I wanted sex. It was that simple, I wanted to be with a man. Well, that's not true either, I wanted to be with a boy, someone like me but a total stranger who'd never seen me before and would never see me again. I wanted a boy, I'm saying it, are you happy, Mr. Newhall? I went there because I wanted to be with a boy even though the papers say that it's only men who go there but that was close enough for me. I wanted it, I wanted it so bad, I didn't know exactly what I wanted to do but whatever it was, I wanted it so bad. Maybe all I wanted was to be close to someone and touch him and smell him, to have him touch me, to have him make all the moves and I would just react, just close my eyes and feel the way I did last year when Danny was touching me and kissing me and making me feel so excited I could have come in seconds. It felt so good, he felt so good, his naked skin against mine, his naked body against mine felt so good, it made so much sense but it didn't make any sense at all, it's supposed to be sick and my brain knew it but my body didn't, my body didn't know the fucking difference because it felt so right, it felt like something that I'd lost and had been looking for for years and I finally found it again in a coat pocket and when I finally found it after all that time, after searching and searching and searching for it, not even knowing I was searching for it, I finally found it and I panicked and I ran.
What would have happened if I hadn't? What if I'd stayed there with Danny. It felt so good. But I didn't, I ran away. Just like I ran away from Steven. Steven Carter. I can't stop thinking about him. I can't write this, I can't fucking write this. This is the stupidest thing I've ever done in my life. Writing all of this down is so fucking stupid it's like keeping a stick of dynamite under my mattress instead of a book. This is insane. Before I couldn't write in it, I stopped for six months cause I couldn't write in it and now all of a sudden I feel like I can't NOT write in it. This is all I fucking have. This is all I have.
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6 May: Three times. I went there three times and I swear to god I didn't plan it any of those times. The second time was the exact same thing. It was two weeks later to the day and I came home from school, I got something to eat, I went up to my room and I laid down on my bed and this time no one was home and I started touching myself and at first I wasn't thinking about anything much, nothing in particular, just kind of absent mindedly playing with myself, and then the thoughts started like they always have and they always will, no matter what I do, they're not going to go away, they happen more and more all the time, no matter what I do, I always end up thinking about Danny, or someone like Danny or a total stranger, but it's always a boy, it's never a girl. I try and think about Christina, why wouldn't I think about Christina? So I try but she always disappears within the first two minutes and I slowly admit that it's a boy touching me, it's a boy's hands touching me, a boy, it's never a girl. I want it to be a girl, I just want to be like everyone else.
Whose fucked up idea of a joke is this? To pick me out of the crowd and make me different than everyone else. What kind of shite luck is that? But not EVERYONE thinks about girls, not everyone. There has to be another boy just like me who's lying there doing the same thing and he's not thinking about girls, he's thinking about boys. Steven does. But anyway, there I was lying there, letting a strange boy's hands touch me and getting that really strong sexy feeling because it's a secret just between him and me, we're alone somewhere, not in the woods behind the park loo in a cold pile of leaves or up against a tree. We're in a warm soft bed or lying on the rocks next to the water at night like with Danny, all kinds of different places, sometimes it's even a secret island where we don't even have to wear clothes at all and I can just watch him move, watch him walk, I can look, it's ok to look, it's ok to watch him, he likes it, he loves it, he wants me to watch him and it's just him and me and it feels so good. And I always come the hardest and strongest when I'm pretending that we're somewhere where we won't be caught. We're somewhere private and we just take our time and we take each other's clothes off and we're kissing hard over and over again and it's like our tongues are swords and we're having a really hot sword fight and it's so exciting I could scream and we lie down together and we do whatever we want with no one to stop us. But most of the time, when I think about "the boy", I'm nervous because it feels like we could be caught any second and that doesn't make it any sexier or more exciting, it just makes it scary. Christ, I sound like a little kid. Scary. But it does, it's rushed and scary.
So I went there again. And I was even more nervous than the first time. And this time I went in. There was no one in there. It was completely silent. And I just stood there. Just stood there in the middle of the loo. Then I caught sight of myself in the mirror looking at myself standing in a loo in the park wanting to have sex with a complete stranger. And the longer I stood there and looked at myself, the more nervous I got. It's one thing to be doing something that you know you're not supposed to do and that your life would be so messed up that it wouldn't even be worth it anymore if you got caught. I would be so fucked if I got caught. But it's really strange to be in that situation and to catch sight of yourself in the mirror. It was like I was watching a stranger and it was making me feel really nervous until I went and stood right in front of the mirror and looked right into my own eyes. I think that's the very first time that I really saw what was happening, that I really looked right at myself and actually said to myself "I know what I want. That's why I'm here. There's no wine this time, there's nothing but me standing here, I'm the one who made the decision to be standing here, there's no wine, there's no water to strip off and jump into, there's no Danny making the first move and starting something for me to follow, I didn't follow anyone here, I came here on purpose all by myself. It was my idea. I know what I want".
That was a strange feeling and I tried to just stand there and feel it, and watch myself feel it, just for once, let myself feel it instead of always fighting it. And I took a deep breath and it was the deepest breath I'd taken in a really long time. Yeah, I do all kinds of intense breathing when I'm running, but this was different. This was just a slow deep breath that went all the way down to the bottom of my lungs and it felt so good. One nice deep breath. But that was it, just one, because I went right back to being really nervous again and I turned to leave and just as I was heading for the door, someone was coming in and we almost ran into each other and I froze and I started to say something, like I was going to make an excuse or something. Make up a fucking excuse for a perfect stranger because I was in a public fucking restroom. How messed up is that? But I didn't say anything and he said hello. He had a nice voice and he was probably about ten years older than me. He had short light hair, amazing eyes, kind of a friendly cocky face. He was hot. For an older bloke, he was hot but I was way too scared to even know it at the time, I was too scared to say a word. And he offered me a fag and asked me if I wanted to go for a walk and right then another older bloke walked in. Much older. Old. And then I really panicked and I just walked past him and left. Our arms brushed when I was leaving and he felt solid and strong and I left and walked home and went in through the back and managed to get to my room without running into my mum and then I cried for a long time. I just laid down on my bed and cried and thought about his arms, I don't know why I thought about his arms but I did.
And I decided that I was never going back, just like I did after the first time. And a week later I went back. And I met Steven. And I can't start writing about him because it'll just make everything worse than it already is. I don't want to think about him. I don't want to write about him. I'm afraid of him. I'm afraid he'll look at me again with those eyes and the same thing will happen, I won't be able to look away and instead of running away, I'll stay. I'm afraid I won't run away and that scares me more than anything.
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Chapter Three
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7 May: I have to write about Steven. I don't have any choice. Now that I've started writing down all the things I'll never be able to say to anyone, there are more than ever, there are more than I ever dreamed there were. Maybe starting to write this journal wasn't such a good idea. It makes me think about the things I want to ignore. I think I really believed that I could make them go away if I tried hard enough. But that was another lie. I lie to everyone else and I lie to myself. It feels like all I ever do is lie.
Steven Carter. I met him in the park. I went back a third time. It was exactly the same as the first two times, I just found myself going there even though I knew it was an incredibly bad idea. There I was again, feeling nauseated because I was so nervous and I was doing it anyway, I was walking to the park so that I could go into the men's loo and find someone to have sex with, but this time I wanted it to be the bloke from the week before. I wanted to find him again and go out in the woods with him and lean back against a tree and close my eyes and hope that he'd do me first. I don't know why I wanted him to go down on me first. I'm feeling sick again. It scares the crap out of me to write this down. I'm definitely going to burn this book. Fuck. I just hoped that he'd do it first. It's not that I wouldn't know how. I'm male, I have one, I know what to do with it and I know what I'd want him to do with it so I'd know what to do, it's just that I thought I wouldn't be as scared if he did me first. That must be all they do is go down on each other. I can't imagine rolling around on the ground doing anything more than that. Liar. Of course I can imagine it, I can imagine all of it. Everything. I do it all the time, I think about it all the time, I can't stop thinking about it.
And this time I went inside again. And it wasn't empty and I almost turned around and went right back out because it was the same old bloke. Not mine. It was the old one. And he looked at me with this friendly look on his face, but it wasn't just friendly, it was kind of hopeful too. And I felt really bad for him. I really did. It was sad that he was that old, he was probably in his forties and it was sad that he had to come here to the public restroom for sex. I knew he'd been here at least twice which meant that he'd probably been there a number of times. It was different for him than it was for me. He was still coming to the park for sex. What did that say about his life? That he was a champion liar, that he'd been able to get this far in his life without anyone finding out so he was a champoin liar. Congrats to him. And I thought that was sad.
He scared me because I wanted it to be exactly like before, I wanted to walk in there and be alone and wait for the bloke with the strong arms to walk in and I'd go with him. I'd say hello back, I'd say yeah, thanks when he offered me a fag, I'd say sure when he asked me if I wanted to go for a walk, or however he'd say it. For the entire week, I couldn't stop thinking about him, he took Danny's place in my mind, he took the place of the boy on the island, he took the place of the boy in the warm soft bed, I wanted to be with him. I wanted him to walk in and I wanted to go into the woods with him and feel his arms, I wanted him to take his shirt off and I wanted to run my hands over his arms and feel them around me, I wanted him to hold me. I wanted him. I didn't want the old bloke, I wanted him. If it couldn't be someone my age, I wanted him.
But the only one there when I walked in was the old bloke and I ducked into one of the cubicles and shut the door and locked it and sat down and felt dizzy and I started to sweat and feel hot and cold because now I was trapped. I wasn't really trapped, I could sit in there for awhile until I heard him leave and then I could get away. Get away from what? You never get away, Dickson, you never get away from it, from what you want, you're never ever ever going to get away. Wherever I go, it'll be there waiting for me because it's inside me. I can't ever get away.
Well, that was a nice little hysterical outburst. So now I'm a drama queen. Funny that. I can't even say I'm "that way" but I can call myself a drama queen. I can't believe I'm joking about something so fucked up. I'm fucked up, I'll always be fucked up, I'll always want to be with a boy and there's nothing funny about it, I'm just a pathetic wanker who thinks about other boys, made-up boys, while he's doing it. I'll probably think about boys my whole life and then I really will be a fucking pervert. I'll never be with a boy so that part of me will never grow up, because I'll never do it, I'll never experience it and I'll think about the things I didn't ever get to do for the rest of my life. I'll still be thinking about boys, even when I'm old. well, I'm already thinking about men too, I thought about the bloke from the loo that entire week. But why would anyone want to live if that's what they had to look forward to? Thinking about but never doing it, decade after decade.
So what am I saying? That I don't want to keep on living? No, I'm not that fucked up. I would never kill myself. I know that for a fact. That's the truth. I might be completely miserable inside and I might be afraid all of the time, but I'm strong. I've learned how to be strong. Probably because I'm such a good liar. But I can see why other boys my age might consider it. And I feel really bad for them, I wish I could somehow tell them not to do it. I don't know what I could say that would make them hurt less and make them want to keep going with the same miserable life day after day after day. I don't know what I could possibly say. But I wish I could try. Maybe I could just tell them to find an empty book and write until your arm feels like it's going to fall off. I mean I'm no authority on keeping a journal, but I'd tell them to try it. It might work for them. I wish I could just tell them that before it was too late for them.
I was sitting in the cubicle, holding my breath, feeling like I was trapped, trying to be as quiet as possible, hoping the old guy would just leave because when "he" came in, the bloke with the arms, I wanted it to just be him and me. I wanted him so bad. And I knew that this time was different than the last two times because this time I was determined to make it happen. I was determined to say yes. I couldn't keep coming here and leaving over and over forever, I'd end up an old pervert thinking about whatever old perverts think about, I wanted it to happen and I'd made up my mind and when I make up my mind about something, I'm pretty good at making it happen. So I just waited and waited and waited and the old bloke wouldn't leave. I wanted to yell at him "Go away, you're fucking up everything! Just leave. Come back later. Just leave. Please. This is really important to me. Please. Just go."
But he didn't leave and I just sat there looking at the floor. It was covered with trash. Didn't anyone ever clean this place? Or did all this trash happen in one day? I noticed a couple of rolled up pieces of toilet paper with writing on them lying in a pile of trash. Were those just from today? I picked one of them up and read it. It said "meet me round the back?" in one person's handwriting and "yes" in another person's handwriting. It must have been rolled up to be put through a little hole to the person in the next cubicle. I read the other one and it said "fancy a smoke and a wank?" "I'd rather a wank and a smoke if it's all the same" "your place or mine?" "the usual tree, wise arse". I kind of figured the two who wrote that one already knew each other.
After a few more minutes I was ready to leave whether the old bloke was still out there or not. I couldn't believe I was sitting there picking notes up off the floor and reading them. And then someone else came in, and I jumped. I literally jumped, I was so nervous. And I almost pulled my feet up and that would have been really funny, trying to sit there with my feet off the floor, that would have been incredibly ridiculous since no one could see my feet anyway. I was thinking like a little kid. But I didn't lift my feet up, and if there was anything I could be proud of about what I was doing, I was proud that I left my feet on the floor, it was a small stupid thing but I was proud of it. Pathetic, I know. And I actually leaned down to try and see the second guy's feet through the crack at the bottom of my door.
It wasn't my bloke, I could just tell it wasn't him because his feet looked confused. I know that sounds weird, but he walked in and I could tell he saw the old guy and wasn't happy about it because he stopped and then turned and I could tell by the way he stopped that he was hoping the same thing I was, that it would be empty and he'd wait by himself for something to happen. Maybe he was here waiting for the same man I was waiting for. Well, he'd have to compete with me for him. That's a good one, Dickson, what a joke. I wouldn't have done anything if my bloke came in, I would have just sat there and listened to him say exactly the same thing to this bloke that he'd said to me and they'd walk out together and I'd have to go home and cry like a fucking little kid again, and instead of thinking about his arms, I'd have to think about him with this other bloke.
So I was feeling like crap and then the new guy went into the cubicle next to me and shut the door and locked it. I held my breath for as long as I could and then I let it out as silently as I could and then I started this really truly bizarre breathing pattern and I thought I was going to pass out from not getting enough oxygen but I was too nervous to just breathe. Too nervous to breathe is pretty nervous.
And all of a sudden I was getting out my pen and writing on a piece of toilet paper "how old are you?" and I started to roll it up but it was faster to wrap it around my pen and that way if he didn't have one, he could use it to write back. I can't believe I was thinking that clearly but I guess I just really wanted something to happen. I stuck it through a little hole towards him. I was shaking so bad I could hardly get it in the hole and I thought to myself, great lot of fun you'd be in bed Dickson because I thought it was a kind of a funny joke about getting it in the hole and all. It was a weird time to be making up really immature dirty jokes but I was so scared that nothing I did would have surprised me. I couldn't believe I was doing what I was doing, it was like I was watching someone else doing it. I wrote down "how old are you?" and pushed it through to him because I needed to DO something. I couldn't just sit there all day. And I wanted to know for sure if he was another old bloke or not because if he was, I'd rather wait for my old bloke with the nice body and the strong arms but if he wasn't then well, I didn't know what. But I pushed it through the hole and he pulled it through even before I let go of it so it was almost like touching him and for the first time, I was glad I was there. I'd almost touched someone who was like me.
And I sat there watching my hands shake and all of a sudden it was coming back through and I grabbed it while it was still moving so it would be like touching him again. And it was. And I unrolled the paper and I swear to god, my heart stopped beating and the most amazing feeling went all the way through my body because it said "I'm young". I closed my eyes and leaned back and tried to just breathe for a few seconds because I knew that it was up to me to make the next move and I was so excited I wasn't sure what I was going to do. I went there planning on letting my bloke with the strong arms and the nice face make the first move and here I was doing it myself. I started it. I wanted it and I started it. If it wasn't something that I'm supposed to be ashamed of I would have felt kind of proud about it. But I was too scared to feel ashamed or proud, all of a sudden it was up to me to make the next move.
And I just told myself it was now or never which wasn't really true but when you lie as much as I do, it gets to be automatic. So I lied to myself and said it's now or never and I don't remember exactly what I wrote down, something like "where can we meet?" and I aimed it at the hole and pushed it right straight in the first time. Fuck me. I was so bloody scared but I was excited too. And then nothing. No pen, no paper, was this guy just someone who made the rounds of all the loos in all the parks stealing pens? It felt like a year went by and all of a sudden he said "outside, on the bench". He said it. Out loud. I jumped again. I wasn't expecting to hear a voice. And I got so excited that I had to wait before I could walk out. He left and I had to sit there thinking about my grandmum's varicose veins and even that didn't work I was so excited. I was afraid that he'd leave. And I was afraid that he wouldn't.
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Chapter Four
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8 May: When I finally stood up, took a deep breath and walked out of the loo, I almost took off again. Because there he was, sitting on the bench and he was young. He was definitely young, young enough to go to the SAME FUCKING SCHOOL THAT I HAVE TO GO TO EVERY DAY. The minute I saw his blazer I knew and I almost ducked around the building, but I kind of froze in my tracks for a few seconds and it was a few seconds too long because he turned around. He looked back and saw me and it was too late. I even recognized him. It was too fucking late. If I'd ducked around the corner, none of this would have happened, I wouldn't be feeling like I have a permanent case of motion sickness. He might have never known the note was from me except for the fact that the only other person in the loo was the old bloke. No, he knew it was me. He saw the look on my face. And even then, I could have walked away, I could have just put one foot in front of the other and walked away. But I didn't. And I didn't because he was as scared as I was. I could see it. And that did something weird to me. It wasn't that I felt sorry for him, it's just that I knew exactly what he was feeling. He was like me, in that bloody blazer. He came straight from school for the loo. For sex. It was like looking in a mirror when I saw that look on his face. So that's the first reason I didn't leave. I just knew I'd never be that close to someone who was so much like me ever again. Ever.
The other reason I didn't just walk away was his eyes. His eyes. He was beautiful. I don't mean beautiful like everyone else means it when they use that word. He was strange. Well, not strange. Just different. I can't explain it. It's not like he was Christina type beautiful. But he was beautiful. Is. He still is. Steven Carter is somewhere in the world right now looking exactly the way he did when he turned around and looked at me. What am I saying? I'm saying I was attracted to someone who I wouldn't have expected to be attracted to. Attracted. To a boy. To Steven Carter. I don't know what I'm saying. All I know is that I'd never looked at another boy before and thought that he was beautiful. Hot is something else completely. Yeah, I've thought that about other blokes. I can say it here. I give up. I'm just going to say whatever the hell I'm thinking. Sue me. Lock me up. Fuck all of you. I thought Danny was hot. I thought the bloke I came there looking for with the strong arms was hot. He was hot. But Steven was nothing like him. He was beautiful.
Is beautiful. Christ, I'm talking about him like he's dead but that's almost the way it feels. It's almost like he can't exist for me anymore. He isn't someone I would have ever noticed or paid attention to most likely so he wasn't someone I would have talked to but now, even if I wanted to, I can never talk to him again.
I can never look at him again. He scares the shite out of me. I can never look into his eyes again. I've seen him in the hall twice since that day and it felt like getting slugged in the stomach and I just turned around and walked the other way. And I know he saw me do it both times because we looked at each other for a split second and then I turned away. Both times. I don't feel good about doing it but it was like my body did it, I just reacted, I panicked and before I could even think about it, I was already turning around and going the other way. This is such a fucked up mess.
But I didn't run away. I walked over to the bench and started talking to him. It was incredibly awkward because we both knew that everything had changed from the way it was before we came outside. We couldn't go out in the woods together now. And I could have been disappointed or frustrated but for one thing I was too surprised and for another, we just started talking and his voice was so I can't even describe it but I felt it deep down in my balls. Steven Carter has a really sexy voice. Sue me again. Sue me as many times as you want but if we were on a different planet and EVERYTHING was different and humans didn't ALWAYS pair off with the opposite sex, I could sit and listen to him for hours, just listen to his voice.
Small talk. We talked very small talk. It was almost embarrassing. It WAS embarrassing because I had no idea what to say. But I had to stay. I had to sit down and stay and make it normal. It was bloody awkward, my hands were shaking and I was hoping he didn't see, and my voice was kind of shaky and I felt like I had to keep clearing my throat because my voice sounded kind of weak, the way it gets when I'm lying. I'm not sure everyone else can hear it but I can. And sitting and talking to him like that was another lie because I was pretending that nothing was unusual, just like the old blokes who went to the loo and went out in the woods and then went home to their wives as though nothing unusual had just happened. We were both doing it at first. Trying to pretend that we were just sitting there having a conversation. But the only difference is that it seemed like he was listening really carefully to everything I said, I was just talking small talk but he was really listening. And looking at me. I knew what he was doing. He was trying to find out what I was thinking and I could feel him seeing right inside me. He knew who I was inside.
I felt like an idiot, because he admitted who he was, he as much as came right out and said it. It wasn't like he had to either, but I could see it in his eyes and hear it in his voice that he was saying yeah, I'm gay, of course I'm gay, why else would I be sitting here if I wasn't? He was being honest and from the way he said it and from the expression on his face, I could see that he had a whole different way of looking at it than I did. That he didn't spend his entire life running away from it. And that made me feel like a little kid. I was thinking that I was fooling people and I was, I was fooling everyone but Steven Carter. Even though I was saying one thing, he was hearing another. No matter how hard I tried to pretend that I was just sitting there talking to another bloke, it was too late, it was all so bloody obvious it was almost funny. I couldn't lie my way out of it with Steven.
He wasn't disgusted. There was another person on the planet who knew that I wanted to be with a boy, I mean that I like boys "that way" and he wasn't disgusted and he didn't look at me like I was a pervert and he didn't call me a queer and laugh and get up and walk away from me. He sat there and talked to me and really listened to the things I wasn't saying. That's when it started to feel good to be with him.
So we talked small talk and then the conversation sort of ended and he got up to go. He looked like I felt. Kind of sad. I felt sad that all of a sudden, it was over. I'd had a few minutes of feeling almost normal, talking to someone who was like me. I'd felt almost normal and then it was over. And all of a sudden I was asking him if his parents were home. I couldn't believe I said it. He couldn't believe it either, I could tell by the look on his face. But he was starting to walk away and I just said it before I had a chance to stop myself. I think that I realized that no, maybe we couldn't go into the woods and have sex, but we could go to his house and doing what?
I didn't think that far, and that's another lie. In the back of my mind and in other parts of my body I was still thinking about why I came there in the first place and that here was someone, my age, wanting the same thing. This was a thousand times better than just going out in the woods with the man I'd come there hoping to meet again. Steven was what I'd been hoping for every one of the three times that I went there. And just maybe if we went to his house, it could still happen. I was in a weird state, I think. Wanting it, not wanting it, maybe just wanting to spend a few more minutes with him. It felt good being with him. And when he turned around and looked at me, I knew he was thinking the exact same thing. I could see it. He was thinking that maybe it could still happen. It. Sex. Or maybe not. Maybe just a few more minutes together. I think we liked each other.
It's too bad that I was too afraid to tell him the truth, to tell him anything "real" about myself because I knew that if I did, if I could actually get up the courage to talk to him, really talk to him and say something "real", I just got a really strong feeling that he would like it that I trusted him. That felt good. Mixed in with all the nervousness, I felt like I could trust him, that I could tell him one small true thing about myself and he would be glad that I did. And we just walked to his house, just walked along talking, still small talk, the kind of meaningless stuff most people who don't know each other very well talk about, but by the time we got to his house, we both had gotten a little more used to it all and we even laughed a few times. Not just nervous laughing. He said a few really hilarious things and I guess I said a couple of funny things and it felt really good to laugh with him. I really liked his voice. I'm going to miss it. I don't know why I just said that.
Whatever, my fingers are tired. Good thing I switched to my computer or I'd have quit writing this journal. Writing by hand is so slow.
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Chapter Five
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8 May: Yeah, I'm back. I can't stop writing about this. I can't sleep anyway. So we went to his house and up to his room and then he went down to make some tea for us. As soon as he left the room, I started feeling really nervous again and I wished that I'd gone to the kitchen with him because all of a sudden being alone was bad. Everything came pouring in on me again and I had a really strong urge to just leave, not say a word, just leave, but instead I just got more and more nervous waiting for him. His room is small. I liked it. I didn't really have the nerve to look at anything very closely, in a way I didn't want to get to know him any better. I was feeling really confused, I wasn't sure why the hell I was there but I knew exactly why I was there and my mind kept flipping back and forth between being mad at myself for being there and being glad that I'd finally made some kind of decision for myself, just once. I made the first move. As a matter of fact, I'd made all of the first moves so far. And I think it all came down to wanting to touch him, wanting to be close to him and actually touch him.
And then he was there again and I was really happy to see him. I know that's daft, he was only down in the kitchen for five minutes but when he came back, I was happy to see him and some of the nervousness went away. We started talking again and that's when he told me about when he was eleven, about how he discovered that he liked boys the way that other boys liked girls. He talked about it so easily, I couldn't believe how honest he was. I guess he had the same feeling about me that I had about him. That he could trust me.
And I really liked listening to him and watching him. He seemed to think it was kind of funny, that whole experience of finding out who he really was. Maybe he was laughing because he was feeling a little embarrassed about telling me something so personal but he didn't seem to feel bad about it all, he seemed to feel good about liking boys, it seemed like it made him happy to think about it and talk about it. I couldn't understand that. How the fuck could he be happy about it? He was beautiful and he was happy about it and he wasn't trying to hide it, and I sat there listening to him and feeling like a really immature little kid. In some ways I was still eleven years old, I was trailing behind him by a good five or six years, and for just the tiniest moment, I remember saying the words to myself, I could be happy too, I could be smiling with him right now. And then I put all of that out of my mind immediately because it hadn't happened that way for me and I knew it was too late. I felt like a little kid and I felt really old at the same time, old and tired, much too old for my age. Steven was young and happy and I was going to throw away the rest of my life and I might as well be the old bloke in the loo.
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9 May: But he trusted me with a whole lot more than I could have trusted him with. I was still playing the game of being the straight boy who likes girls and was there in his bedroom with him for no reason whatsoever. That I was just curious. Just wondering, just wanting to know what it was like. For him. It was such a joke. He was sitting there being totally honest with me and it really did make me feel like a little kid to be lying to the one person on the planet I didn't have to lie to. I'm embarrassed now that I look back on it. I could have told him something, just one true thing about myself, it didn't matter what it was, I had a chance and I couldn't do it.
I was sitting on his bed and I leaned back and felt a lump and looked down and it was his teddy. In his bed. It was really sweet and all of a sudden I just wanted to hug him. And instead, I acted like a complete bastard about it, I laughed and I'm pretty sure it hurt his feelings. He was embarrassed and he tried to get it away from me and we started sort of wrestling around and laughing and all of a sudden there we were, both of us on the bed and all of the feelings of wanting to be close to him just took over, I wanted to touch him so bad. And he could feel it and I could feel that he wanted the same thing and I just gave in to it, the feeling was so strong, this was what I'd gone to the park for, to find someone to have sex with, this was what I wanted more than anything and there we were on his bed and he wanted the same thing and all of a sudden I was reaching for his belt and starting to unbuckle it. Fuck me, it was like someone had flipped a switch and my whole body felt lit up, the feeling came over me so fucking fast, I wanted to touch him, I wanted to look at him, I wanted him and I was already hard, it happened in seconds and all I could think of was undoing his zip and looking at him and touching him and I was watching my hands and it was the most exciting thing I'd ever seen, my hands right there, unbuckling his belt and if I hadn't looked up at him, I don't know what would have happened, I don't know if we would have kept going or not. I do know that I felt like I couldn't stop, I couldn't stop, it was so strong and I just couldn't stop. Until I looked up and there were his eyes, his beautiful dark eyes, right there like a mirror again, I was looking into a mirror and seeing a boy who liked boys, finally, for once I was actually seeing myself and he reached up and touched my cheek and started to kiss me and I wanted him to, I wanted him to kiss me more than I've ever wanted anything in my life, I could actually feel his lips, every muscle in my body was pulling me toward him, he was so close, he was warm, he smelled so warm, nothing could have stopped me at that point, nothing, and that's when something inside me snapped. It just snapped in two, and it was almost as though someone grabbed me and threw me off the bed, it wasn't me doing it this time, it happened too fast, I couldn't think and move that fast on my own, someone reached into Steven's room and grabbed me from behind and threw me off the bed. At least that's the way it felt. I mean how could I want something so bad, so bad that I couldn't stop, no matter what, and within a fraction of a second, just snap like that? I really truly think that at that very split second when it happened, I was two people. One of them was finally doing what he'd wanted to do and needed to do for a really long time, he was finally telling the truth and doing what felt normal and the other one just grabbed him and threw him off the bed and they both ran away as fast as they could. Why couldn't the other one just go? If he thought it was so fucking disgusting, why couldn't he just go and leave me there alone with Steven? Why did we both have to run away?
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10 May: Because you can't be two people at once. You're either one person or you're crazy. And I'm neither. There is no category for me. I'm not one person, that's fucking obvious. And I'm not crazy, at least not on the outside and that's the only important thing when it really comes right down to it.
But I have to keep trying to be one person.
I don't know who I thought I was, going to the park. It was daft. I thought I could be two people. I thought I could go to the park and finally face up to one of them and I thought I could go back home afterwards and pick up where I left off being the other. So none of it worked out the way I planned. I met Steven and he was kind and beautiful and funny and he wanted the same thing I wanted. It was completely different than the way I'd planned it, but it was so much better. And worse, because it was better. I found someone who was like me and we talked and he told me the kinds of things about himself that I wanted to tell him, if only they'd happened to me the way they were supposed to, the way they happened to him. They didn't happen to me the right way. It wasn't that way for me. But there still were things I could have told him and I came closer than I ever have to trusting someone and telling him something "real" about me. And instead, I ran away. I grabbed my jacket and ran away as fast as I could. Back to this.
And now here I am, sitting here writing in the middle of the night, scared and worrying about how I can manage to never ever see his face again. I don't want to see that kiss that didn't happen.
It's impossible, I'll have to see him again, we go to the same bloody school, but at least there'll be other people around to protect me. Not from him, from myself. As long as I never see him anywhere but in the halls at school, I think I'm going to be alright. But if I see him alone, by myself, I feel like all of a sudden I'll be two people again, his eyes will just pull the other one out of me that no one has ever seen but him.
I won't see him alone, I can just be more careful about where I go. I know I'll never go back to the park. I'll never go back there again. And I don't really ever have to go into his neighborhood and it's not like I'm going to see him at meets. And he probably wouldn't be at the ball. I don't think I could handle being in the same room with him if there was music. If I had to be there with Christina and there was music playing and he looked at me with those eyes, I don't know what I'd do. I think I'd probably run away again.
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concluded
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