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I struggle because I can’t be myself. Because being myself goes against my family and their beliefs. I’ve lived with a continuous fight ever since my parents caught me kissing another boy. I hide from everyone. It’s easier to close myself off to everyone, even women.
I can’t just open myself to the possibilities of being with someone and letting them inside my mind and heart. Loving a man, well, that’s nearly impossible.
What if someone saw me?
What if I’m condemning my soul?
What if I can never find love?
According to my father, my sexual “depravity” would prevent me from being successful and happy. My therapist, the family priest, and Mother insisted I was acting up.
They called my indiscretions an act of rebellion against the church and my parents. It was a phase God would be willing to forgive if I repented. By their logic, if I liked women, there wasn’t any possibility that I could want men too.
However, nothing they said, or anything I’ve tried, has stopped me from finding men attractive, from wanting to kiss them, from falling in love with them.
My parents wasted their money trying to fix me. Those three months I spent living in a camp getting conversion therapy didn’t do shit. The emotional, psychological, and physical abuse I went through so they could restore my mind. They drilled inside my head that looking at a man with lust was a sin as bad as murder.
All I carry from those days is the shame and bad memories. Some call it PTSD. I’d rather not give it a name.
The only time I ignored my religion and my parents’ beliefs, I… I almost died. It was prom during my senior year.
Blake, the quarterback of our football team, and I are shooting some hoops instead of dancing with our dates inside the gym.
“Heard you’re going to Stanford,” I say, throwing the ball and missing. “Congrats, maybe you’ll make it to the NFL.”
He shrugs, casually considering this. “Sucked that you were out of the country and couldn’t train with us. I needed my running back for the last season, Cooperson.” He grabs the basketball, and his dark eyes concentrate on mine. “You and I… we had a connection.”
A connection. There was a time I hoped for more but... shivers race down my spine at his words.
I take a step back, watching him, taking him all in. His jacket and shirt are off. He only wears the undershirt that fits tight against his muscular stomach. His pants hang low on his hips… I notice the outline of his erection through them and move my eyes away. Fuck. No, I can’t go back to camp. God will punish me. They’ll torture me again and my father will beat me for committing a sinful act.
“Like what you see?” he asks, cocking a brow and flashing a wide smile. “Because I’m liking what you have.”
I follow his gaze to find him focusing on my bulge. Shame overtakes me, and I take a few steps back from him, suddenly needing to put some space between us. Like maybe a football field.
“Hey, if I’m misreading you, I apologize.”
“I-I was sent to a camp. A conversion camp,” I blurt. His eyebrows draw together. “To reverse my sexuality. According to my parents and the therapists, being attracted to women and men is a sin.”
“Well, I hope you know they are wrong. My parents and family love me no matter what. Your family should be the same.” He shakes his head. “They’re homophobic and you should ignore them.”
As if it’s easy to do that.
“I can show you how great it is to like men,” he whispers, numbing the voices telling me that being attracted to him is wrong.
At this moment it is only Blake and me. The rest don’t matter. For a few breaths, we study each other. His eyes fill with lust, mirroring my own. I give him a slight nod.
That’s all he needs to take my hand after he grabs our jackets and dress shirts.
“Follow me,” he orders, and I obey blindly.
Young, stupid, and in lust, I do as he says, jump into his car, and let him take me wherever he wants. He drives us to a hotel located right outside of Greenwich, the place where he had planned to take his date after the prom.
When we step inside the room, Blake is only mere inches from me. Slowly, he raises his hand, touching my cheek. My body shakes as his fingers trace my jaw. Then, with determination, he leans in and presses his lips to mine. I can’t move because Blake Kennedy is pressing his lips against mine, his tongue is licking my mouth, pushing through, trying to get in.
No. This is wrong, I think. Pulling back, I stare at him.
“Don’t think, Cooperson. Let me show you that there’s nothing wrong with letting a man love you. Love is never wrong unless that person is abusing you. I swear I’ll take care of you, baby.” His voice is hoarse with lust and excitement.
