My senses were alive. I could feel the cold sting of rain across my cheek, ice-cold metal pressing my hands, and my ears were abuzz with the sound of traffic below me. Yup, that’s my senses alive, but I felt dead inside - so dead inside that I was hanging onto a guardrail, preparing to leap into traffic. Not three days from my 18th birthday, and all I wanted was to die.

I was slowly counting down in my head - 20, 19, 18, 17 ... counting toward the end of my pain. Watching cars wiz by, not caring whose life I’d fuck up when I landed. I thought of what led me to this point. This point of no return ... this time for me to end my pain...

I’ve always kept my feelings bottled up inside, building up until I was ready to explode. I don’t know why I do this, but I do. Well, I did, that is until I started keeping a journal of my thoughts and feelings. For once, instead of building up and up, I was able to purge feelings by placing them on paper. Every evening alone in my room, I’d write down my deepest feelings, my thoughts, and at times, a running log of my day.

I’m Aaron, by the way. I’m almost 18 and have finally admitted to myself that I was gay. I’m scared and ashamed of these feelings sometimes, but try as I may, I cannot make them vanish. I hope and pray every night that I would change, but my feelings for guys got stronger and stronger. I guess I gave up on fooling myself. I couldn’t change and needed to live with that.

I live in a nice area, not too city and not too country. I have lived in the same house for my entire life with my dad. My mom left us to “find herself” when I was six, and I guess she was still “lost” because we haven’t heard from her since. My best friend is Andrew - Andy to everyone. I’ve known him since kindergarten, almost nine years.

We are “like peas and carrots,” as Forrest Gump would put it. Spending summers together— either me on vacation with his family or Andy with mine. Andy was a little taller than me, standing about 5’9”. We both ran track at school and stayed very active. Andy had yellow blond hair and seemed to always have a tan, whereas I had black hair and burned in the sun.

We hung around together, and our minds— well, his mind always seemed to be on some girl in school. Boy did he love to talk about the girls. Anne this, Debbie that ... I would listen and wish I could be like him. I played along, but when I was talking about liking this girl or that girl, I was really thinking about Andy.

We are both in the ninth grade, and though we go to the same high school, we aren’t in any classes together, but we see each other at lunch.

I discovered masturbation around sixteen or so and rushed over to share my discovery with Andy— to my surprise, he had known about this for a little while. I remember being pissed that he didn’t tell or show me, but oh well. I felt love for Andy, not lust but love, and yes, I know the difference. The first feelings for him were early on; we had never done anything together, but when I jerked off, all I could think about was him.

Under the covers at night, I would fondle my nuts with one hand while slowly stroking my young cock with the other. All this while, pictures of Andy were dancing in my head. I just love the feelings I can give myself— the slow pressure as my cock fills with blood— my nuts bouncing up and down, and most of all, the sound of my breathing turned me on to no end.

As I lay there, I thought of Andy’s body. I had seen him naked while we changed but never aroused. I wanted to see him in my bed, hard and begging me to suck him. I had never sucked on a penis before, but I knew I wanted to; I wanted to with all my being.

Staring at my cock, I imagined it was Andy’s. My mind’s eye could see me licking the head, tasting his pre-cum— tasting what he was making just for me. As I sucked on my finger, pretending it was him, my hips were bucking up to meet my fist. I could feel my balls pulling tight against me, and that wonderful pressure built at the base of my rod.

“Oh shit,” I moaned, shooting several globs onto my stomach and chest.

Catching my breath, I played with the cum, wishing it could be his. I brought my fingers to my mouth and sucked some jizz across my tongue. I had developed a taste for this ever since the first load I shot at twelve. Boy, that was an amazing awakening— my first real cum will never be forgotten— does anyone really forget that day?

Oh yes, I told you I started a journal, didn’t I?

I kept a spiral notebook with me at all times now, and when I felt down or emotional, I would jot down my thoughts. Sometimes just bullshit, but mostly my feelings for Andy or comments on some hot dude I’d seen around. I didn’t censor myself but put exactly what I felt. I’d write how hot someone’s ass was, how many times, and how I jerked off, and most of all, my feelings about Andy and being gay. This book became my savior, a place of serenity amidst a sea of turmoil. I know I’m being a little melodramatic, but who gives a fuck?

When I awoke in the morning, I hopped in the shower and got ready for school. There were only a few months until summer, and then I could be free from waking up at 6 o’clock in the morning.

“Morning, Dad,” I said, grabbing some bread to make toast.

“Mornin’,” he grunted back, never looking up from the newspaper.

That’s my dad— not a morning person at all.

“Bye,” I called as I headed out the door. If he answered, I didn’t hear him.

Andy was a few yards ahead of me, and I jogged to catch up to him. “Shit, slow down, dude,” I called as I came alongside him.

“Oh, hi.” He answered blankly.

“Somethin’ up?” I inquired. This was unlike him— he was always the upbeat one while I was the melancholy one.

“Grounded.” He simply stated.

I asked, “What’s the sentence?”

“One week, no TV, no computer. Sucks.”

He sounded pissed and standoffish, so I got the feeling he didn’t want to talk too much about it, so I didn’t press the issue.

“Catch you at lunch.” He told me as he headed off to his 1st period class.

“Later.”

I am glad he wasn’t mad at me - being grounded did suck, but if that was the issue, then it would pass. I stopped on the stairs and opened my journal - I wrote about masturbating to Andy’s image last night and that he was grounded. Thumbing through the pages, I couldn’t believe how many times I jerked off. Judging by my entries, it must be about once a day and sometimes two or three. “I’m a fucking freak.” I said to myself as I closed the book and went into class.

I found my thoughts again turning to Andy - this was now almost a constant occurrence and was starting to frighten me. Could I chance telling him how I felt? We’ve been great friends for so long, and he was very open-minded on many things. “Could I chance it?” I asked myself again. I whipped out my journal and started a new list, a list of pros and cons of telling Andy.

Talk to Andy?? What would happen?

#1 “Fuck off, Aaron, you faggot!!” “Hey, everyone, Aaron’s queer!”

#2 “Oh, Aaron, do me - make me cum!”

I guess it would be either one or something in the middle - what to do?

Sitting in class, my mind drifted away thinking about my life. I didn’t learn one damn thing in school all day because of my thoughts. Lunch was good, Andy being there, not the food that is.

“Want to catch a movie next week?” I asked. “We could make it a parole present.”

He looked at me for a few moments, “Sure, what do you want to see?”

“Your party, your choice.”

“How about that new Jim Carrey ‘God’ flick?”

“You’re on,” I replied. “The tickets and drinks are on me, you’re on your own in the snack department.”

We go to the movies quite often, him paying one time and me the next. As always, we smuggled something to eat, avoiding the super marked-up price of goobers.

We took off for our afternoon classes when the bell rang, and as I watched him pull ahead of me again, I wondered what I should do.

If I opened the ‘gay’ door by telling Andy, would he blab to everyone? Would he tell my dad? God, my dad would just kill me. All the jokes I’ve heard him tell his friends were gay-bashing types; he was always calling this person or that person a faggot. Every time those words left his mouth, my heart would sink, and I would distance myself even more emotionally both from him and the world around me.

I ended up walking home alone in a daze— not thinking, just walking. I was coming to a crossroads in my life and knew.

I stopped at a bus stop and opened the journal.

I’m fucking fed up. I can’t think— can’t breathe— can’t feel normal. I need to do something and fast. I can’t take these feelings alone. I need to feel loved and welcome— I want to be held. Why can’t I be like Andy and everyone else? Why can’t I be normal!!!

Jerk off. Fantasize. Dream. Is this all there is? I need an out— I need to be free.

I’m now gay. What do I do?

Tell Dad? Fuck no, he hates “fags”. I love him so much and I am afraid he will leave like Mom. NO GO!! He must not know.

Tell Andy? Danger play also— would he still like me? Could he be gay? No, there is no way he is gay— damn!

Who can I talk to? Can I talk? I trust Andy with so many things. He knows about my feelings of abandonment with my Mom, and he knows I cry sometimes, worried that my Dad doesn’t love me. He doesn’t laugh at me. He doesn’t make me feel bad for crying. Can I tell him? How do I do it?

I shut the book and looked around, making sure no one was observing me. I felt a little less stressed writing my thoughts down. Looking to the sky, I made a decision, one that I hoped was right— I was going to tell Andy I was gay. I saw no other choice; not telling and hiding was killing me inside. I was being eaten away with fear and loathing for who I was and felt I deserved better. No, I prayed I could have better.

“I’m home!” I yelled, walking into the living room.

Getting no answer, I headed into the kitchen. I guess Dad was working a little late this evening. He was almost always here by the time I got home, but it seems the last few months his boss was making him put in a few extra hours.

Knowing I had some time, I sat at the table and finished up my homework. I heard my Dad come in just as I was finishing up.

“Hi, Pops.” I said as he came into the kitchen.

“Hi, boy,” he answered.

This was our normal ritual - me telling him he was old, and he kept reminding me that I was a kid. Unfortunately, there was no real communication either.

“I’m beat. Pizza, okay?” he asked, pulling up a chair.

“Cool. The Hut or Big D’s?”

“You order. Call who you want.” He told me.

Wow, I get to make a decision, I thought sarcastically - this could be life-altering. I pushed away those thoughts and ordered us a pie, then headed up to my room.

Note to self - check the library and web for coming-out help. Get a haircut. What should I wear to the movie? Maybe I could spend the night. Maybe I could blow Andy - suck him and squeeze that ass while he filled me with his juice.

Thinking about Andy got me all worked up. I slipped into bed and unbuckled my jeans, sliding them to my knees. I knew I had only a few minutes, but I needed to cum - needed to let the day wash away with a big load.

I wrapped my cock in some tissue to aid in the eventual clean-up and started slowly stroking myself to a major hard-on. I was feeling real good - my cock tingling - my mind and body searching for the release I needed.

Rolling onto my stomach, I started fucking my closed fist - my cock sliding in and out of the tissue-wrapped hand. I used my free hand to stroke my ass, imagining all the while it was Andy’s butt I was doing. I could hear him moan as I slid in and out of him - his hand on my ass.

“Fuck, oh fuck.” I grunted, filling the tissue.

Collapsing on the bed, I realized I had worked up a hell of a sweat with my workout. Wiping my brow, I headed downstairs and found Dad at the table— pizza, plates, and drinks already set to go.

We ate in silence— again, as normal. Did anyone have conversations anymore?

I looked up and saw him looking at me, not eating.

“Aaron, do me a favor,” he said after some time. “Keep the noise down a little, okay?”

“What?” I asked. Did he mean what I think he did? Did he hear me jerking off?

“Aaron, I’m not stupid, and believe it or not, I was 15 once also.” He retorted. “A little respect for those in the house, okay?”