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.