The Evolution of Indifference (5)

Chapter 1


Chapter 2


Chapter 3


Chapter 4


Chapter 5: D.E.: My first time
I loved the Lord, and was all into church and teaching Sunday School and all that – but I still dealt with same sex attractions. I guess I thought they would go away, miraculously disappear. You know, like I would be healed like the leper Jesus healed – but there was never any walking and leaping after my deliverance. It was a perpetual desire.

When I started masturbating I always felt sinful, disgusting, remorseful. Interesting thing though is that I was cleaning my Pastors’ house for a while. I had a key and would go in there and clean while they were at work and they paid me. They both had full time jobs and I needed the money and so it was a win-win. The first time I masturbated, I was in their house … alone. Let me tell you that that totally didn’t help the remorse I felt. I thought I was going to hell any minute now.

But I didn’t. Not physically, that is. But I continued to live in my own little hell. Wanting something that I felt I couldn’t have, that was always right at my grasp but that I couldn’t reach out for. I was a bitter little fucker, that’s for sure.

I had been working at the local newsstand, putting together Sunday newspapers and trying to keep up with the madness. (Damn, New Yorkers just love themselves the Sunday Times!) Eventually, I started working inside the store, selling cigarettes, lottery tickets and porn. Suffice it to say, the pastors were not happy. But mom insisted I make money so that I could buy my own clothes, pay for my own bus fare, buy my own school lunches and pay her rent. My older brother, by the way, didn’t have to do any of this – just me. That’s a WHOLE ‘nother issue entirely.

But I had a crush on one of my fellow employees. He was so damn attractive. One day, after knowing him for well over a year, he was around my neck of the woods and a bunch of us were hanging out. He was drunk as hell and everyone was afraid to let him walk home because he had to cross a major boulevard with three lanes in each direction and there was no stop light at our intersection. I volunteered to walk him home. He was 18 (don’t ask me where he got the booze) and I was 15.

On the way back, the small talk was pretty typical. But it got flirty really fast. I really didn’t know what to do with it. I was so totally and incredibly nervous, but I was loving how my body was feeling, just flirting. We were talking about working out or gym rats or whatever and I’ll never forget it. I said, “my ass is FAT.” I totally meant that I was a fat bastard and I needed to go to the gym. He responded and said, “oh really?” and grabbed a palm full of my right ass cheek. Right there in the middle of the street in front of God and everyone. It was pretty late at night and no one was around, but I thought it was audacious.

I had never known that feeling – it was shocking, it was electricity, it was … it was something. Whatever it was, his hand caused it – and it shot through my body and to my chest. My heart began to race. I really had NO idea what was going on or what to do with it … all I knew is that I liked what I felt.

We got to the corner of his block and he thanked me and began to dismiss me. Except I didn’t let him. I wanted more. He seemed hesitant, but the newness of it all had me eager and I wasn’t going to let up. I could see it in his face that he had no idea how he was going to work this out. He invited me down his block and we walked down the street together. It was a dead end street he lived on.

He passed his house and proceeded to the end of the block. I assumed that we were going to go to and through the treeline at the end of the block and I frankly didn’t care. That was fine by me. At the last house on the block, the porch light was on … that’s as far as he went – he looked into their front yard and verified no one was there. “Come on,” he said and walked back in the direction we had come from to his house. He opened the front gate, sat on his front porch and told me to sit next to him.

So I did. And we talked about who was going to do what. We were both nervous – and both insisting that the other expose himself. Eventually, I did. But quickly hid the good again. It freaked me out. “Let me see,” he said and I did it again … he reached for me and grabbed hold.

HOLY SHIT. My body was on fire and I wasn’t sure what to focus on. On what I saw, on the electricity within me or even if the electricity was what I was SUPPSOED to be feeling. It was absolutely NOTHING I had imagined to that point. And before I could figure it out – he stopped.

And then he wouldn’t expose himself – and insisted that I reach in and do it myself. At this point, I didn’t need any prodding. In I went. And what I found was bitter sweet. I loved the feel of it, the soft spongy layer of skin covering a stiff rod of cartilage and it was just divine. There I was at 15 experimenting … and I was kinda freaked out. I absolutely thought he was a freak – it was uncut and much wider than it was fat, rather oval in cross-section.

What the fuck?!?! Aren’t these things all round (not oval) and cut?!? Aren’t they? That’s how mine is – that’s how my brother’s is … you mean they’re all different?!?

He invited me into his house and we went in through the basement door and directly into his bedroom. I had no idea what was in store – all I know is that I followed like an attention starved stray. In his room he asked me how far I wanted to go. I didn’t answer, I didn’t know what to say. There must have been a quizzical look on my face – he stood behind me, unzipped me and all I wanted him to do was hold me closer. He went to town, had me squirming – and I reach up behind me and wrapped my hand around his neck.

As soon as I ejaculated he let go and stepped away. I was confused. I knew I had to finish myself off which I did and his carpet was a mess. I was looking down at it and he slammed his sneaker down on it and rubbed it all into the carpet until it disappeared. I zipped up and looked around the dark room confused. I looked at him and he told me that I needed to leave. We headed to the door.

At the door, I looked at him with the most confused little 15 year old look my face could muster. Not on purpose – I was just genuinely confused … and hurt. I mean, he totally let go! He said, “oh God, you’re not going to cry, are you?” I turned around, walked up his driveway. And ran home. But I couldn’t outrun the guilt, shame and remorse, no matter HOW fast I ran. And, let me tell you – I ran fast as fuck.

But you can’t outrun shame.

You can’t outrun guilt.

And you can’t wash remorse away no matter how hot you turn the water on.