He Paints His World In Black And White
Chapter One: Slurpees And Catholic School... Boys?
I never really came out. I just always was gay. In first grade my teacher, a well intentioned but potentially scarring woman named Mrs. Frederick, wrote home to my mother with concerns that I might be a little confused because I always wanted to play dress-up with the girls, rather than trucks and cowboys with the other boys. Of course, now that Brokeback Mountain has been released, games such as that are much more appealing. But at that age, I was much more interested in being the sister or some other slightly submissive female role while playing house with my still-best-friend Shanna and all of her fellow premature fag hags.
In sixth grade, when we went to middle school and started riding the bus with the oh-so-cool high school students, I, along with Shanna and my newest guy friend, Mark, were suddenly bombarded by images of sex, drugs, and all that other fun stuff that would later get us into unbelievable trouble.
But where my story really starts, I suppose, was when I first entered high school in ninth grade at Ezekiel High School (I am not even joking). That was when I met him.
His name was Chris. I guess he was what you would call "emo-slash-goth". He wore tight black girl's bondage pants and tee shirts emblazoned with the names of bands that no one had ever heard of. Fishnet adorned his arms and he wore stripy-socks that you could see peeking out of his baby-pink cons. Chains jingled when he walked and he smudged his make-up in a way that always made him look like he had been crying. His nails were short and dirty and one hand was painted black, the other always, without fail, neglected.
He came from one of the other local middle schools, either Hadley District or Ferrell Middle, I've long since forgotten which.
I'll never forget, though, when I first met him. It wasn't exactly one of my greatest moments. Basically, I slipped on a spilled Slurpee smack on my back in front of him. And no, it wasn't romantic and no, he didn't catch me. Our eyes didn't meet and electricity didn't spark between us and there was certainly no realization of "I love you" or an earth-shattering kiss.
Actually, what he said to me was so much more embarrassing than anything that had happened to me thus far.
"SHIT! Woman, dammit! You just got my Slurpee all over the floor! Now I have to go and get a new one and SHIT!"
Yes, not only was he yelling muddled obscenities at me and not helping me up, but he called me Woman.
Not exactly flattering. I mean, sure, my blonde hair reached almost down to my ass and I happened to be wearing the girl's uniform of a purple plaid shirt, white blouse, and white knee socks, but still...
So Mark finally happened to walk in and helped me to my feet and of course because of the spilled Slurpee and the ridiculously short (even by my standards) uniform, I managed to flash him and then he just kind of grinned and said "Oh, excuse me. I didn't realize someone as pretty as you could possibly be male."
And he said it so sarcastically.
It was then that I vowed to hate him. Forever.
AN: Okies, here'schappy one! I really don't know how far I'll actually go with this story, but I want to complete it, so please review and tell me if I'm just wasting my time!
Pleasepleaseplease review. Flame if you feel you must.
Luvs and X-Rated Thoughts-- Luci-chan