A Gay Polyester High School Romance

by S. W. Ballenger

  “Yes, I have.” She tilted her head slightly. “What’s on your mind?”

  I had planned out my conversation in advance so as not to make her suspicious of anyone I knew; I only hope she wouldn’t see through my façade.

  “There is a guy in my school…a senior…people make fun of him because he acts like a girl. He wears make-up, and I’m not talking about the glam rock kind that David Bowie wears, I mean women’s lipstick and eye shadow.”

  “Poor boy.” Mom’s face softened. “People who don’t understand can be so cruel.”

  “Yeah, I feel sorry for him.” I hung my head before looking up questioningly. “Are people like Roger born like that? You know, a homosexual?”

  Mom placed both hands on the table meaning she was about to get “official.” It occurred to me for a brief moment she might have thought I was hiding something about myself, but I knew she knew me well enough to know I liked girls.

  “Human sexuality is very complex. Homosexuality has yet to be proven if it’s genetic or environmental or a combination of both. The few patients I’ve treated knew they were ‘different’ from a young age, but some people only discover they have same sex attraction later in life.”

  “I see.” I nodded and let it sink in. “Can homosexuality be cured?”

  “According to the American Psychiatric Association, homosexuality is a mental illness and can be cured with proper psychotherapy,” she stated as if reading directly from the textbook.

  “Do you believe that?” I tried to hide my worry for Brad.

  She picked up her spoon and stirred her coffee. “So, here’s my medical opinion. Homosexuality is not a disease and it doesn’t spread. People cannot be converted into homosexuals despite religious teachings claiming that homosexuals recruit young people, which in my opinion is a bunch of…excuse my language…‘horse hockey’. Neither do I believe therapy is going to ‘cure’ a person. There is nothing to be cured.” She threw her palms up and shook her head.

  I nodded and brought the coffee cup to my lips. “So, do all male homosexuals act you know…sissy, like Roger?” I took a sip.

  Mom laughed. “No, honey. I have a patient who was the star quarterback of his high school football team. He went on to play college football and became a high school coach. He was in all sense, the typical ‘American male’. He married a woman and they had two children together. Finally, when he was thirty years old, he decided he couldn’t live a lie any longer and told his wife he was gay. Apparently, he’d been having extramarital relationships with other men for years.” She shook her head. “It’s sad we live in a society that is so unaccepting of others that it forces people to hide and not be true to themselves.”

  “Yeah.” I lowered my voice feeling a sense of shock and worry. What if Brad was one of those guys? I mean, he used to play football. No, I reaffirmed to myself, my best friend definitely wasn’t gay. He just needed more experience with girls.

  “Honey, why are you asking me these questions?” She looked at me, her eyes tight and worried. “Is there something else you want to talk about?”

  I chuckled seeing that she did think I might have been referring to myself. “No Mom, I like girls.” I said as if it were the most ridiculous idea on earth. “It’s just…you know me, Mom. I want to help people and when I heard someone calling Roger a faggot to his face, it made me angry,” I answered truthfully. It did happen a few mornings ago and it did anger me, especially when I again saw the bruises on his face later in the day.

  “You’re a good person, honey.” Her face relaxed. “You have a good heart.” Mom reached over and patted my hand. “Don’t ever be afraid to speak up for someone even if it’s not the popular thing to do.”

  “I won’t, Mom. I love you.”

  • • •

  Brad stood in front of the mirror in my bedroom, checking out his reflection.

  “What do you think?” I asked, standing behind him and watched as he brushed the lint off the back of my jacket he was borrowing.

  He wrinkled his nose slightly. “Well, it’s certainly blue.”

  “It’s turquoise.” I bent down to straighten the polyester leg cuffs.

  “Don’t think it’s a bit…much?” He turned around to check out the back, bumping my head as he did so.

  “No,” I grunted. “It looks good on you.” I stood up and began fluffing the ruffles on the front of his shirt. “In fact,” I stood back, “it looks better on you than it does on me.”

  Brad gave me a sarcastic stare. “You’re just blowing smoke up my ass.”

  “No!” I raised my voice. “If I thought it looked like shit, I’d tell you. It’s the truth…but dude, you have got to do something with your hair.” I stared at the tangled mess that looked as if rats had taken up permanent residence within its depths.

  Brad reached down, grabbed a few strands, and examined the split ends. “I know. The chlorine in your pool makes it frizzy. Plus, it’s too long and gets caught on everything and honestly, it’s starting to get on my nerves.” He shrugged.

  “Well, cut it!” I gaped at the waist-length growth as if it was the most logical course of action.

  He gave me a sly grin. “I can’t. The longer I grow it the more it pisses off John.”

  “If that’s the case, it’s going to be down to your knees before you move out.” I laughed.

  Brad had stopped cutting his hair after seeing a photo of Mark Farner from Grand Funk Railroad right around his eleventh birthday and decided he wanted his hair like his. That was the same year his mom bought him a used guitar for his birthday. His stepsister Pauline’s boyfriend Gary taught him how to play and he’d become quite good at it. I loved watching him play. It isn’t just that he plays well, he looks so cool doing it, especially when he was sitting shirtless on his bed, his hair draped over his face and a joint in the corner of his mouth strumming Stairway to Heaven. I actually feel flushed watching him when he pauses between songs, pushes his hair back over his head, and looks up at me smiling as if seeking my approval of his performance. I always yell and whistle, pretending I am a full audience. I guess you could call me his one-man fan club.

  My mind snapped back to the present and the wild hair in front of me. “Here.” I ran to the bathroom and gathered some of my hair spritz and a brush then ran back. “Sit down.”

  Brad sat in my desk chair and I got behind him and started brushing his hair out as Ooh Baby by Gilbert O’Sullivan began playing on the stereo. “Dude. This is a mess.” I grunted in frustration as I struggled to pull the brush through a particularly bad tangle.

  “Ouch.” His head jerked back. “Not so rough.”

  “Don’t be such a baby. We both got to look good if we’re going to get any tonight.”

  “Yeah, I know.” He sighed.

  After several minutes of brushing and styling, his hair actually looked good. “There.” I stood back and spread my arms wide open as if I had just performed a small miracle.

  He stood up and made his way to the mirror, turning his head to admire the neatly brushed locks. “Looks good.” Lowering his head, he pulled at the front of his shirt as I looked over his shoulder. “Do you think the shirt is too small?” He lifted his eyes to my reflection.

  I focused on his muscular build that stretched the shirt very tightly across his chest and biceps. The outline of his pecs was clearly visible through the material making it look as if the shirt could rip apart at any moment. I felt that familiar flushed feeling again.

  Taking a deep breath, I answered. “It’s fine dude, just don’t make any sudden movements with your arms.” I chuckled feeling a bit weak at the knees.

  “If you say so.” He shrugged his shoulders. “Aren’t you getting dressed?”

  “After you go downstairs. I want to make my grand entrance.” I beamed.

  “Pfft. ‘Your entrance’.” He shook his head. “You’re such an attention whore.”

  “Shut up.” I scowled at him. “Go downstairs so I can get dressed.�
��

  “Weirdo.” Brad scoffed as he grabbed the blue sports coat off the bed, smiling as he exited.

  • • •

  Thirty minutes later, I checked myself in the mirror one last time before sashaying down the stairs. Leaning my head around the corner of the living room, I spotted Mom standing near the fireplace straightening Brad’s collar.

  “You guys ready?” I yelled.

  “Just come on already!” Brad yelled back. “Princess!”

  I laughed.

  I stood up straight, smoothed out my jacket, and coolly strolled into the living room. I stopped near the sofa, stood sideways, and adjusted my cufflinks. I swiveled my head toward them in my best Bond impression. “The name’s Stuart. Shawn Stuart,” I said as I struck a sophisticated pose.

  Brad turned his attention away from my mother and stood in stunned silence. I swore his jaw hit the floor. The look on his face gave me cause to look down at my shirt and check that I hadn’t spilled toothpaste on it.

  Seeing that is was clean, I tilted my head slightly guessing it must have been something else. “You don’t like it?” I asked, more concerned than I should have been that he didn’t.

  “No…no…it looks really great on you,” he said in a very subdued voice, which was not the reaction I was expecting from him. “Is that the black suit Bond wears in Live and Let Die?”

  “Yeah,” I answered.

  “Where did you get it?” he asked, his normal voice returning along with a smile on his face.

  “Dad.” I adjusted my long black overcoat and pulled the black leather gloves from my pocket. “He had it made for me last summer. I’d been saving it for a special occasion.”

  I thought back to when Dad and I went to see the movie the day it opened in theaters. Dad was a huge James Bond fan and I guess some of that had rubbed off on me because I was just as big of a fan. I happened to make the comment to him after the movie that I’d love to have that black suit Roger Moore wore in the New York City scenes. Imagine my shock the next day when he drove me to his tailor in Hartford and told them to fix me up.

  “It’s really far out.” Brad watched as I slid the gloves on my hands and pulled on each finger to loosen them slightly.

  I smiled and replied in French, “Merci, monsieur.”

  “You look so handsome, honey!” Mom stated cheerfully.

  “Thanks, Mom. Brad looks pretty sharp as well, doesn’t he?” I asked, checking Brad out once again, feeling my heartrate increasing.

  Mom pored over Brad. “No offense, honey, but I think that tux looks better on Brad than it did on you.”

  “I know! The blue brings out his eyes,” I said knowing that like me, certain shades of blue made Brad’s eyes pop—turquoise being one of them. Boy, Penny is a lucky girl.

  Brad blushed slightly. “Thanks, guys.”

  The doorbell rang throughout the room, tearing my eyes from Brad.

  “That must be the limo. We better get going,” I said hurriedly, fearing Tabitha’s wrath if we were late to the dance.

  “Wait, wait!” Mom yelled as she ran to the end table to grab her camera. “I’ve got to have a picture of my two handsome men.”

  I sighed and rolled my eyes. “Mom, we don’t have time for this. I don’t want to be late to the dance.” I rolled my arms in circles trying to herd Brad toward the door.

  “Mellow out, dude. Your mom wants a photo.” Brad gave me a quizzical look. I hadn’t informed him of Tabitha’s orders that we not be late because I knew telling him would more than likely have resulted in him deliberately taking his time.

  “Hurry up, Mom. We don’t want to be late to pick up our dates,” I said as she gestured for us to stand together near the fireplace.

  Brad and I moved into position and I put my arm around his shoulders. He returned the gesture. I couldn’t help but notice the warmth of his torso pressed against mine. A weird tingling sensation moved down my spine toward that certain area I feel sometimes when I touch him. I know with all the teenage hormones coursing through my veins, anything that rubs me the right way turns me on. My mind went immediately to Tabitha and the fact that I might be losing my virginity in a matter of hours. I felt myself getting turned on and had to force myself not to think about it.

  Mom held the Instamatic Camera up to her eye. “Smile, guys!”

  I cut my eyes toward Brad for a moment and noticed the smile on his face. Brad had the perfect smile; not too big, but not too small. It seemed to have a sparkle that I couldn’t quite put my finger on. He’d had it since we were kids. Every photo of him and I together, it was his smile that always stood out.

  Mom pressed the button and the undeveloped photo shot out of the front of the Polaroid. She grabbed it and immediately started shaking it, trying to rush the development process before laying it on the coffee table

  She lifted the camera again. “One more.”

  “Mom, come on. We’ve got to go.” I rolled my eyes and resumed my position once more.

  She snapped the button again. “There.”

  I removed my arm from around Brad’s shoulders. “Thank you.”

  “Have fun, guys,” Mom said.

  I walked over and gave her a hug and quick peck on the cheek. “Love you,” I said as I pulled away.

  “Love you too, honey,” she replied.

  I looked to Brad. “You ready?”

  Brad shrugged then nodded.

  From the look on his face, I could tell that he wasn’t excited for the evening to begin. I just hoped that he would at least pretend like he was having a good time.

  • • •

  A big, black limo waited in our driveway. As we walked out the front door, I spotted a very muscular gentleman dressed in a black suit leaning against the car.

  As we approached, he opened the back door for us. I took a moment to check out the guy, thinking he looked more like a bouncer than a limo driver. His shirt looked as though it was about to burst open at any moment like Bruce Banner transforming into the Incredible Hulk. It occurred to me that I needed to do more weights if I ever wanted to look like this guy. I glanced at Brad, thinking he could get there without much work if he’d hit them like he did when he played football.

  “Good evening, sirs,” the driver greeted in a forced posh accent.

  “Hi,” Brad and I returned as we ducked down and climbed into the back.

  A few moments later, the man shut the door as Brad took a seat facing the back of the car and I took a seat opposite facing the front.

  “Whoa!” Brad rolled his head around. “This is huge.”

  “Far out, huh?” I smiled and ran my eyes around the dark leather seating, plush fur carpeting, and dim-lit interior which gave it an almost lounge-like feeling. I spotted the mini bar on the passenger side of the car along with a small refrigerator and wondered if Hulk would turn a blind eye if we had a couple of drinks. Maybe if I spot him a twenty.

  “Way far out,” Brad interrupted my thoughts of alcohol. In typical Brad fashion, he reached over and began playing with the window switch, making it go up and down repeatedly. Satisfied the window worked, he started on the interior light switches—flipping the switch on and off repeatedly.

  “Brad! Quit playing with the switches,” I scolded, knowing that Brad could never resist the temptation to push a button or flip a switch whenever he saw one.

  He quickly jerked his hand back from the light switch. “Sorry.” He flashed that toothy grin of his at me again.

  I shook my head and laughed.

  My thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the window between us and the driver lowering. Brad shifted around to see behind him.

  “My name is Stephen. I’ll be your driver for the evening,” greeted Hulk.

  I pointed. “I’m Shawn, that’s Brad.”

  “Cool.” He glanced at us individually. “So, school dance, huh?”

  “Yes, sir,” I said. “Derbyshire High School.”

  He checked out Brad’s extra-long hair. “Gro
ovy.” He then pointed his finger at each of us. “Cool threads, by the way. You guys have dates?”

  “Yep.” I reached into my pocket and pulled out a half-sheet of spiral notebook paper. “Here’s the address.”

  I handed it to Brad, who in turn handed it to the driver.

  Grabbing it with his gloved hand, Stephen turned back around and read it. “Cool. You guys just sit back and enjoy the ride.”

  A few moments later, the window between us rose, giving me and Brad our privacy. I waited until the window had completely sealed off the space between the front and the back. Lowering my voice, I leaned closer to Brad, “Dude.”

  “Huh?” He ran his hand over the leather seats, still fascinated by the posh interior.

  “When we go to The Point after the dance, I need you to take Penny and go somewhere.” I tried to keep my voice low so as not to let the driver know of my romantic plans for after the dance. I wasn’t sure with the glass up if the back of the car was soundproof, but I certainly hoped it was since Tabitha and I might be making some sounds I’d be rather embarrassed for him to hear.

  He lowered his head slightly and glared at me. “And where exactly am I supposed to take her?”

  “I don’t know. Sit on that bench in front of the overlook and make out with her or something.” I threw my hands up and rolled my eyes. “Take her into the woods. I don’t care. Be creative.”

  “Pfft. You are so convinced that she’s going to let you go all the way with her, aren’t you? You could be wrong, you know.”

  I felt my blood pressure rising. “She puts out for every guy she’s ever asked out. Why do you think I would be any different?”

  He sat back. “You seem so sure it’s gonna happen. I wouldn’t count my chickens before they hatch.”

  “Oh, thank you Great Master of Clichés for imparting that priceless piece of wisdom.” I lowered my eyebrows at him. “I’ve waited fifteen years for this night and I’m going to use every little trick I know to get into her panties.”