A Gay Polyester High School Romance

by S. W. Ballenger

  “I hate chili mac.” She wrinkled her nose as she hung her frayed leather purse over the back of her chair.

  “Me too.” I held up a forkful of it and dumped it back on my plate, noticing Brad had finally relaxed.

  “Someone should complain about the quality of food here. In California we had fresh fruit and salads for lunch,” Tara said.

  “Yeah, Shawn,” Brad said. “Why don’t you talk to your dad about getting us better grub?”

  “I have. He said the school can’t afford it,” I said as I lifted my fork with the canned pear slice to my mouth.

  “Who’s your dad?” Tara asked.

  “President of the school board.” Brad took a bite of his hamburger-noodle mash-up.

  Tara jerked her head back and gave me a smirk. “Ooh, big shot.”

  “Pfft,” I dismissed her.

  Hearing the sound of giggling, my attention was diverted from Tara and over to the table with Tabitha and her friends, who were all looking at me.

  Brad twisted his head around to look. “What are they giggling about, I wonder?”

  A snicker escaped from Tara leading me to immediately whip my head back to her.

  “What?” I looked at her suspiciously.

  “It’s nothing.” She snickered again before becoming serious. “Anyway, your dad and the school board. I could talk to him about the benefits of a healthier diet for the students if…you…want.”

  The laughter from the table twenty feet in front of us became louder and Tara went quiet, a grin slowly forming on her face.

  “What’s so funny?” Brad looked at Tara.

  “It’s nothing.” She turned her head away before pulling herself together and looking back. “Like I was saying—”

  At this point, I knew she knew something and I had a pretty good idea of what it was. I lowered my eyebrows at her. “Tell me what’s so funny,” I interrupted.

  “I…I…I can’t tell.” She laughed.

  “You know, don’t you?” I asked, my voice filled with anger.

  Tara hesitated a moment before nodding.

  “Know what?” Brad raised his voice.

  “Hell!” I threw my fork down on the table and watched it bounce to the floor. The people at the tables around us all turned to stare at my outburst.

  Brad raised his eyes. “What?”

  I groaned in frustration. “Some parent complained to the superintendent that my swimsuits are indecent.” I should have known that this would get out.

  Brad sat stunned for a moment before he burst out laughing, causing Tara to join him.

  “Laugh it up.” I sulked as they continued laughing hysterically. “I’d like to know who the bitch is that complained.”

  “It was Tabitha Fay’s mother,” Tara answered evenly.

  My jaw dropped. “How do you know?” I felt my blood starting to boil.

  “I heard some of the girls talking about it in the restroom.”

  “That bitch!” I yelled causing more people to look at me. Noticing the stares, I lowered my voice. “I should have known Tabitha would have something to do with it. She’s had it in for me since I dumped her. That slut!”

  I suppose I never officially dumped Tabitha. We weren’t even a couple. It was more that I ignored her until she got the message I wasn’t interested in her.

  “Calm down, Shawn. It’s not that big of a deal,” Brad tried to reassure me.

  I wanted to yell, but quickly scanned the area around us and noticed some people were still staring at us. I gritted my teeth and lowered my voice. “Yes, it is. She’s trying to get me kicked off the swim team.” I knew Tabitha felt scorned and angry, but I never thought she would go so far as trying to take away the one activity I loved most.

  Tara jumped in. “Well, it sounds like to me that Old Lady Fay is upset ‘cause her husband is lacking down there.”

  “I know Tabitha put her up to this,” I seethed with anger.

  “So, you want to hear the rest?” Tara looked at me timidly.

  “You mean there’s more?” I sat up and glanced over at Tabitha, who was now talking to one of the football players.

  “You aren’t going to like it.” Tara slumped in her chair and picked at her dinner roll.

  “What?”

  “There’s a new nickname for you going around.” Tara couldn’t even look me in the face; remaining focused on her tray.

  I stared. “What?”

  Tara finally looked at me and mumbled, “Stuffy.”

  Immediately, Brad burst out laughing again catching the attention of the tables around us. Tara snorted, then joined Brad.

  “That bitch!” I looked toward her again. “I do not stuff…anything!”

  With that, I had enough. I stood up, slammed my tray down on the table, and stormed off. I didn’t care if everyone stared at me. I just had to get out of there.

  “Dude!” Brad yelled.

  “Screw you, Brad!” I yelled back. “Screw both of you!”

  Passing a group of girls along the way, I tried to ignore them when they covered their mouths and snickered.

  Looking for a private spot, I sat down on the top step of the long flight of concrete steps. I glanced around and spotted no one within fifty feet. I was both furious and embarrassed and just wanted to be alone.

  I couldn’t decide which made me angrier: the fact that Tabitha’s mother complained or that nickname. I knew how nicknames could stay with a person for the rest of their lives. In elementary school, Gordon Shuemaker used to sit in class and pick his nose. It didn’t take long before people began calling him Booger. The nickname stuck. Nobody knows him as Gordon anymore, he’s Booger Shuemaker. Booger just took it in stride, in fact; he practically embraced it and even writes it on his assignments that he hands into the teachers. That might have been fine for him, but being called Stuffy the rest of my high school years was completely unacceptable.

  A few minutes later, I felt someone brush against my shoulder. I expected Brad, but was surprised when I looked up and saw Tara.

  “Hey,” she said as she sat down, lifted her knees up, and hugged them. “Sorry.” She laid her head on her knees and gave me a remorseful look.

  I shrugged and focused on the passing cars, sputtering their pollution from their tail pipes.

  “Listen, Shawn, it’s really not a big deal. Haven’t you learned by now teenagers are assholes?”

  “At least some of them.” I pulled my knees up and rested my elbows on them.

  Tara put her legs down and placed her hand on my knee.

  “Let me tell you a story. At my last school, I was sitting in the middle of math class when I suddenly looked down to see…well…that…I had started my time of the month—”

  “Umm, you sure you want to share this with me?” I cocked my eye toward her.

  “Yeah, I don’t care. It’s biology.” She shrugged. “Anyway, I was wearing white shorts and believe me there was no question as to what happened. I panicked, trying to figure out how to leave the room without it being seen. I raised my hand to get the teacher’s attention to go to the restroom. I always hung my purse around the back of my desk and me being as clumsy as I am, stood up and got my leg tangled in the strap causing me to fall and land flat on my back. The purse came with me and everything spilled out, include my pad.” She threw her arms out in an exaggerated gesture.

  “Oh shit.” My eyes widened.

  “Everyone laughed including Mrs. Hershfeld.” She looked upward. “God, I hated that old hag. You know what kids called me the rest of the year?” She cracked a smile.

  “I hate to ask.”

  “Tara the Tampon Terror.”

  “Oh God.” I burst out laughing and Tara followed suit. Teenagers could be downright cruel. I felt bad for laughing, but it was funny.

  “So, you see. It’s not that bad. It will pass and you’ll learn to laugh about it. So just ignore them.” She waved her hand dismissively.

  I thought about it a moment. I supposed that
within a few days some other juicy piece of gossip would start making its way around the school and everyone would forget about me.

  I shrugged my shoulders. “I guess you’re right.”

  “I know I’m right.” She playfully poked me in the ribs with her elbow.

  I focused on her cute little button nose. “You know, you’re a pretty groovy chick.”

  “I know.” She winked.

  At that moment, it occurred to me that I could really go for a girl like Tara. I mean, I had only known her for two days, but already I felt like I’d known her for years. Her quirkiness and unpretentious personality really had a way of drawing a guy in, but then there was Brad. Why couldn’t Brad be a girl? Then it would be all so simple; I’d just date Brad. He and I would get married one day, have a couple of kids, and live happily ever after.

  I looked at Tara again, realizing I was having a Star Trek-like parallel world fantasy where dudes could marry dudes and decided it was time to get real and take the most logical course of action.

  “Hey Tara, I was wondering if you’d like—”

  “Not yet,” she interrupted.

  “Huh?” I cocked my eye.

  “I’m not ready to start dating again. I just broke up with my boyfriend in San Fran a week ago.”

  I frowned, not realizing that she might have had to leave someone special behind. “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay. When I’m ready, you’ll be the first to know. Believe me.” She winked. At least I knew there was the potential for something there in the future.

  I nodded.

  Friday, November 16, 1973

  Dear Journal,

  Today was the last day of school before Thanksgiving break. Tara was right about the nickname. Paul Johnson stomped the shit out of Carl Parsons yesterday in the swim team locker room and that was the talk of the school today—not me. I’m not sure what Carl said to piss Paul off, but I quite enjoyed watching Carl get his ass kicked.

  Mr. Beltram was out today and we had a substitute named Mrs. Molar in English class. This woman is so ugly that some of the kids nicknamed her “Hatchet Head” from the flat shape of her skull that converged into a large sharp-angled nose, not unlike the shape of a hatchet blade. It became obvious she wasn’t a teacher with a formal education and was basically a babysitter for the class. Anyway, she started to write out the day’s assignments on the blackboard and wrote “Due F-i-r-d-a-y.” Graham Nelson spotted the misspelling and burst out laughing and soon the entire class joined him. The woman got so flustered she ran out of the classroom crying. I actually felt sorry for her. Now she’ll be forever known at the school as “Hatchet Head.” Poor woman.

  Tomorrow we leave for Nassau. I’m so ready for the break from this cold. The thoughts of lying on the warm beach and the sun beating down on my back are already relaxing me. It’s going to be awkward this year with all that’s happened between me and Brad, but I’m sure we will have as much fun as we always do. Now if Brad can make it through the long flight without getting sick, we’ll have it made.

  ~ Shawn

  Chapter Nine

  The sun beat down on my back as I lay on a beach towel, listening to the calming waves of the Caribbean Sea beating against the shore. The balmy eighty degree weather was a welcome relief from the winter-like weather back in Connecticut. I folded by arms beneath my head, closed my eyes, and sighed.

  Just as I let out a deep breath, I heard the buzzing of static from behind me.

  “Shit. The batteries are low,” Brad cursed as he beat on the small transistor radio with his palm.

  “There’re more batteries in the bag,” I replied, not wanting to turn my head to look at him.

  A few seconds later, I heard a plastic battery cover snap back into place before the tinny sound of Casey Kasem’s voice came through the device.

  “I need a Tab. I’m thirsty,” he declared as he propped the radio up in the sand between our beach towels.

  I wrinkled my nose at the thought of drinking that foul-tasting soft drink before glancing at him.

  “How do you drink that shit?” I asked.

  “You get used to the taste,” he said as he busied himself putting his long hair into a ponytail.

  “That stuff tastes like piss,” I replied as I checked out his muscular body from behind my reflective sunglasses. How Brad could slack off lifting weights and still look like he did when he played football was beyond me. It had to be genetics.

  Brad looked at me and grinned. “When did you drink piss?”

  “You know what I mean.” I pursed my lips at him, then settled down again as the radio caught my attention. “Hey. Turn it up,” I said, indicating the radio.

  “Why?”

  “Dude! It’s the American Top 40 countdown.”

  “You’re such a geek. Do you still write down the songs and their positions on the charts from week to week?” Brad asked as he reached into the bag to pull out the sunscreen.

  “Nope, got a subscription to Billboard Magazine.” I simpered, then sat up and turned the volume up myself.

  “You’re such a square,” Brad said as he began rubbing lotion on his arms.

  “Shut up. I love this song,” I demanded as Hello, It’s Me by Todd Rundgren began playing at number twenty-four.

  I watched as Brad squeezed a thick dollop of lotion into his palm and began rubbing it on his chest.

  “You’re using too much,” I said as the overwhelming smell of piña colada filled my nostrils. “Besides, you’re already tanned, you won’t burn. Live a little.”

  “Well excuse me, Mr. Coppertone, I don’t want to be in sunburn hell the rest of the trip.” Brad stopped and rubbed some of the excess lotion on his legs.

  “What?” I asked as his voice was drowned out by two kids laughing as they ran past us flying a kite.

  “Sunburn Hell!” Brad yelled as he finished his torso.

  “Oh. No need to shout.” I glanced up at the squawking seagulls flying overhead.

  “Can you do my back?” he asked and shoved the bottle at me.

  “I’d rather not,” I declined, leaning back on my elbows, observing the young couple helping their toddler son into the water as I tried to focus on anything but Brad’s Speedos.

  He shook the bottle at me to gain my attention. “I can’t do it myself. Besides, you’ve always done my back.” He gave me those big puppy-dog eyes. “I don’t want to be in pain the rest of our vacation.”

  I rolled my eyes and sighed. “Fine, you big baby.”

  I snatched the bottle of lotion from him and watched as he lay down on his stomach. He folded his arms under his chin and relaxed. I stared at his back, observing the striations of his muscles. Touching Brad was the last thing I wanted to do. After the two kisses between us, the thought of my body’s reaction to rubbing my hands over him worried me.

  “Hurry up,” he mumbled and closed his eyes.

  “Shut up,” I snapped.

  I squeezed some lotion into my hand and moved his ponytail to the side. Placing my palm in the middle of his back, I began rubbing in a circular motion. The small blond hairs on his back tickled my hand. I felt his smooth flawless skin as my hands moved across the taut muscles of his deltoids. Unable to control myself, my eyes wandered down to the top of his Speedo where his two perfectly round globes filled it perfectly. There was absolutely no wrinkles in the swimsuit and hugged his body like a second skin. As my hand followed my eyes, the top of his swimsuit brushed against my thumb sending shivers down my spine and straight to the one place I didn’t want them to go.

  Soon, I felt my own Speedo becoming uncomfortably tight. I knew I had to get control of myself and so I filled my head with every disgusting thing I could think of—naked old men, dead kittens, Tabitha Fay’s mother—but nothing seemed to be working.

  “You done?” Brad asked.

  “Umm…yeah,” I stuttered, concentrating on trying to alleviate my problem at hand.

  Brad raised his head and peered over his sh
oulder. “Are you okay?”

  “Fine,” I replied, realizing my mental tricks to deflate my condition had failed. That’s when I decided to opt for Plan B.

  “I’m going swimming,” I said and quickly jumped up.

  Before I could turn away and dash to the water for cover, Brad spotted the reason for my sudden urge to take a dip.

  “Wha—” He stopped, his mouth dropped open, and his eyes bulged.

  I froze like a deer in the headlights. In that moment, I wanted to die.

  My flight response finally kicked in, and I sprinted across the hot sand, practically tripping over myself to get my waist under water. Hitting the water, I fought against the waves until I waded out far enough until I was safe. I then gazed back toward the beach where I spotted Brad leaning back on his elbows with a self-satisfying grin plastered on his face.

  I narrowed my eyes and mumbled, “Bastard.” I had just been played.

  • • •

  Later that evening, Dad boiled some lobsters out on the patio and we sat around enjoying the warm tropical evening. The entire time we were on the patio, I kept checking my watch, dreading bedtime. Although Brad and I always slept together in my queen-sized bed at home, the one at the condo was a full-sized bed, and while I could accept sleeping a foot away from him at home, the size of the bed at the condo meant we would be mere inches apart. The probability was high at some point we would rub against each other and the way that my body had been reacting earlier, I’d just as soon sleep on the floor.

  I didn’t have to wait long before the dreaded time arrived.

  After brushing my teeth, I walked out of the bathroom clothed in full pajamas.

  “Since when did you start wearing pajamas again?” Brad asked; he was lying on the right side of the bed, clad only in his underwear, his arms folded behind his head.

  “Since when did you start sleeping in your underwear?” I retorted as I walked over to my designated side of the bed.