A Gay Polyester High School Romance

by S. W. Ballenger

  “Momma told me to,” I answered like a five-year-old as I hung my head then looked up at him nodding like a good boy. “Always lock the patio door when we go out.”

  “We could have just snuck in,” he said, his voice full of frustration as he finally pulled out the key and stuck it in the doorknob.

  “I so sorry.” I maintained my child-like voice as I came up behind him and slung my arms around him. “I love my Braddy.”

  “Stop it, Shawn. You’re drunk!” He tried to slog me off before the door flew open causing me to stumble in and land face-down on the carpet.

  About that time, I heard Brad whisper “Oh shit” from behind me before I raised my head and saw a pair of Birkenstocks attached to a pair of hairy legs. I followed the legs up until I reached the contorted red face of my father looking down at me.

  Me being “Mr. Life-of-the-Party”, jumped to my feet, open my arms wide and said in my best Italian accent, “Hello, Maddah! Hello, Fattah!” before stumbling over to him for a hug.

  “What the hell?” he screamed then caught me in his arms as I fell.

  My mother, who had been sitting in one of the black wicker chairs, spotted my swimwear and covered her eyes. “Oh my God.”

  Having long forgotten about my too-small attire, I looked down and with sudden shock, noticed that one of my crown jewels had escaped from the vault.

  “Oh shit.” I turned around and quickly stuffed it back in place before looking up and seeing the horror on Brad’s face.

  “Shawn Robert Stuart,” my mother yelled. “What in the hell are you wearing?”

  “Umm…” I remained facing Brad, although I’m sure the sight of my partially sunburned ass wasn’t exactly something she wanted to see, either.

  Brad reached into the beach bag and threw me a towel, which I missed and had to bend over to pick up, fully mooning my parents in the process.

  “God Damnit, Shawn!” Dad yelled as I wrapped the towel around me. “Answer your mother.” His voice shook the walls.

  I gave him a panicked look, when all of a sudden the untold number of Bahama Mamas I had downed decided to make their second appearance. I put my hand over my mouth and sprinted toward the bedroom.

  Slamming through the bathroom door, I barely made it to the toilet before puking my guts out.

  After that, things went black.

  • • •

  The Caribbean sunlight shining through the glass windows of my bedroom was an unwelcome visitor. I rolled over and buried my head in the pillow, trying to block out the pain centered behind my eyeballs.

  I moaned, before turning my head to the side and opening one eye expecting to see my partner in crime, but he was nowhere to be found. Images of girls, money being stuffed in my swimsuit, and mooning my parents flashed through my pounding head.

  “Oh God.” I moaned again as I flipped onto my back and put my hand over my eyes.

  It took several moments for me to orient myself before I heard the bedroom door open and the sound of footsteps coming near the bed.

  “Your parents want to see you,” said a noticeably stern voice.

  “Oh God.” I uncovered my eyes briefly to look at Brad before covering them again.

  “Humph.” He was obviously pissed.

  “What’s wrong with you?” I asked, trying to remember what happened after getting busted by my parents.

  “Like you don’t know.”

  “No, I don’t. I just remember we were having a little fun—”

  “A little fun?” he interrupted me, his voice causing me to fold my pillow over my ears. “Having a few drinks was having a ‘little fun’, but getting wasted and doing a strip-tease for a bunch a college girls…that went beyond fun.”

  I removed the pillow from my face. “Wait. Were you jealous?” I squinted at him, not believing he could be that jealous over me flirting with a bunch of girls. After all, we weren’t some kind of couple.

  “You were ready to go back to their hotel and screw that redhead. Hmmm…what do you think?” He folded his arms angrily.

  “I don’t remember that.” I put my hand on my forehead trying to recall exactly what happened after that ninth or tenth drink. While I remembered most things, there were a few details that were a bit fuzzy.

  “Well, you should. It was an asshole thing to do after what we told each other yesterday.” He unfolded his arms.

  I laid there a moment and replayed the conversation of us confessing our love for one another.

  “Dude, I’m sorry. I was wasted. How would I have known what I was doing when I was drunk out of my skull?”

  “I should have known better than to ever have gotten us those drinks knowing how you can’t handle alcohol.”

  “I can handle alcohol,” I refuted.

  “Remember Mexico City? The piñata?” He looked at me accusingly.

  I recalled the weekend trip last summer when Dad invited me on a business trip with him and told me I could bring Brad along since he would be in business meetings most of the time. While Dad was meeting with his clients, Brad and I roamed the hotel and stumbled across a birthday party for some guy in the ballroom. The family was friendly enough to invite me and Brad to join in the fiesta which included a free bar. Many tequila shots later, I tried to strike a piñata and ended up knocking out the guest of honor.

  “That was an accident,” I tried to defend myself.

  “You weren’t wearing a blindfold!” Brad yelled.

  “I don’t remember hitting him.” I shrugged.

  “Exactly! You were drunk off of your gourd!”

  I sat up, seeing Brad wasn’t having any of it. “I’m sorry…okay…I’m sorry!” I flipped my hands over and showed him my palms. “I was drunk. What can I say?” I pleaded with him.

  “Well,” he cut his eyes to the side as if he was thinking whether he would accept my apology, “fine.” He sighed.

  “Believe me, I don’t want to see any more Bahama Mamas for a very long time.” I scooted to the edge of the bed and hung my head. “How’re Mom and Dad?” I asked as my head pounded with every beat of my heart.

  “Furious.”

  “What have they said?”

  “They want to talk to both of us.”

  “Shit.” I shook my head realizing the shaking motion made my nausea worse.

  “Yep. We’re in it deep.”

  Just as he said the word “deep”, my stomach began forcing its contents upward once again. I shot toward the bathroom and performed the all-too-familiar ritual of bear-hugging the toilet.

  • • •

  An empty-stomach later, Brad and I made the death march into the living room. I spotted Mom sitting on the sofa, reading as usual, her hair in a bun and her reading glasses resting on her nose.

  About that time, the front door opened and my dad, wearing a pair of checkered green shorts and a polo, entered. He immediately shot his angry eyes toward me and Brad.

  “I’ve taken care of the tab,” he stated as he closed the door, “forty dollars, which you two will be repaying.”

  I gave Brad a questioning look.

  He frowned. “I had to tell him how we got the drinks.”

  Dad pointed at us. “You two better be glad that the Klinkerhoffs had a sense of humor about the whole thing.”

  I had forgotten that Dad also spoke German, among three other languages, including Spanish, Japanese, and French.

  “Are you okay?” Mom asked me with a concerned look on her face. I know I’m a “Mama’s Boy.” Even after what I did last night, she still couldn’t help but being motherly. At least I felt like I had her on my side. Well, a little bit, anyway.

  “Feeling a bit queasy,” I answered.

  “He’s reaping what he sowed,” Dad said. He pointed toward the sofa. “Go sit down. We’re going to have a little talk.”

  I looked at my father thinking this was the second time in a month that I had crossed him. Either I was getting extremely brave or extremely careless; either way, it was not
good. I sat down and Brad sat next to me. I glanced down at my hand resting on the sofa mere inches from Brad’s. The temptation to hold his hand ran through my mind, but I knew that was the last thing I needed to do under the current situation, so I shifted my attention to my dad who sat in the chair opposite Mom and adjacent to Brad.

  “First, Son, let’s talk about that swimsuit. Do you think that was an appropriate piece of clothing to wear in public?” He leaned forward, the vein just above his eye throbbing.

  I hung my head in shame. “No sir.”

  “Where did you get that?” Mom asked. “It’s not one of yours.”

  I gave Brad a panicked look.

  “I saw it in one of the stores along the boardwalk and I dared Shawn to buy and wear it. That was my fault, Mrs. Stuart,” Brad covered for me.

  The last thing I wanted to do is to try and explain my sexual escapade with Susan. Sure, Dad knew about us having a good time, but I definitely didn’t want my mother to know.

  “I see,” Mom replied evenly.

  “Son,” It was Dad’s turn again, “I think we have a serious problem. This is the third time in the past month that I’ve known you to have gotten drunk.”

  “What?” My jaw dropped. “Three times? That’s a—”

  “Before you lie to me, I know for a fact you drank when we visited New York, and one of our guests at our Halloween Party told me they saw you sneaking drinks.” Dad squinted at me, daring me to deny it.

  It occurred to me in that moment that my father must have had spies following me to know that information. At least he didn’t find out about Mexico City. The thousand pesos I gave the birthday guest I rendered unconscious kept him from telling my father of my little drunken ‘accident’.

  “I’m sure it was that nosey turtle-faced Mrs. Blackforth,” I huffed, leaning back and folding my arms. “That old biddy needs to mind her own damn business.”

  “Shawn!” Mom chastised me.

  “Well, it’s true!” I pursed my lips at her and sulked like a two-year-old as I recalled the way the old bat kept eying me at my parents’ party every time I’d go near the bar.

  “It doesn’t matter who,” Dad said. “All that matters is the fact that you’re fifteen years old and seem to be well on your way to becoming a lush.”

  “A lush!” I yelled as I threw my arms up. “That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.”

  Brad came to my defense again. “He doesn’t have a problem, Mr. Stuart. I’m his best friend and I would know.”

  “Jesus Christ, Shawn!” Dad stood up. “I expect some teenage recklessness, but you and Brad stole drinks, got drunk, and walked around Nassau practically naked.” He looked at me specifically. “What were you thinking?”

  I looked at Brad and replied with the only explanation I could think of.

  “I don’t know.”

  “You’re grounded for two weeks,” Mom said.

  I held in my surprise at her announcement. I expected the punishment to be much, much worse. Good ol’ Mom; I was right about her being on my side.

  “Okay.” I hung my head and pretended that I was terribly upset about their punishment.

  “What about me, sir?” Brad raised his eyes sheepishly at my father. “Are you telling my mom and John what I did?”

  I noticed Dad glancing at Mom who gave him a knowing look. “Mrs. Stuart and I have decided not to tell your parents. As part of Shawn’s grounding, you boys will not be allowed to see each other outside of school.”

  “Yes sir.” Brad nodded respectfully.

  I looked at Mom and mouthed a silent “Thank you” for agreeing not to tell Brad’s parents. John’s punishment would have been a hundred times worse than mine and would probably result in him not getting to go on any more vacations with us.

  Mom nodded slightly.

  I stood up and Brad followed suit.

  Just as we started back to the bedroom, Mom cleared her throat.

  “Oh, Shawn, just one more thing,” Mom said, sounding like Columbo from the TV Show. “Your Granny and Granddad Bellums have been asking me when you’re coming for a visit. I know they’ll be excited to learn you’re coming to stay with them a weekend next month.”

  I froze mid-step. Just like that, the hammer fell. The one-week grounding wasn’t the punishment. This was the punishment—a weekend with my ancient grandparents in a farmhouse in the middle of nowhere.

  I immediately twisted around and began shaking my head and pleading. “Mom. Please don’t make me go stay with them. They don’t even have a TV. I’ll be bored out of my mind,” I whined.

  “Son, I think after the excitement you’ve had the past month that you could use a little boredom.” Dad huffed. “Oh, and the grounding means the rest of this vacation you and Brad will be with us at all times.” He added salt to the wound.

  “Dad.” I sounded like a five-year-old as I looked to Mom to save me. “Mom.”

  “Get dressed,” she said. “We’re going shoe shopping today. I need a new pair of pumps.” She gave me an evil grin.

  I knew there wasn’t any point arguing. My sentence had been handed down and like a condemned prisoner there was no escape.

  “Yes ma’am.” I hung my head before continuing to the bedroom where I swiftly slammed the door behind us.

  “We’re not going to be able to hang out after school for an entire week,” Brad lamented.

  “Dude! That’s nothing.” I flopped down on the bed spread-eagled on my stomach. “I’m going to be stuck with my hundred-year-old grandparents on a farm in the middle of fucking nowhere for two days milking cows and feeding pigs! I hate farm animals!” I flipped over and leaned back on my elbows and frowned at him.

  “I think you’d look cute in overalls,” he teased.

  “It’s not funny, Brad,” I said angrily. “I hate going to my grandparents.” I whipped my head to the side and scrunched my face. “They’re poor,” I spat without thinking.

  Brad’s expression suddenly darkened and I realized what I said. “Oh Brad, I’m so sorry.” I shook my head apologetically. “I was just upset and I didn’t mean that as an insult to—”

  “It’s okay. I know I’m poor.” He shrugged and sat down on the edge of the bed and stared out the patio door.

  “God!” I cursed. “I’m such an idiot.”

  “It’s okay.” He put his hand on my lower leg and rubbed it without turning from the view. “I know you didn’t mean it toward me.”

  Brad looked so lost. Scooting down the bed until I was sitting next to him, I stared at the side of his face for several moments before leaning in and giving him a peck on the cheek.

  He turned to face me; the corners of his mouth lifting slightly. I leaned in again and pressed my lips against his.

  We kissed for several moments, before I pulled back.

  “I’m sorry,” I said softly. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

  “It’s okay.” He waved his hand dismissively. “Water under the bridge.”

  Wednesday, November 21, 1973

  Dear Journal,

  The past several days have been anything but a relaxing vacation. Brad and I have been tethered to Mom and Dad like dogs on leashes. Honestly, in all my years of punishments, this one has to be the worst and that includes the time I was grounded from the television for two weeks when I was ten. That was the time I climbed up on our old neighbor Mrs. Ward’s roof and rolled her clay flower pots down the pitch just to watch them bust on her driveway. I guess it was a good thing Brad wasn’t with me that day. John would have whipped him so hard, he wouldn’t have been able to sit down for a month.

  Today, Dad decided to go fishing with his new “nudist” friend, while Brad and I were stuck with Mom shopping for the perfect décor for the guest bedroom. Talk about pure torture. Brad and I didn’t make it easy on her, though. We played with the store merchandise, made snarky comments about people, pretended to be mentally handicapped, and pretty much did anything to be annoying. I know we’r
e both fifteen, but we behaved more like we were ten. By the end of the day, she was ready for a drink.

  Things between me and Brad have changed. We kiss, and it feels good, but honestly I’m still scared with anything that goes beyond that; although I feel my fear fading each day I’m with him. I’m still having a difficult time coming to terms with the fact that…I mean, it’s even hard for me to write it in this journal…the fact that I like guys in that way. I guess there’s no denying that now, but acknowledging it and acting on it are two different things.

  ~ Shawn

  Chapter Ten

  Thanksgiving Day had arrived. While all my friends and their families were spending a blustery thirty-degree Thanksgiving in Connecticut, my family, Brad, and I were spending it in the beautiful eighty-degree sunshine of the Bahamas.

  For our Thanksgiving Dinner, Dad boiled some fresh lobsters, while Mom fixed potato salad, corn on the cob, and cheese biscuits.

  The four of us sat on the back patio just after dinner enjoying the last warm evening of our vacation. I sat in a reclining chair in Bermuda shorts and a tank, while Brad sat in the chair next to me wearing Bermuda shorts and an old crop-top football jersey. I glanced at his blond hairy legs, following them up to his Bermuda shorts, up to his beautifully exposed abs.

  With his arms folded behind his head, he looked so sexy. If he only knew how that shirt drove me crazy. Of course, knowing Brad, he wore it on purpose just to see if he could get a reaction from me.

  Without warning, he turned his head to me and caught me staring at his torso, then flashed his pearly whites. I immediately looked away at being caught.

  A few moments later, he stretched his arms farther back over his head and let out a big yawn, causing the shirt to ride up, exposing his chest. That confirmed my suspicions; he knew exactly what he was doing.

  “You boys can go for a walk if you want to,” Mom stated, interrupting my naughty thoughts.

  I glanced at her and Dad sitting in the outdoor swing at the end of the patio. Noticing they were holding hands, it became obvious that they wanted some alone time. Seeing that I couldn’t keep my eyes off Brad’s body, a bit of exercise would be a welcome distraction.