CHAPTER 4
THE NEXT MORNING GAYLORD awoke with a jump. He had been dreaming and his mind was still trapped between the dream and the early morning light coming through the blinds. He tried to remember, tried to recall the dream that had left his heart pounding, his body quivering, but he couldn't. It had vanished like the darkness. It took him several seconds to come to himself and to the reality of his surroundings. Had he really been dreaming of Blake? There had been many dreams in his life lately, and the ones about Robert Blake were so real, that even on awakening he could have sworn they had actually happened.
He ran a hand over his jaw feeling the few bristles that had sprouted in the past few days; rubbed his drowsy eyes with both hands; yawned and stretched for the ceiling. He started to worry; folded his hands under his head and stared at the visions playing tricks with him. The violent and disconnected happenings of the past evening lulled within him, and as he came to full wakefulness he felt a subtle alteration in the atmosphere of the room. Was this really his room? His storehouse of earthly possessions? His eyes gazed about the room as his fingers groped around his groin. Had that really happened or was it only a lost dream? Surely, no other boy had ever been called a girl before.
The dance, the slim vocalist, the music, even Robert Blake became a blur of nothingness, but the drunkard was vivid in his mind. He felt of his check. It was true, for the check was slightly swollen.
Why, puzzled Gaylord, had the drunk chosen him to dance with? Amazing.
Shaking himself out of his self-absorption, he glanced at his watch. "Darn, it's only ten to seven," he mused. "Oh, well …" He yawned again and a little smile crept across his face. Delicate laughing lines formed under his eyes. He had been mistaken for a girl. All his life he had viewed the thought with wonderment: a boy who should have been a girl. For a long time that had been a dream but last night it had almost happened.
"… you beautiful doll." The words were clear and real this time.
His eyes closed and blinked open again. It was amusing now and he felt complimented by the mistake. He was different, separated from masculinity more than ever. The words came back, served to remind him of his secret longing, and remained.
Gaylord tossed on the bed, wondering if Blake would like him if he had been a girl, recalled how always there had been something dreamlike about Robert Blake. But then, so many things seemed like dreams to him. That man at the dance last night. Surely that had been a dream. The way that woman pawed over Max … a dream. Thelma White. That also seemed like a dream now … like something that had not actually happened. That just couldn't happen to him. It was dream stuff. Or was it all real and true and was it that he, Gaylord, was the dreamer?
Well, he'd find out when he saw her again. If she smiled at him in that ugly way of hers he'd know if it was really a dream or not.
Thelma White …
Gaylord wanted to forget that name. He didn't want to ever hear it again. She had tricked him … had even mentioned something about Robert Blake … what had she said about Blake?
Robert Blake … Bob.
Good-looking, honorable, and strong. He knew his own mind. He'd never go with a girl like Thelma White … she had lied about him. He'd never make fun of anyone or even allow someone to say ugly things about his friends … not Bob … not Bob. Yes, Bob was good. He would be so proud to have him for a friend. But he thought of Joy.
Joy …
Where did he and Joy go last night?
They had probably gone for a ride after the dance … a long ride, looking for some secluded place to park … a place where they could be alone.
Fiercely he wished he were a girl, so that Joy could never have him. In the next breath he prayed, "Oh God, why wasn't I a girl. I'd never complain again if I was a girl …"
He kicked off the sheet and sprang from his tumbled bed. He wore pajama pants but no coat, and was apparently warm, for under his nose were drops of perspiration. He ran across the room, stood in front of a mirrored door. "I haven't changed," he said, facing it. "I still look the same … my face and chest do." His hand moved over his chest, pressed against his warm flesh. He brushed back curls from his forehead, pressed them in place. Lazily, he looked at his reflection and his movements were slow and easy as if with the drug of vanity. He noticed the red spot on his cheek. "Son-of-a-bitch," he murmured. "It is true … it did happen."
With a sharp jerk he untied his pajamas. They fell breaking about his ankles like hungry ocean waves. He stepped out of them and stood naked before the mirror. "It's still there," he said. "I wish it weren't." He pulled at the coiling growth. What he saw only dissipated the clarity of reality. He tightened the smooth and developed muscles of his buttocks, watched his thighs grow firm and hard. Looked at himself a long time, trying to discover some invisible part upon his flesh.
"I wish I were built like Bob," he cried. "I'm too white. I've got to get a tan … Damn … life's so complicated." How could life ever be happy for him?
He went to the bathroom and stepped under the shower. The tingling sensation of the water hitting his body felt good. He turned on more hot water, his skin reddened, and he uttered a cry and bit his lips. This wouldn't give him bronze skin. How silly could you be? He looked down at his body again, rubbed a delicately scented soap over it, looked at the growth-like shadows around his groin. He hadn't changed. In fact, he seemed to have grown.
Oh, Bob … Bob, he thought, and the blood in his veins hardened and grew warm. He tightened his palm, and out of the pounding motions, came; I shouldn't do this … I'll feel tired afterwards … I'll … he closed his eyes and wished he had never begun this evil vice but already he had capitulated to his lust which was a depraved way for sex, he told himself. He wasn't so damn different. He was just like the rest … just as bad as any other fellow. But all boys did this … it came with growing up. Even men, he was told, found in this act the keenest pleasure for pent-up emotions seeking release; It was simple … so easy to do … with a girl it took time … many dates and time. With a girl you had to take your time. With some girls you didn't. He remembered his first terrifying experience … remembered where and just how it had happened. He never wanted to go through that again … never.
Gaylord had often wondered why boys carried pictures of naked men and women with them. He had a couple of them locked in his dresser but he wouldn't think of carrying them on his person or showing them to anyone. But every once in awhile he would take them out of his dresser drawer and look at them. Especially the one of a naked man about to mount a girl reclining on a divan. The man in the picture did have a handsome body. Not fat and ugly like most of the pictures he had seen. But he was always afraid his mother or father would find them. He would certainly have been ashamed … sex had never been mentioned in his family and he was glad that his father had never told him the facts of life. But he had learned … learned through the boys at school.
He walked from the shower and settled his naked body back peacefully on his bed. He felt relaxed but he was sorry he had been too weak of character to stop before it was too late. That first time he had done this had been terrifying, painful. But after the pain it did relax your mind … still afterwards he hated himself for this weakness, making promises it would never happen again. But it had continued … his resistance had been beaten again and again, unable to cope with the burning inside. Still it was better than with a girl … God, yes … that one and only time with that girl was awful … terrible …
"I wonder if Bob does," he mumbled. "Wonder if he does that more than with girls … bet he's had lot of girls … anyone he wants … they all like him … I wish he liked me."
To his disgust, Gaylord found that the morning school bell had rung. He walked down the hall thinking, I could go back home, but I might just as well go on in and face them … guess they'll crack some smart remark about my being late … I wish I didn't feel like a stranger walking into that darn room. I wish I was at my desk. I'll go home … no … I'd better not," he thought suddenly. "If I go home I won't see Bob … I've just got to see him … wonder if he saw me last night … wonder what he thinks if he did …"
He opened the door and walked to his desk.
"Gaylord, let's try and be on time," the teacher said before he had a chance to sit down.
"I'm sorry, Miss Grey," he answered. "My watch must be slow." As he looked down at his watch, he heard several giggles.
"Let's leave just a little earlier from now on."
"Yes, ma'am."
He did not look about him. He was much too preoccupied with his books. He wondered if his teacher knew what had happened this morning … could the others read his mind? Was she at the dance last night? How many in this room were? "I hope they didn't see me," he prayed. "Oh God, I hope they didn't."
"Morning, Gay," whispered a feminine voice from behind him.
He turned his head slightly. "Morning, Joy," he answered shyly.
Wonder if she saw me? He didn't mind so much if she had. She wouldn't tell anyone or even let him know she had. But suppose one of the boys had heard the drunk. Nothing could be worse than that. Bet Bob wouldn't say anything. He didn't go around hurting people's feelings. There sure was something appealing about him. Anything he did was all right with everyone. Well, after all, why not? Wasn't he the star football player?
He thought of the time Blake's car battery had been dead and how he had asked for a push. He remembered Blake saying, "Gay, could you give me a push … Go easy so that your bumper doesn't get scratched …" What difference if it did. Blake was worth more than an old bumper to him. He was so glad that Blake had asked him, he didn't care about a few scratches …
The sun was up and beautiful over the school, and the small open windows between the wings caught its rays and sent them inside the cool classroom. In a corner a spider was already busy weaving a larger web. It looked all silvered with dew hanging there from sky hooks. From the spider Gaylord's gaze fell on a new face seated across the aisle opposite him. He wondered why he had not noticed him before. Obviously he had been there all the time.
Gaylord's heart jumped. He was a handsome boy sitting there behind the desk. And when he smiled deep dimples formed in his cheeks. His hair was neatly plastered down and his clothes were very clean.
Gaylord pushed at his books, knocking a pencil to the floor. He didn't see it fall and was surprised when the boy handed it to him saying, "You dropped this."
"Oh, thanks … I didn't know I dropped it."
"You're welcome."
Gaylord wanted to say something else, but when words wouldn't come, he smiled. He felt the blood creeping into his cheeks and silently cursed himself. There was something warmly companionable about this boy. "I need someone," thought Gaylord desperately. "I need someone and I believe he needs someone too. I'm young, maybe, only seventeen. But I'm older than my years in some things. But there is no one to understand …" Maybe he would understand … maybe …
The gym director waited for them. He stood there, one foot on a folded chair. Instead of looking at them, he seemed to be watching his feet. He was a short, bushy man with green eyes and deep red hair. For a while he watched his foot on the cement floor. Then he looked at them and stood on both feet. "Everybody here? Get yourselves stripped and dressed in a hurry, men," he yelled. "We've got lots to do today." He shifted his stare over the class. Then noticing Gaylord who had just come through the swinging doors, his ugly mouth opened again. "Did ya hear what I said, Le Claire? Get the load outa your butt and today I want you back here on time." His screaming crossed the room.
"Yes, sir." And Gaylord walked to his locker and began undressing.
He wondered if it would ever be possible, in this world, that he would one day hold his face up to his gym teacher and they would look directly into each other's eyes. I'd sure like to tell him to go to hell, he thought. And someday I'm going to.
He tugged at the buttons on his shirt and slowly uncovered his chest. He strove against his warm-fleshed nudity as he pulled off his underwear. He felt eyes watching him standing there naked and he was glad he wasn't short and fat like some of the others. He grabbed his blue gym trunks and quickly slid his slender legs through them.
He stood there with the others, arms folded, waiting for the instructor to speak. He looked at the tangled hair, the blotted pinkish chest of his teacher and the dirty red trunks around the flabby waist. You ugly thing, he thought. You filthy person. At least you could have your trunks washed.
He squirmed, wishing they'd start, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. He hated the class and after the first trying week, was on the verge of quitting, but decided against it. He was determined to have a good physique, and the exercises would do that for him. He had worked hard all year but it had been worth it. He had developed handsomely. Even his hatred for his teacher had subsided at times—other times his hatred had deepened.
There was a mad scramble of naked legs and arms when the instructor yelled, "That's it for today, fellows. Hit the showers!"
Gaylord stepped aside to let a running boy pass. Another stuck out his foot and tripped the would-be Mercury … then laughed. They all laughed at the sprawled out body on the floor, all except Gaylord. To him, it wasn't funny … why, the fall could have broken a leg.
Yells of delight filled the room and echoed in the huge beams overhead.
Gaylord slowly walked to his locker. He was anxious for the others to shower and leave. He wanted to be alone when he took off his trunks. Wanted to be alone when he stood under the long line of showers.
He opened his locker and ran his hands through his pants' pockets … trying to locate something … anything to take up time. Then he hung them back, glanced around the almost deserted room. I guess I've taken long enough, he thought. I'm glad some don't take showers. They sure must smell.
He took off his trunks and walked rapidly toward the swinging doors.
A husky boy wildly pushed it open and came running toward him. His naked body and flying hair dripped with water and his face gleamed with excitement. Right behind were two others running after him. One had a filled sponge which he threw but missed, and the other a dripping towel he kept snapping at the boy's buttocks in front of him.
"Look out, Gay," screamed the water-soaked individual, running past. His arms flying through the air, his face filled with wild excitement and laughter. He quickly turned his head to see how far behind his pursuers were.
Gaylord tried a faint smile, watched him. It was not until he turned that he discovered the boy with the towel had stopped beside him. He saw the big feet and hairy legs standing in front of him. He cringed, expecting to feel the wet cloth fall across his own bottom.
"Hey fellows," the boy bellowed, squinting his devilish eyes. "Come back here. I want you to see something." He pushed back the dripping hair from his forehead.
Gaylord heard the scuffling of returning footsteps. He didn't know what was going to happen, but he was sure it wasn't going to be anything pleasant. How can I get away, he pondered quickly … I've got to get away.
"Whataya want, Pete?" asked one, looking at the boy with the moving towel.
"Look," he laughed, pointing at Gaylord. "Look at the tool this sissy's got."
Gaylord's legs began to tremble.
Pete continued. "Shit, I thought you had the biggest one in school, Stud, but Pretty Boy here's got you bested by a couple of inches."
Gaylord put both hands over his groin. They followed as he walked.
Stud went on. "What's the matter, Pretty Boy? Don't you want to show it off? You ought to be proud of that honker."
Gaylord tried to grin. "It's nothing to show off."
"Ain't it?"
"No."
"Does it make the gals squeal, Pretty Boy?"
"Hell, even I get a grunt out of them when I poke this in them," grinned Stud. "With a jock like that you ought to make them yell, Daddy." He held out his own. "Let's measure. Let's see how much longer it is than mine."
"I've got to take a shower, Stud."
"Hell, you ain't dirty, Pretty Boy. What's your hurry? You didn't answer my question."
Gaylord sputtered, "What question?"
"Does it make the gals squeal?"
"Shit, Stud … he ain't ever had a piece of ass, have you, dearie?"
I certainly have, Gaylord wanted to shout but he only walked on.
Stud grabbed him by the arm … said, "Come on, let's measure."
"Let's get it hard, first," Pete giggled, and reached between Gaylord's legs.
"Don't Pete," Gaylord pleaded with disgust. "Please don't."
"Please don't," Pete sarcastically mocked him. "Mama's baby don't want the rough boys playing with his peter, does he?"
Gaylord slapped the hand on his flesh and demanded. "Leave me alone." He continued walking slowly. They followed too close.
One whistled and laughed. "Fellows … look at that pretty ass … how'd you like a crack at that, Stud? Bet it'd be better than that whore you've been screwing." He slapped the naked cheeks and the sound echoed.
He wanted to run but was afraid they'd trip him. He had to use his head. He wouldn't let them get the best of him … but what could he do?
"Look how soft and shaky it is too," laughed Pete. He shook the flesh and followed it with a lightning-quick slap.
Gaylord's buttocks burned and so did his mind. "I said I've got to take a shower … leave me alone, damn it, and I mean it."
"Why, Gaylord, you said a nasty word." Stud put his hand on his naked chest. "Shame … shame. Don't you like flattery. All the girls think your face is so pretty. Well … we like your cute butt," he giggled. "Don't we, fellows?"
"Sure we like it … in fact we like it so much let's all have a crack at it, huh?"
"Sounds good to me. I ain't ever corn-holed anybody before, but I'll try anything once."
Gaylord took another step, then tried to run. It was like a horrible dream when you tried to scream but no sound came. He couldn't escape now. They had circled him, and, quick as a cat, one had thrown one arm about Gaylord's neck and pressed hard. He put his other arm around his waist and Gaylord felt parts of their bodies touch.
"Come on dearie … I'm hotter than a bitch dog … ain't had a piece in two days. Ain't ever been up the back door," he laughed.
Gaylord's waist hurt from the tight gripping. "Don't," he cried. He broke away from the boy.
"Aw … come on." He picked up a piece of soap from the floor and massaged it in his wet hands. It lathered freely and with these hands he grabbed Gaylord. "Come on … I'll fix you up."
"And you said you ain't been up the back door before, Pete."
"That's what I said, but I'm a damn liar."
"That's what I thought," laughed Stud.
"I'll show you how it's done," grinned Pete. "I'll be first."
"Like hell you will," snapped Stud, and grabbed Gaylord. His bareness touched Gaylord's leg. The leg jerked as though a live flame had been put to it. His legs came out of the paralysis then and he kicked and struggled. At that, Stud pressed his body closer to his, pinning Gaylord against him.
Gaylord was crying inside his head. They can't do this to me. Why should they always pick on me? I've never hurt them. Around his waist the wet hands tightened and a swish of wet cloth circled his knees. He turned and stared at the exposed part of Stud's body in paralyzed horror. It was wormy white contrasted with the ugly sallowness of his face and hands. He felt the same kind of nausea he had once felt when he had gone out with Thelma White, but this was worse. He saw the cruel tense look in the smoky eyes. And now he felt hard flesh against him. While his head rocked, he tried with his legs to free himself. With his elbows he tried to jab Stud's sides. "Let me go," he sobbed. Squirming and kicking he tried again to be free.
"Let's carry him to the can."
"Yeah. No one's there now. Grab his legs."
"Yeah, grab his legs," repeated Pete.
The naked body pressed closer against his back and skinny strong arms went around his chest. Two more hands grabbed for his kicking legs, holding one firmly in a vise-like grip. Gaylord twisted, screamed and kicked backwards with his free leg. He was without fear now. Through a drunken blur that filmed his eyes, he fought back the best he could. The kick brought results. It struck Stud in his groin.
"God damn you son-of-a-bitch," Stud yelled in pain. He let go for a second then tightened his arms around Gaylord again. His stiff naked body drew closer. "I'll give it to you right here if you don't stop that kicking … you damn jackass."
And now they were all around him. He couldn't run. He couldn't even kick any more. Please God, he prayed, let someone come along. He was cornered. Trapped. Already his feet were off the floor, there was no way to free himself … he was helpless … please … he prayed again … don't let them do this to me … please … don't let them …
Robert Blake carelessly walked toward the school gym and stood barefooted on the top level watching two little girls playing jacks. One of the children grinned, showing a large gap.
"What happened to those two pretty teeth you had the other day, Marion?" he asked.
"They fell out, Bob, but the rabbit gave me two nickels for them."
"That so?" He grinned and patted her head playfully. "Now you'll get two new teeth, won't you, and you'll have two nickels too."
"I sure will," she smiled. She liked Robert Blake. He had bought her ice cream several times but that wasn't the real reason. He was so pretty and always spoke to her. He always took time out to say something to her. Had even played jacks with her. She looked up at him and asked, "Want to play jacks with us?"
"Not now, honey … I've got to take a shower."
Innocently, she looked at his naked chest and legs. "Did you lose your shoes?"
"Uh huh," he teased. "Can I wear yours?"
"They wouldn't fit, silly." She looked at his big feet.
"Don't think so, huh," he chuckled. "No … I don't guess they would."
What was that? Sounded like a scream from the gym … Blake perked his head and listened … Yes, there it was again, faint but real. Someone was in trouble. He'd better hurry.
He raced towards the gym door, caught the handle in his large hand. It grated noisily on its hinges and swung open. It was warm in the gym and the smell of sweat caught in his nostrils.
He saw the group of boys and thought it was a fight. Then he saw Gaylord, his face streaked with fear, being carried helplessly towards the toilets. Blake felt a trembling inside him, seeing Gaylord make a pathetic gesture as though to lift his tormentors. He saw the lips moving, shaping cries, but they were low and tired. Blake rubbed his knuckles together angrily. He was on his heels.
Gaylord heard the sound, looked up and saw Blake running towards him. He was running madly and his yells were loud and demanding, filling the deserted gymnasium with a resounding echo.
"What the hell's going on in here?" he demanded.
The eyes of the three boys, their hands loosening their deathlike grip, watched the tall, glistening figure running towards them. Saw the long masculine legs, shadowed by curly hair sprinkled even and thickly, continuing over the expanding chest. Dark olive skin that started on the broad forehead, covered the large biceps of both arms and ran below the knees to the tensely drawn thighs. The hair was short and glistening. Strands fell over the frowning forehead and the white gymnasium trunks made the waist look even smaller. They met his glare with a sheepish grin; their hearts pounded faster, this time from fright.
Stud's lip curled back to show a broken tooth, said, "Hi, Bob."
Blake's entire body was wracked with anger. The tears he saw squeezing through Gaylord's eyes were held tightly back as though he were ashamed of them, but the illness inside his own heart was the worst he had ever experienced. Three of them, he thought angrily. Three of them against one … chicken shit bastards. "Put him down!" he demanded. His voice was a loud explosion and his dark eyes a cold stare. The three boys still held their prize. "I said put him down!" and Blake grabbed Stud by the arm fiercely. His big hands were tight and cruel. Stud did as he was bid and the others followed. Gaylord was free.
He said nothing, only stood there limp. He wanted to cry, but couldn't. The Greek god standing there wouldn't want him to cry. And he wouldn't. He held his teeth together hard. He felt his fear leaving him and recognized in this bronze body, everything he himself didn't have. He wasn't jealous, only admiring.
Stud twisted his lips after Blake's release. "Look what we found, Bob. A Venus." He giggled nervously.
"Yeah, a Venus with a penis," laughed Pete, twisting the towel he still held. "A Venus with a penis," he repeated. "That's good, ain't it?"
The three boys tried to laugh.
Blake stood there and his muscles looked and were strong and powerful. "Fine thing," he finally said and his eyes were mean. "I'm surprised at you guys. Trying to be tough, huh. Why don't you call some more so you can really get him down? There's only three of you … That's chicken, all right. Damn shame I call it when three grown men jump on one. Damn shame …" He turned to Gaylord. "Are you all right, Gay?" He grabbed Gaylord's hand.
The hand felt good. "I'm all right," Gaylord said but he could still feel what had touched his body. He felt like the skin would be eaten away there.
"I'm surprised at you, Stud. Picking on someone smaller than you." Blake looked at the big-eared boy.
"He's bigger than Stud in places, Bob. Look." He pointed, and Gaylord grew crimson.
Blake did look and Gaylord had an impulse to run, but the hand on his shoulder was enough to stifle that impulse completely. He could not leave Blake. He looked up at him and there was no youth in his eyes now, no tenderness, no gaiety. Blake stared at the three boys with burning gravity, his whole expression that of a man mad enough to kill and powerful enough to do so.
"Shut up … God damn you," Blake shot at them.
The three shrank back.
"Hell, Bob," one whined, "you don't have to get so red ass. We were just having a little fun … weren't going to hurt him." He tried to grin. "Can't a fellow have a little fun?"
"Not when it means hurting someone. Not as long as I'm around, no one's going to have fun at someone else's expense. Now get out, get out—and if I ever catch you doing this again I'll forget I'm a gentleman."
"We weren't going to do anything … Hell …"
"I said scram … Get out of here before I kick the shit out of the whole damn bunch of you." Blake yelled between clinched teeth.
And each boy thought he would do just that. They sneered but backed away.
"Come on, Gay." Blake grinned and put an arm around Gaylord's shoulder. "Let's take a shower. Maybe that'll get rid of this stink around here."
They walked toward the shower, Blake with his arm still around Gaylord. One of the boys yelled at them, "Be careful he don't knock you up, Pretty Boy." Then, all three hurriedly ran from the gym.
"Bastards," Blake muttered without even looking back.
"Thank you, Bob," said Gaylord gratefully. "I don't know what I would have done if you hadn't come along."
"Forget it, Gay. We'll both feel better after a shower."
Gaylord thanked him again. They walked through the swinging doors together and crossed the shower's tile floor.
They stood in front of the showers and Gaylord watched Blake's thick fingers strip off his trunks, pull them down over his hips. Then they fell of their own accord to his feet, a circle of white, whiter than the sudden exposed buttocks. He watched Blake scratch his ribs and was surprised that he wasn't embarrassed.
"Damn … water's cold," Blake grinned under the heavy spray. "Come here, Gay … this will make you feel good."
Gaylord caught the extended hand and stumbled after Blake under the cool water. He flung his arms around Blake's waist. He didn't care if his hair got wet. He pressed his face against the bronze hairy chest and cried. He didn't want to, but he could no longer restrain himself.
Blake's arms encircled him, held him tenderly and pulled him closer. Their wet bodies rubbed against each other and the fragrance, water-born, scented the air. It felt comforting to be in Blake's embrace.
"Don't cry, Gay." His fingers moved across the forehead, smoothed the curled hair, mussed there, brushed them back. "They're not worth one single tear … don't cry … please don't …"
"Oh … I can't help it … I'm such a baby," Gaylord sobbed. "No wonder they pick on me … no wonder they … why am I so … so … I wish I were like them …"
"Now you know you wouldn't want to be like them …" Blake raised the dripping head with both hands. "I like you just as you are … what's wrong with you … there's nothing wrong with you … Gay."
Oh yes there is, Gaylord wanted to shout … I'm a sissy … that's why they make fun of me. I like to wear girls' clothes … powder … rouge … perfume … I don't want to like it, but I do … I'm a sissy and I can't change … I want to be a girl … was taken for a girl last night … I wish I were a girl so I could love you … I'd love you so much. He stood there in Blake's arms, crying softly. His breath caught occasionally in his throat and made him gasp. He looked up into Blake's eyes and hugged him tight, clung there voiceless …
"You know, Gay," Blake breathed softly, "you … you do remind me of a … of Venus."
He kissed the upturned lips and the spraying water formed a glass curtain of protection around them …