14 May 2011

When Boy meets Boy..

I met my boyfriend like any other closeted twenty-first century adolescent would: on the internet. Yes, I know, this does absolutely nothing to help silence the stereotype of us viral "DL" homosexuals sneaking onto chat lines in the library, desperately in search of a taste of human interaction (other than the ordinary, platonic relationship of course). However, in my defense, I was not on the internet in search of sex. God, NO! To be completely honest, at the age of eighteen, the idea of sex alone petrified me. Well actually, not so much the notion of it, more like the actual execution. As a teenager elevating through the many levels of high school sex-ed, they never made much of a point to explain to us how the "other" orientations we learn about engage in sex. I mean, yes, I know how to get "Sally" pregnant, but how do I convince "Steve" that I'm not a total loser? Of course, like most of what we learn about sex when we are younger, my peers did prove to be most helpful on the subject. No, they didn't give me a full-on tutorial or anything like that, but through their jokes and insults I was able to get somewhat of a hint: "Shut up man, your acting like you take it in the butt or something." Not the most ideal of educating vehicles, but when you have nothing else, you take what you can get.

Back to my boyfriend: So I met him on the internet about two years ago on one of the many social networking dating sites available to a gay teenager. Although if you ask him, he'll probably say we met through mutual friends, or some other similar lie. I checked out his profile and about a day or so later realized he sent me a message. Okay, so this might seem like a calm, ordinary, everyday thing to ya'll, but for me, this was EPIC! His name was Joel, cute, Puerto Rican (just how I like them), and twenty-three. Everything about him, down to his pictures, his page, his "self-summary," (minus the typos) had me knee-deep in "like" with him. So naturally I replied to his message, said some corny joke/excuse as to why I didn't send him one first and gave him my number.

The first telephone call went well, at least as well as I imagined it could go. I remember it was at night, and I remember my heart wouldn't stop racing. Just this constant pounding on my chest, from start to finish, so much so I feared he may be able to hear it through my receiver. He didn't . . . well, not that he told me anyway. We started off pretty casual, asked all the usual questions: hobbies, work, school, interests, etc. I doubt he'll remember this now, but I actually got him to sing to me during our very first conversation. (We also had phone sex later, but that's a story for another time and for another blog). But then it happened, he asked me a question that my school-yard, cafeteria jokes education didn't quite prepare me for: "So, are you a top or bottom?" Am I a what or a what!?! Of course, this is not what I said to him, but certainly what I was thinking. Yet, being the sly, cunning individual I am, I managed to counter with this, "Umm, a little bit of both?" to which he replied, "Oh, so you're vers? That's cool, but I'm mostly top." To which I replied, "Umm, yeah, actually, I'm mostly bottom too." If only I knew then, what I was truly getting myself into.

To be continued.....

Point of Conversation: The internet saves poor, closeted, teenage boys' lives.


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