US by Anonymous

Author:Anonymous
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 1983-08-15T16:00:00+00:00

TONY TWO’S TALE

I never had a chance to be anything but queer. Even when I was a little boy, too little, I knew that some men looked at me in a very special way. Of course, I didn’t understand that it was because I was so pretty, prettier than most girls, and had this good body. I never did grow all out of proportion, like most boys. I didn’t have any idea of my real nature, I really didn’t. Why, I bragged about screwing girls, just like the other fellows, talked dirty and rough like they did. Of course, horsing around, wrestling and so on, I'd get these feelings, and wonder why I couldn’t sense those feelings in my friends.

Dad was always a little worried about me—I know that, now. He had me enrolled in everything that came along. Little League baseball, and earning Boy Scout badges, all that. I was sent away to camp every summer. Dad figured it would make me tough and hard and mean, just like the other boys, and so become a man he could be proud of. And yet—Dad caused it to start, he was the one who set me up.

The summer I was 14, he had to go to a big business convention, and Mother wanted to go with him because it was in New York. So this friend of the family volunteered to drive up and get me. They hadn’t told me anything about it, so I was surprised when Mr. Harris showed up and gave the camp management a letter from Dad, advising the camp that he was to take custody and see me safely home. Mr. Harris and Dad were great friends; they were always having poker nights, and every fall they went deer hunting, up in Minnesota, for a couple of weeks.

I hadn’t ever liked Mr. Harris particularly. Maybe because Dad was always holding him up as the kind of man I ought to want to be. Mr. Harris, you see, had been a pretty famous football player in college. I remember that, every time we were over at their house. Dad would ask him to tell me all about the cups and photographs and stuff on the walls of his private den. The photographs were old and faded and they looked like somebody had taken them a couple of hundred years ago, with those old-style helmets and everything. Football bored me, anyway.

Mr. Harris was a big man, broad in the shoulder and heavy in the leg. You could tell he had been a lot of muscle when he was young. He had gone to seed by my time, with a sagging waistline and jowls under his jaws. His wife was a quiet woman that I don’t remember ever having much to say, and there were two little girls, both younger than me, who were so whiny and bitchy I couldn’t stand them either.

“I guess me and you will have us a long trip together, Tony,” Mr. Harris said jovially when we met.

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