Date: Sat, 22 May 2010 12:01:51 +0200
From: Anonymous Anonymous <niftyauthor@live.se>
Subject: Southern Sweethearts, Chapter 1

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Hey guys. I've written a lot in the past, and randomly got
inspiration to write a new story. I haven't written in about 7 months, so
let me know if I need to improve on anything. I realize that I switch
tenses a lot, but I don't think it's that big of a deal. You are welcome to
suggest things about the story, but I can't promise I'll implement them. If
I get a good enough response from this chapter, I will write the next.
E-mail me at niftyauthor@live.se


What a summer it had been. I was sitting there on my front porch, watching
the intense Sun sink below the Southern horizon. The cool wind blowing
across my face gave little comfort to the fact that my senior year of high
school was approaching. I recall whining to my mom as a child about how I
couldn't wait to grow up. Well, if only I could go back. I'd be turning 18
that September; just one month away. It seems like yesterday that I was
walking into middle school with high hopes of seeing at least one fight.
It's funny how your desires can change in such a short time.

But, despite my reminiscences, I know that we all have to grow up sometime,
and that I did. Over the summer, I'd grown to a sweet height of 5'10. Maybe
that's not so tall compared to some guys my age, but it beats the hell out
of the 5'5 I was sporting the year before. Call me a late bloomer if you
want, 'cause I am. I won't deny that I'm a bit small for my age. At 125lbs,
I have to be careful to watch what I eat... joke. The fact is that I'd been
trying to gain weight all summer to no avail. It's pretty embarrassing when
you're 16 year old brother can march around the house carrying you over his
shoulder. But, what the hell; not everyone is a meat head.

I stood up and walked inside my house. I'm not one to brag, but my parents
did a fine job of building this beautiful house. They are by no means rich,
but growing up poor, they sure do know how to manage their money. I'll
never know how they managed to afford these giant windows that face the
dirt roads that go in both directions along our house, or the neverending
pastures that make me proud to be from Oklahoma. The smell of cornbread and
fried chicken wafted through the house as I walked upstairs. My mom's
cooking made my mouth water, despite me having eaten it for the past 17
years of my life. She's always saying how she needs to get fatter chickens
to get some meat on my bones, but I don't know why she bothers.

I ventured up the stairs and into my room, and as I flopped down on my bed,
I hugged my pillow. Call me sad, but come on, you know it's comforting. Let
me tell you now that I am a dreamer. No, not the kind that lies around
wondering what it'd be like to have a million dollars (although the thought
has crossed my mind). More like, the kind whose thoughts always consist of,
"What would it be like if he'd just talk to me?". You know.. the depressing
kind. I can't stop these thoughts from entering my head. I mean, every
teenager yearns to be freed from the burden of loneliness. I was no
different. Unlike my heterosexual peers, though, I didn't have the luxury
of going from partner to partner every other week.

No, in fact, the small amount of gay guys that there were in my town
weren't even worth my time. They're what you would call a 'stereotypical'
gay. All they care about is sex. I mean, we've all heard the stereotype
that guys only have one thing on their minds, but that isn't true. However,
with these guys, I wouldn't doubt that it was. It also doesn't help that
they can't seem to even hold their wrist straight. What possesses these
guys to perpetuate the bitter stereotypes that plague the gay community? I
mean, consider me; I'm a scrawny guy. I have a feminine body, even. But, I
don't walk around in skin tight jeans, or boasting eyeliner. That's totally
not me, nor is it of interest to me.

For the last three years of high school, I have had the hopes that a
"regular" guy would come to my school. But, hope doesn't make things come
true; it just keeps us sane. This was my last year of high school, though,
and I was hoping more than ever. I even caught myself waiting until 11:11
to silently murmur to myself the wish I knew so well, in hopes that for
some reason, it'd change things. It never did, though. Or, it hasn't
yet. But, here I go hoping again: Maybe this year will be different.

I felt myself drift asleep as I got lost in my thoughts, only to be
abruptly awoken by my mom, informing me that her world famous dinner was
ready to be eaten. I got up quickly and went downstairs into the
kitchen. My brother and father were already down there. Right, my
brother.. whom I haven't mentioned. His name is Kaden, and he's much taller
than I am, despite being two years younger. He's around 6'1, and is well
built from playing football since little league. I didn't envy him,
though. There was a silent understanding that I liked being as small as I
was, so he never ragged on me for it.

I grinned to myself as I stuffed my face with fried chicken. The taste was
celestial, to say the least. My mom sure knew how to cook. I watched my
brother devour heaps of chicken and cornbread, and I wondered why he seemed
to pack on the meat whereas it was as though the food didn't affect me. I
guess I'd never know. I didn't really care, though, as long as I got to
taste it.

My parents always got done eating before my brother and I did, so they'd go
into the kitchen and start doing the dishes together. We didn't have a dish
washer, so we had to manually wash them. Their absence always gave my
brother and me a chance to talk about whatever was on our minds. Despite
being so different, my brother and I actually got along quite well. It was
a different story when we were about 8 and 10, but we're nearly adults now.

"Are you nervous for school?" Kaden asked me.

"A little bit. What about you?" I asked. 'A little bit' was a bit of an
understatement. To be honest, I was nervous for school every day. It's not
like people slam me into lockers and such anymore, but when I was a
freshman and sophomore, I was exposed to all kinds of unfathomable hatred.
If you're reading this, you probably know what I mean. Kids would try to
manipulate my friends to turn against me, they'd spread rumors, they'd
physically and verbally harass me.. it just wasn't fun. But, things have
changed since then. My whole junior year, I wasn't exposed to an ounce of
homophobia. That's a huge deal considering I live in Oklahoma. I was hoping
I'd have the same awesome luck this year. Who knows? Maybe it'd double.

"Nah, I'm pumped." he said with his mouth full. Of course he's "pumped".
He's a football player. As with most high school hierarchies, that
automatically made him popular. But, I have my own friends who keep me
sane.

That was about the extent of our conversation as I got up to stumble
upstairs. It was late now. Well, 10pm, at least, which is late considering
I had to get up at the crack of dawn the next morning. I bade my brother
goodnight, and found my way into my bed. I hugged my pillow again, and let
myself fall into dreams of experiencing pure bliss. I didn't know it then,
but I was about to find out that some wishes do come true.