Secrets Of A Gay Marine Porn Star by Rich Merritt Read Free Book Online

except for Aunt Lydia, who was kind of loud. As I got older, the other people in the family began to notice my preference. I recall my mom once or twice saying, “Why don’t you go in there with the men?” These were subtle things. I didn’t let them bother me, really. But, still, they were there and there were other things that were beginning to add to my uneasiness.
     
    Tabernacle is also where I learned to dread recess and the playground. My cousin Amy, who was a four-year-old preschooler, and I were very close. She was a tender soul and I always felt very comfortable with her. We looked alike and felt the same way about a lot of things. Amy and I got together whenever we could at kindergarten. When I was with Amy, I enjoyed the time on the playground. Our meetings were usually limited to recess, however, because we were separated by a grade most of the time. When she wasn’t around, I preferred to play by myself, left to explore the fantasy world in my head. I even had an imaginary friend, Susie, who I often used to replace Amy when she was absent.
    One day while I was seated alone on the bleachers, daydreaming, I was jolted into reality by the comment of a girl walking by.
    “Look at that kid,” she said to her friend, unmindful that I could hear her. “He’s always by himself.”
    I was puzzled. I not only thought the girl was unkind—pointing me out to her friend—but I also thought she was a liar. I wasn’t always alone, I was usually with Amy, and even on this day, I was with my pretend friend, Susie. But of course I could not tell them that.
    I watched the two girls as they walked by. Had she intended to criticize me? It had never occurred to me before that being alone was something undesirable. While I enjoyed my time with Amy, I didn’t mind being by myself. Was there something wrong with it? With me? The time I spent with my family was what really mattered to me because, at this point, home was a very supportive environment. As long as I was going to be leaving school and going back home, I was fine knowing that “aloneness” was sometimes an option for me.
    I looked around the playground and it was as if I had been let in on a secret—most of the other kids were playing with someone, or in a group. There were only a few other isolated souls on the outskirts of the playground area.
    I tried to think of a solution but the alternative to being alone, I realized, was unthinkable. I would have to talk to someone, or worse, play ball. That I could not do. The boys scared me. And so, I stayed where I was. Alone.
    The next day, Amy was at school and she and I met on the playground after class, our usual allotted recess time. We were next to the driveway under a tree when a couple of Amy’s friends approached us. I thought that this was nice, we were less alone now and people wouldn’t pick me out of the crowd for being abnormal. I welcomed meeting these girls, and Amy and I enjoyed their company.
    Suddenly, I heard a familiar voice behind me. Amy’s face brightened with recognition and when I turned around I saw my dad standing there. He had arrived early to pick me up. I said goodbye to Amy and my new friends and hopped in the truck with my father without giving it a second thought.
    At dinner that evening, Daddy said to Momma, “Guess who I saw Richie with today on the playground when I picked him up?”
    Oh good , I thought, Dad is going to tell Mom that I have some new friends .
    “He was hanging around with a group of girls,” my dad said. Then he turned to me, “You aren’t a sissy, are you, son?” I’m sure he was joking and didn’t mean any harm. But there was that word again! I felt a lump form in my throat.
    “No,” I replied, looking down at the table. And then I couldn’t think of anything else to say.
    My father’s statement was another painful awakening. It was the moment—shaded with time, but clear with emotion—when I first had the impression that maybe there’s