I swear the following is absolutely true. I wouldn't believe it if
I read it but it happened just the way that follows.
I was 20, a sophomore at UCLA and during the previous couple of months
I had come out of the closet with a bang. I figured it was my duty
as a straight-appearing man to let everyone know that gays are not
just a bunch of fairies looking for any dick in a storm.
Anyway I went home to Newport to visit my parents and see a few old
surfing buddies. I was prepared to tell them exactly what was going
on in my life. Some I knew would be cool; others I was worried about.
One of those was Bill. He was a career lifeguard. The perfect blonde
hunk. Saturday night we were sitting around his place, having gone
through almost a case of beer between the two of us, and I said,
"Bill, I have to tell you something."
He smiled and said, "Sure, guy, whatever."
"Bill. I'm Gay."
"No way! Not you! Did something happen in school. I mean one thing
doesn't mean..."
I interrupted him. "I'm gay. I'm sure."
He looked at me and I tried reading his thoughts. I remembered the
time we cruised by the Little Shrimp in Laguna and Bill leaned out
the window to yell, "Fags!"
I waited. And waited. Finally I asked, "So, what do you think?"
He answered in a low, quiet voice, "Can't you tell?"
I answered, exasperated, "No! Tell me!"
"Look at my pants." I looked; I didn't see anything. He continued,
"I've had a fantasy for a long time about making it with you or Mike.
I want you to prove to me you're really gay. I want you to do to
me whatever gay guys do to each other."
I looked at his pants again. Now I saw it. A big, hard cock, just
poking its head through the leg. I couldn't believe it. Bill. Mr.
Macho had a fantasy for me. But I knew it was impossible; I wasn't
going to fall for the oldest line in the book about "proving it."
But I did.
--
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