JUERA MARICON

I had heard about queers. Everybody I know hated queers. The last thing anyone in my circle wanted was to be thought of as a queer. There were queers in Providence, some of whom dressed and behaved like women. I was told that the queers had bars and clubs where they hung out. These were revolting people. So when I found myself in front of that full length mirror, wearing my mother's high heels, panties and lipstick, I was revolted with myself.

It was around that time that my cousin and I were taking a shortcut through the woods. As we rounded a bend in the path we came upon a boy of around our own age, sitting on a large boulder, completely naked. We walked on in stunned silence until we heard him call out in an effeminate voice: "Do you want a blowjob?"
I was enraged. This was an affront to my maleness. I told my cousin that we should go back and give this nymph a beating. We ran back to the boulder but the nymph had disappeared. My friend and I resumed our journey, speaking in tones of outrage as to what we would do if we ever saw that "faggot" again.

A few days later I went back to the boulder by myself, hoping to find the nymph - not to beat him - but to join him. To do what, I didn't know. Perhaps just to frolic naked with him, feeling the warm spring breezes on our bodies, or maybe to sit naked and provocative next to him, both of us soliciting real men as they passed by. I went back several times, but I never saw him again.

My relationship with the opposite sex had always been strained. Now that I was a teenager and full of sexual desire, I imagined various girls of my acquaintance, naked with me. In reality these same girls left me tongue tied and red from embarrassment. Many boys of my age had matured to where they had begun to look and act like actual men. I was small and skinny and had no body hair to speak of other than a few sparse, very blonde hairs on my pubis. When I entered the navy at the age of 18, I still could have easily passed as a 15 year old.