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  Of course Shawn did not yet know his teacher, being that it was the first week of school, but he believed the man to be sincere. It was actually quite natural for Shawn to trust authority figures. He nodded. “Yes, sir.”

  “Good,” Mr. Matheson said, as his smile started to fade and his expression became serious. “I want you to read this passage of scripture aloud for me.” He handed Shawn his Bible, pointing to the chapter and verse.

  Shawn read the Bible verse, which said something about masculinity and how God had made this person a man. He didn’t fully understand it, and he was quite confused about why the teacher would want him to read this Old Testament scripture from the book of Samuel.

  “Shawn, do you see what God is saying here?”

  Shawn nodded slowly, although he really didn’t see at all. “I think so,” he said.

  “What is it? You tell me what this verse means to you.”

  Shawn felt his face start to redden. He was on the spot and he didn’t know what to say. “Um, well… I think it means that God wants men to be masculine?”

  Mr. Matheson smiled and nodded. “Yes, that’s right! God made men and women very different. You know the story of Adam and Eve, don’t you?”

  “Oh yes, sir,” Shawn acknowledged.

  “God created Adam first. He is the male, and he then took one of Adam’s ribs to create his helpmate Eve.” He was telling the story to Shawn as if he’d never heard it before, as if he were teaching a first-grade Sunday school class. “He made them to be very different from one another, and he did this for a reason. Do you know what that reason was?”

  Shawn slowly shook his head. “No, I’m sorry, sir.”

  “He did so because it was God’s intention to give Man dominion over all creation. This is why he made men physically stronger than women. Women were created to be helpmates for men, just as Eve was to Adam. They are weaker physically and need the protection of men. They are softer and more sensitive. None of these are bad things. They are simply the way God designed them. Women are in actuality a gift from God. He created them for us.”

  “God created women to be a gift for men?” Shawn asked, somewhat confused.

  Mr. Matheson leaned forward and smiled broadly. “Yes. Yes He did! And because of this, it is very clear to us what God’s intention is for both men and women. Men are leaders. Men are protectors and warriors and soldiers. Men were designed to be strong and brave and competitive. Do you understand?”

  Shawn scowled but nodded. “Yes, sir.” He looked down at his lap, feeling his face grow even redder with embarrassment.

  “I want you to work on this for me, okay? I want you to understand that you’re not in trouble, but this truly is very important. If you don’t try now to begin changing some of your mannerisms and behaviors, you may end up growing up to act more like a woman than a man. We don’t want that, do we? We know what the Bible says about men and women, and we don’t want to in any way go against scripture. Does this make sense to you?”

  Shawn was mortified and devastated as he sat there shamefully. He knew that if he tried to speak his voice would crack and he’d begin to cry. That was the last thing he wanted because it would be the opposite of what Mr. Matheson expected of him. He just nodded and continued to look down at the floor.

  “I want you to try a little harder in gym. Pay close attention to how the other boys are behaving. Try to mimic their actions. Try to make friends with some of them and get them to help you. I’ll help you too. This is a great opportunity for you, Shawn. This will help you so much, and I promise you that if you work on this now, you will be so thankful when you get older. Okay?”

  Shawn nodded again. “Yes,” he said softly.

  “Okay, you’re dismissed.”

  This was the first and only time in all the years of Shawn’s primary education that he was ever called in front of an authority figure for any kind of counsel. He felt as if he’d been taken to the principal’s office. Of course he would never tell another living soul about his conversation with his teacher that day, but he would always remember it. He would mostly remember the shame. He would remember how inferior he felt, and he would remember how he realized for the first time that he was less of a person because of who he was.

  Chapter Two

  ROBERT EARL WILDER JR. went by the name Bobby. Since his father was Bob, he’d been called Bobby since birth. Bobby’s parents had divorced when he was young, and he lived with his mom in southern Ohio. He actually lived in a small town near the border of Kentucky, and for all intents and purposes he was as much a Kentuckian as he was an Ohioan. He spoke with a distinct Kentucky accent and owned a leather jacket that had a confederate flag on it. He did not shy away from being called a redneck, and often bragged about it in a lighthearted manner. In some ways it was a label of honor for him.

  Bobby had never been one to willingly submit to authority. He was by nature a rebel. In early grade school he was already getting into trouble and starting fights. He was only ten years old when he got drunk the first time behind the town’s old theater. It was a bottle of his mom’s cheap wine that he’d stolen from the fridge. She never even noticed it was missing. This secret place in the alley behind the theater was also where he’d gone to smoke his first cigarette, and then later his first joint.

  He’d always been regarded as a cute kid. His bright blue eyes and blond hair made him appear almost innocent at first glance, that is until you got to know him. Bobby was far from innocent and the polar opposite of naive. He had what you’d call street smarts, wise to the ways of the world. He’d learned early on how to fend for himself. His mom was barely ever home, and he had no siblings. He was a latchkey kid from about the age of eight when his mother decided it was finally okay to leave him by himself. They had a neighbor who knew to look in on him occasionally, and his mom was usually home by six or seven at night, in time to make a late dinner for the two of them.

  This time alone and lack of attention might have been the very thing that led Bobby down the rebellious path that he took. At least when he was getting into trouble someone was aware of his existence. It’s been said before that negative attention is better than no attention at all.

  It was not so much that Judy, his mother, did not care about her young son; it was just that she was so damned busy. When his parents divorced a few years back, his mom had initially felt overwhelmed. At times he felt guilty that she now bore the burden of responsibility alone for him and for his well-being. This required her to work long hours, and then she had to take a huge portion of her check and hand it over to the babysitter. His father’s support payments were sporadic, and they were not a dependable source of income. He knew that his mom hated leaving him alone when he was so young, but it was a solution to her financial dilemma.

  Bobby’s dad had a terrible drinking problem. He was what people referred to as a closet drinker. He sat at home alone every night with his bottle of peppermint schnapps and drank himself shit-faced. Eventually he would pass out in his La-Z-Boy recliner where he almost always slept. Then he’d get up in the morning and head out to work. His hands would be shaking just a little, barely enough to be noticeable, when he got home in the evening and unscrewed the top of his schnapps bottle. This cycle continued for the duration of the seven-year stint that Bobby’s parents were married to one another.

  It was when Bobby was four that Judy told Bob she’d had enough. He had been offered a position as a factory foreman in a Michigan plant, and he wanted to move the family to start a new life. Judy expected it would just be more of the same. Same old story, new location. She asked for a divorce, and it was granted.

  His mom worked as a cashier at a supermarket, which paid barely over the minimum wage. She’d been there for over ten years now and had finally advanced to the position of head cashier. She hadn’t realized that the designation wouldn’t be much more than a title. She’d only gotten a quarter-per-hour raise out of the “promotion.”

  The lack of attention t
hat Bobby got at home often led to trouble at school. At least a couple times per month, the principal’s office would call his mother, requesting that she drop everything and go down to the school. If it wasn’t a fight then it was unauthorized smoking. He’d gotten suspended once for bringing a concealed weapon to school (actually just a jackknife), and another time for cursing at his teacher.

  It was this string of incidents which prompted Judy to phone her ex-husband in the spring of Bobby’s sixth grade year and ask if he’d consider taking Bobby for the summer. It actually was far more than simply a request; it was more like a demand, or perhaps a plea. She’d reached her breaking point and was at the rope’s end. She just couldn’t take it anymore and needed a break. She told Bobby that perhaps a fatherly influence within his life would be just what he needed.

  Bobby idolized his father. When he’d first learned of the divorce, it was devastating to him. He pleaded with his dad to take him with him, but Bob explained to his son that he needed to stay with his mom. She needs you. You’ve got to be the man of the house now. He promised young Bobby that they’d still see a lot of each other. He promised he’d come down for visits and that Bobby could come stay with him on holidays and long weekends, maybe even for extended stays during the summer.

  All of these promises rang hollow, however. At the age of twelve, Bobby had never yet spent a Christmas with his dad, not since before the divorce. They weren’t together for birthdays or for Father’s Day, and he’d never spent any of his summer vacations in Michigan with his dad. When Bob left Ohio, he started a whole new life. He met a woman at the factory where he worked. Her name was Diane, and supposedly it was love at first sight. They were married less than a year after Bob’s divorce had been finalized. About ten months after that, Bob and Diane had a baby, a little girl whom they’d named Colleen.

  The birth of Colleen was not particularly good news to Bobby. When his dad married Diane, he felt completely abandoned. All of the hopes that he’d had about his parents reconciling were now gone. Now that his dad had another child it was even worse. He was all wrapped up in his new family. Bobby felt forgotten. He felt unwanted and alone. Even his mom didn’t seem to really want him. He figured out rather quickly that he was more of a burden to her than he was the man of her house.

  Bobby had developed a degree of independence that far surpassed his chronological age. By the time he was nine, he no longer waited for his mom to get home and cook for him. He knew how to make P-N-J sandwiches and how to use the microwave. That was enough. He didn’t wait for her permission to do the things he wanted to do, either. There were plenty of nights when Judy would come home to an empty house because Bobby was off with friends somewhere. In the beginning, she scolded Bobby, telling him that when he took off like that it worried her, but when she discovered that he always came home safely she seemed to stop worrying after awhile.

  Bobby usually went to the park downtown. His closest buddy was a kid named Randall, who lived next door. Randall was two years older, and they spent a lot of time together. Randall wasn’t all that bright, but he was someone that Bobby looked up to. What Randall lacked in intelligence he made up for in social skills and good looks. He had a bit of a golden-boy innocence to his appearance. He was literally the boy-next-door, all smiles and ever-so charming. It was from Randall that Bobby picked up what would eventually become his trademark expression: Trust me! Both Randall and Bobby were skilled at manipulating people into believing them by simply delivering this one two-word line. It was a phrase that, when coupled with a sincere stare directly into the eyes, could win over even the most skeptical of people.

  Randall and Bobby played a lot of pool together. They sneaked into a lot of movies together, and even skipped some classes together. They spent much of their free time with each other. Most significantly, they jacked off together.

  It started when Bobby was twelve, just before his mom told him that he was going to be spending the summer with his dad. Randall was fourteen then, and his hormones were raging full force, as would be those of any adolescent male at that age. Randall got his hands on one of his older brother’s Hustler magazines and brought it over to Bobby’s house. It was a Saturday, and it was just the two of them, Randall and Bobby.

  When Bobby looked at the magazine for the first time he acted really cool about it. He oohed and aahed at just the appropriate moments, and tried his best to act as if it were something he saw every day. The naked women with their oversized tits and spread-open vaginas seemed to be Randall’s favorites, and so Bobby played along and voiced his assent. The truth was that Bobby hadn’t really thought all that much about girls yet. He was only twelve. He’d started having occasional erections and even a couple wet dreams, but he hadn’t ever really even masturbated. He was just starting to sprout some pubic hair in his private region, to be honest.

  Randall, on the other hand, was far more experienced. When he held up the centerfold and stared at the blonde, buxom bimbo all laid out and ready for the taking, he couldn’t help but grope himself. Well, one grope led to another and before long he was rock hard. He and Bobby were sitting on his bed together, and Bobby inadvertently glanced down as his friend was groping himself and saw the big bulge encased in the tight denim crotch. This was enough to spark some arousal for Bobby as well.

  The odd thing about it was that Randall seemed to act as if this whole scene was so purely natural, and when he noticed his little buddy was starting to display a bit of a boner himself, he leaned over and held the magazine up in front of him, thinking this would continue to fuel the flames of their teenage passion. To Bobby it was more the leaning that did it for him than the photograph. Having his cute, older friend whom he secretly idolized pressing against him while the two of them were hard was quite stimulating. When Randall shoved the magazine into Bobby’s hands so that he could unzip his pants, Bobby gladly took it from him and repositioned himself so that he was even closer to Randall. It was an effective ruse because of course the two had to be right next to one another. They both needed to share the one magazine. Right?

  Randall’s was the very first penis other than his own that Bobby’d ever seen. Being as young as he was, he hadn’t yet changed in a locker room with other guys. He had no brothers or male cousins that he’d ever seen changing or bathing. And in spite of his false bravado, he hadn’t even ever seen a porn magazine before.

  It wasn’t until after the incident that Bobby began to question his own attractions. It made him a bit uncomfortable to realize he had done something so intimate with another guy. It also made him fairly resolute that he was going to have to end this friendship with Randall. He didn’t want people to start thinking that he was a fag or something.

  When Bobby’s mom came to talk to him about her plans to ship him off to his dad’s for the summer, he was concerned how well he’d fit in with his dad’s new family. He was worried about having a younger sister to live with. He even was a bit fearful of how it would be living in another state around a bunch of people who didn’t know how to talk right. But there was one thing for sure that he was very glad of. There would be no more possibility of him ever doing anything like he’d done with Randall. He would be far, far away and all that fag stuff would be way behind him. Or would it?

  Chapter Three

  IT WAS 1984, and Ronald Reagan had been re-elected President of the United States. The Detroit Tigers won the World Series that year for the first time in almost two decades. People were just beginning to talk about an unusual and frightening ailment that was killing homosexuals. It was called Acquired Immune Deficiency Syndrome, or AIDS.

  Shawn Graham turned twelve that year and was in the sixth grade. It was Shawn’s first year at Northern Michigan Christian Academy, a biblical fundamentalist-run parochial school, and surprisingly he was already off to a rocky start. It was turning out to be vastly different than he’d anticipated. He had so looked forward to being surrounded by like-minded Christians. He was certain that he would no longer feel
so different and so ostracized, like he did while in the public school, but the reality proved to be the opposite. He actually felt even more out of place than he had in public school. All of his characteristics about which he’d been self-conscious seemed to now be under a magnifying glass. In Mr. Matheson’s small sixth-grade classroom, he stuck out like a sore thumb.

  After having the conversation with his teacher about his lack of masculinity, Shawn sat very quietly in the van for the long ride home. When his fellow passengers pressed him to tell them if something was wrong he just shook his head and mumbled that he didn’t feel so good. Once alone in his room, he finally permitted himself to cry, and it seemed almost as if he would never stop.

  Shawn knew how true Mr. Matheson’s observation of him had been. He’d known for quite some time that he was not the good boy that most everyone thought him to be. It was like his Sunday school teacher, Mrs. Stewart, had told him all those years ago when he was saved. He was naughty. He was a sinner. It wasn’t right for him to enjoy playing with girls’ toys and to sometimes dress up in girls’ clothes. He shouldn’t feel so awkward about being around other boys. He knew he should like sports and fishing and hunting.

  Shawn’s father had these expectations of him, but Shawn rarely saw his dad. His parents had divorced when Shawn was almost too young to remember. His dad lived in the same town, but he hardly ever came for visits. He knew his dad wanted him to be a lot different than he was. His dad wanted him to be like he himself was, to like working on cars and going camping and rifle hunting. He used to take Shawn with him to go fishing during their visitations, but Shawn was too squeamish to even put a worm on a hook. He just couldn’t do it because it was wiggling all around, still alive. He didn’t like to hurt things or to kill them, and his dad made fun of him for this. He’d said that if he was worried about hurting a damned worm, how was he gonna feel about killing a fish?