I cannot write about it anymore- the shame, the fear… How can I tell anyone when my secret lays crudely hidden inside the trunk at the foot of my bed, camouflaged by music sheets and the dusty Playboys that my brother passed down to me.
I never asked for them anyway.
I hide in self-isolation safe from the unknowing uncaring judgmental bloodthirsty oblivious eyes of Mechanicsville, Maryland. Maybe I could catch a horse ‘n buggy and work my worries away—
No— they would sense my disease and throw me to the wild dogs; more like Labs and Puggles but who’s keeping track.
I can’t even walk the halls anymore. Ostentatious girls smiling, winking, tossing their hair back— pathetic. I keep my eyes to the floor. If I allow myself the luxury of looking up I might see their arms…
Firm, rigid with muscle and that just leads to the shoulders and neck- broad and thick, trembling with laughter—fear skin so smooth—kissable—no the face…
eyes back on the floor. Building Service Workers missed a spot I say to myself as the ache below my waist slowly dulls away.
Isolated. Home. kickin' back, watchin’ TV with the bro. Innocent stuff till he channel surfs and gets called into the kitchen to wash his dishes just as the vile remote decides to land on MTV. His lazy *** better wash those dishes, cause I am not about to dry my hands out for him; lotion’s getting expensive these days.
***. That man on the screen has a nice one. No shirt— shoulders muscle back **** calves fingers hands arms neck hair face –
I’m aching again, Gotta get out of here before my brother sees me and calls me a girl for the way I run.
I need to get out of this life— this isolation…
College. I requested a single. Living with another man would be the death of me. I spend my weekends with my iPod in my ears, drowning out the masculine shouts and laughter of frat boys playing Ultimate Frisbee on the Hill. however— I do not allow myself the luxury of looking… broad necks rippling shoulders sweaty shirts toned legs beautiful faces – I can’t stare or they might invite me to play.
There are support groups— safe havens and potential friends who will understand. Maybe. Just maybe.
First meeting. So many men – understanding smiling beautiful— I think I’m gonna come back.
He welcomes me. asks how my first year is going – I’m not afraid to look at his face. our fingers touch as we walk back to our dorms— —and I don’t feel so isolated.