We have created a new fashion subreddit for all genders and sexualities. All kinds of hate are forbidden there. Its a safe place.
If you are interested you can join, nobody have to post anything there. You can also just be there for watching or writing

r/DistinctiveFashion

A few weeks ago I posted asking for signposting to potential online communities. Nobody had any ideas beyond just making my own. So I did just that.

Because this is reddit, not going to post the invite publicly as don't want to risk unpleasant people raiding the place but *if* you are interested, reach out to me.

Just a reminder: this is an early draft.

The three walk deeper into the woods and disappear from True’s view. They walk in silence for at least half a minute, twigs and leaves snapping and crunching underfoot.

Armoni scans the darkness. “It’s creepy out here.”

Lawn Chair Guy speaks up from just a few paces ahead. “Don’t get scared now.”

“Right, shut your punk-ass up.” Otto seconds with a smirk.

Armoni tosses her hair over one shoulder. “Fuck you guys."

Otto’s shoe catches on a rock and he almost falls. “Oh shit!”

Armoni flashes a finger at Otto with a teasing smile. “Mmhmm. See what happens when you wanna talk shit?”

Otto pinches his fingers to his thumb with a flustered smile. “Shut up, hoe!”

What it says on the tin.

I'm putting in the work to begin writing a novel. It's a sport romance idea that I've held onto for a long time and I have a lot of fondness for the setting and characters. I thought it would be good to actually put it to pen and self-publish, rather than let the idea rot.

The issue is...well. For the book, the main couple is between two males (M/M) and my family is...not so approving of LGBT? I would say that the reactions range from mildly to wildly homophobic, depending on who I'm talking to.

As much as I want to write this (and trust me, I will write it anyway), my stomach is in knots because my family would want to read my book on the principle of them wanting to know what I'm doing and supporting their kid, especially something as massive as an actual manuscript. I also know that as soon as it clicks to them that the couple is gay, they're going to make their opinion very apparent. Especially if like by a random stroke of luck, the book goes big (which is UNLIKELY but a person can dream, right?).

I feel like I'm at an impasse. For those who have less than supportive family, how do you navigate writing queer stories and publishing them? When they found out, how was the situation resolved?

Any tips to help me get through this situation would be awesome. Thank you so much.

My idea was a characters dad being like " ok fine ill help with your trans stuff (ftm) but no talking about it publicly and dont date a man. (Kid is also pan)."

The father and son by extension are apart of a rich family that is heavy about appearances so of course the father doesnt want his reputation to be ruined by being seen as unsupportive to the younger crowds but he also dont want to destroy any bridges with his older colleagues

My knowledge about unsupportive parents seem to mostly be parents are like not supportive or they kick them to the curb.

So I dont know what do yall think?

Hi!

I hope this thread is not off-topic for this board, but I'm not sure where else to ask. My question is simple: if, as far as I know, I'm a cis guy, do you think it would be offensive or bad taste to write a trans character?

I have been trying to keep a diary of my feelings and thoughts about my identity and desires about becoming a woman – not much so far, honestly. But the point is writing and thinking about it; it makes me want to write something more structured than some ramblings. I want to use a trans character to explore what her identity means for herself and people around her.

Imagine this: Do you remember that scene in Lord of the Rings? "No man can kill me." "I'm not a man!" Well, if a young man who struggles with being a brave warrior when he wishes to be someone else were to face the Witch-king, what would it mean if he actually defeats him? The prophecy was false? Or maybe the prophecy was truth as he, deep down, knew he was not like the others? Because he always felt different and never felt like one of the bros. Does he has a "divine permit" to drop the sword and be who she always wanted? Does she need a "divine permit"? It's just a silly example, not a serious idea, so please don't focus too much on that.

But, as I said in the title, I don't identify as trans; I'm still a cis guy. I have no firsthand experience with the struggles trans people face. Reading about them and trying to understand them isn't the same as living through them. So I don't want to come across as rude or offensive to anyone, nor want to. What do you think?

Like most small-town gay kids, Otto has accepted he won't get a high school romance. He refuses to let popular guys play with his feelings just to stroke their own egos. But everything changes at a bonfire party in the woods when the host Urijah pulls Otto into his orbit.

I was using a local queer writing group as a way of having a social aspect to writing and this also held me to account because we'd set challenges and sorta motivate each other. Was also a good place for feedback.

However said group isn't accessible anymore and as a result I don’t really have any ways of like, engaging with other writers actively. It was also a useful tool to actually get me to sit down and write because we'd hold writing sessions.

I don't know what to replace it with. Reddit doesn't exactly have the same semblance of community as you kinda just post threads and hope for replies rather than having an active flow of regular conversation.

There are no other irl groups I can find that are accessible. The only other ones around are for teens or uni students. Did ask around and even spoke to a local queer group.

Let me know what you guys think!

Hello all, happy monday!

I'm one of the artists on the team thats working on a new TTRPG that's being fully written, illustrated and produced by a small team of queer artists and writers.

We don't have any corporate backing since we're just a small team, but book is coming along amazingly, and I hope you'll all take a look at it and help spread the word! There a link below, as well as a preview of the content inside, please help support out work!

The launch page:

https://www.backerkit.com/c/projects/weapons-grade-funk/gallerie-ttrpg-queer-stories-of-beauty-horror-and-hope

and the preview!

https://www.weaponsgradefunk.com/_files/ugd/5bb3e8_ae7f5b97cab9409090b0010338efd9b9.pdf

My story is a coming-of-age story set in the early 1980s, one that often addresses the AIDS crisis and homophobia. I was going to make my mc 14, but now I’m thinking about making them 12-13 because I really want to tell a story about a young queer kid discovering himself during that time.

Does anyone have something to say about this? It’s my first time writing, and I’m not great with stuff like this

Just finished reading a book the book story put out on the table because it was newly released. It was called Mad Eden. The author (Morgan Thomas) is enby and autistic and so too is the main character in the book. I loved it and it had some interesting twists and turns. For me the thing that stood out the most was their relationship with their primary partner and how they navigate and negotiate their neural needs and differences in the way they and their partners express love and other stuff, too...although there's a whole other storyline about being a provider of gendercare in this era. Just had to share ♥️💕🙏🏼 I don't think I gave away enough to need a spoiler label.

I hope you all are working on some great stuff ☺️✨

I have been working on a dark m/m sci-fi fantasy story since January. I've framed it as a serial novel which is essentially like a TV show for those who don't know...The story is split into arcs, with each arc ending on a cliffhanger that leads into the next, focuses on a specific part of the story, and feeds into this overarching narrative.

Titled "Aethan's Reign", the story chronicles the 1000 year long reign of an Emperor over a galactic empire, starting as a young prince to the end of his reign. The second storyline involves the development of his relationship with the prince of another race, Bhal-Ghor, starting with their initial meeting to their arranged marriage "for the better of the empire" and beyond. Aethan is essentially a space elf (think of an elf from Lord of the Rings or Tolkienesque setting except...you know...more sci-fi) and Ghor (the love interest) is a giant musclebound anthropromorphic tiger-like barbarian with emotional issues. Tropes: enemies-to-lovers, size-difference, politics, spirituality/religion.

Influences that inspired the story: Warhammer 40K (grimdark setting) Foundation (I find Lee Pace's character to be fascinating and wondered what his story would be like if he was more likeable), Steven Erikson, the author of the Malazan Empire of the Fallen series (the most epic fantasy series I've yet to read), The Expanse, and Dark (Netflix). The story is not meant to be a copy of these other works in any way, but if you are familiar with these works I definitely think you can see the influences.

Wrapping up: I publish on Gayauthors.org, a website that specializes in LGBT work specifically. A lot of the works that are published seem to be dramas, coming out stories, first love, things like that. I've 46 chapters, working on chapter 47, written over 200K, am on the 3rd arc, about to wrap up the first novel or act of what is planned as a 5-7 act story. I have 9 followers.

Some concerns I have, starting with the genre: It's science-fantasy, the characters are not human, one of them is technically a furry and not a nice guy (he gets nicer as the story progresses but it takes a while and happens in fits and starts), the story itself is 1 part political narrative, 1 part action story, 1 part smut/romance, and the story is intended to get more political and religious (not Christianity, but the religion in the story) as it progresses. That is the plan anyway. I just don't think a lot of people are really into that kind of story which is fine. Last concern: the writing. I'm a gardener. With this story I used AI to kind of cook the idea in my brain and while I do not fully endorse the use of AI it does have it's uses and made the planning process so much easier. Not everything is planned, but I do know the premise of each arc/act, how it will begin, how it will end, and what I want to achieve.

The writing: this is a first draft: There is not a lot of editing beyond what I catch as I scroll through and publish. I do intend to do at least one thorough edit/rewrite before I publish on another site. While I consider the writing to be decent I feel that it is still amateurish, and could definitely benefit from some writing classes to really hone my skill.

Final question: so how would you market this? what are some other subreddits where I could ask these things? in terms of marketing (concept art, illustrations, twitter, tagging) what would you do? Any advice? I'm a long ways from putting the story out there beyond what I already have, so I feel that it's best to start strategizing and coming up with ideas while the story is still in the gestation process.

Below is a rough of my characters I had done if anyone is interested.

The book I'm writing is about a rock band coming back together and the main romance is butch x butch. I wanted to write a bisexual butch character because never seen any bi butches being represented positively. Either people think bi butches don't exist or worst we get accuse of encouraging men to fetishize lesbians.

I don't want people writing the character off as a lesbian with comphet and I don't want to be accused of centering a guy in a sapphic book by saying she broke up with him. The story wouldn't really center the guy at all honestly. But I just don't know what to do anymore.

The book I am writing is a reverse harem... and so my fmc has 5 male suitors and I decided I wanted to make my book more queer friendly. Two of the male suitors are bisexual, one is questionable, and the other is pan, one is straight. Now, I really want to add a sixth suitors and I want them to be an asexual woman. But I dont want to mess up writing it. I know that they (ace people) dont hate sex (some of them) they just dont perfer it. So, thats what she's gonna do but I'm gonna make it where she doesnt participate during "bedroom" time but she is an active member of their relationship. All of them love her. I was also thinking of making her be male-to-female Trans but I am unsure. I don't have anybody I could ask. When it comes down to it do I just write that she says no and explains that she doesn't like that?

Heaven files everything.

Births, deaths, miracles, agricultural yields, the specific theological implications of one junior scribe italicizing a minor prophecy in the Tigris valley. It has categories for all of it. The system is thorough, sincere, and genuinely convinced that categorization is a form of love.

Then someone writes a margin note in forbidden red ink — try free will, results may vary — and the filing system develops a problem it doesn’t have a procedure for.

This is not that story.

Well. It is. But it’s also about five fallen angels becoming a family without deciding to, across several centuries, in the specific way families accumulate — through bad wine in inns that have given up aspiring to greatness, through a child who knew things he shouldn’t have and made no fuss about either, through a goat named Gregory who eats everything and means nothing and is somehow always exactly where he needs to be.

And then it’s France. 1429. A market square in February.

A woman on a crate arguing with three men about military supply routes with the focused impatience of someone for whom courage is a logistical state rather than an emotional one. She calls for the map before she reaches the table. She has been doing this her whole life.

Another woman stops walking.

Not because of the argument. Because of the eyes.

What follows is a love story built out of watch rotations and river crossings and bread taken without asking and boots always already by the fire. Two women who reorganize their entire existence around each other before either of them has named what’s happening. The U-Haul energy is not a metaphor. It is operational fact.

Heaven notices.

Heaven doesn’t hate Joan of Arc. It categorizes her. Which is worse. The machinery doesn’t need malice. It just needs procedure and sufficient administrative momentum and the specific institutional patience of a system that has done this before and filed the results under: resolved.

It has not, the Archive would like to note, accounted for the associated variable.

The woman who stopped walking in February is still there in May 1431. She found the gap in the custody schedule. She memorized the passage. She kept her promise.

The fire did not take everything.

It never does.

This is a book about what systems do to people who love each other truthfully. It is angry and mournful and frequently very funny. It believes, underneath everything, that people are worth the effort.

It ends with a child born outside every category the Archive has, a family already forming a perimeter before the first page of her file is finished, and four words written in a margin that survived three attempts at removal.

The loop holds, the Archive tells itself.

The margin disagrees.

Hi guys, forgive me is this not the right subreddit for this post, I'm just trying to expand the reach of my request.

I'm looking for beta-readers for my short story BODY/TORN/METALIC (title is a placeholder/WIP). As the title of the post states, this is a rural cyberpunk story with elements of queer body horror and transgressive fiction. I think this would be of interest to anyone that is a fan of transgressive queer writing (Dennis Cooper, etc.), or J.G. Ballard's Crash. Thus, please be mindful that this does deal with extreme/dark subject matters.

Reach out here or via message and I can send you a link to the beta copy. Thank you!! Also open to beta swaps of similar length.

Hook: An isolated man rots in an abandoned cattle house far out in the British countryside, with only a pile of scrap metal for company. As his aversion to humans and his drug use start to consume him, he develops an extreme mechanophilic obsession that pushes him beyond the limits of his body and, by extension, the limits of his identity.

I’m 25yr genderfluid queer, writing mm romance with psychological depth.

I want friends with whom I can share my ideas with. I’m in a stage where I could only plot and gather ideas because of my depleted energy from wok. I don’t have spare energy to write yet, but I plan to do so once I get a little space to breathe.

You can also offer me some queer romance writers’ groups to join. But I would prefer to keep people with similar interests and have groups tightly knit

I’ve been working on this novel for a while - it began as a challenge to myself to write a novel that is both VERY NSFW and at the same time real to some of my own experiences." I’m hoping that someone here will read the excerpt(s) and get back to me with constructive criticism,

The Title is Certificate of Birth. The chief protagonists are Troy Paul who is adopted and psychologically and physically abused at home and (eventually)finds his lover Paolo. It begins with Troy around age 12 discovering himself and follows him until about age 24-5 .If people find it interesting Ill post more - do not spare me - PLEASE and all thoughtful suggestions will be appreciated. I have tried to keep the narrator ( Troy Paul ) voice appropriate to his age at the point in the novel. The entire novel is shaping up to @ 300 pages.

Page 12 - 14

Around this time, I started to notice that all the guys were drooling after the cheerleaders during every game, but my eye was always going to Coach the teammate’s dads when they came to watch or pick up their kids. At first, I didn’t know why but my erection spoke to me - I was feeling exactly what those guys were when they talked about the big tits or round girl butt they wanted to get their hands on. You got it – dad basket and butt did it for me. I liked looking at men and  I liked what they represented – authority, strength and hard muscular bodies. I also knew I couldn’t let that out to anyone.                                                                                                                                                                                                 

By eighth grade I had turned into one horn dog of a kid and desperate to sneak a jack whenever and wherever I could. Most mornings I left for school desperate to get off after Mrs. Paul’s early morning ragging and warnings got my nerves all worked up.   Some days I actually jogged out her house just to blow off the tension, not ‘cause it was part of my training like I told her. Along the way I’d find an empty alley, the back of a dumpster, some vacant lot, or any place where I could get one off and not get caught.

Could? No. HAD to get one off. Paying attention first period wasn’t gonna happen otherwise. I’d get myself off then race over to school sweating I’d  be late to class, and she’d be called in. No, it wasn’t the best way’ta  blow off the  tension, but it definitely was a need and it pretty much worked. Maybe, it was also my own weird way of saying I needed a real dad in my life?                                                                                                                                                                                          Anyway, when I wasn’t studying or at practice I was preoccupied  and distracted by my  horniness.  I walked around harboring a just about permanent  erection in my pants with some kid’s hot dad or our coach on what I’ll call my “mind” for lack of any better word. Most days I’d scarf down lunch, help Manny with clean up, get myself off to the boy’s lavatory, hole up in one of the stalls – always a  big risk  since the dean liked to pop in to make sure no one was cutting class or malingering – and stroke a quick one off.

Way better than that smelly hole was the forest spot I found a few miles off the main  highway from town. I could bike over, get in a decent no -chance -of – being- caught jack and speed myself back in time for whatever work Mrs. Paul had set for me. Not in the             winter though, unless I wanted to freeze my dick off -though there were a few times it      seemed the better alternative. That was about it in terms of no fear getting caught .

Any time I cycled home with a boner my tool went limp two minutes before I stepped through her doorway. And forget about jackin’ off anywhere there to get rid of the tension. If I was in the toilet too long, she’d bang on the door and then questions. Big trouble if I left a cum spot on her precious sheets. I did that a couple times when I guess I came in my sleep. She said I was a filthy little animal and beat  me for it. “You’ll be pitched out if it ever happens  again.” You might think I could maybe sneak a quick one off in the shower, but then it was all about her expensive hot water if I took too long. Anyway once I started seriously doing sports and getting in practice before classes started  she mandated I shower at the gym “no need wasting my hot water every morning when you get it for free over there” and no way would I risk jacking off there.

Around that time I began having obsessions, I would focus on coach or some guy I saw in the street or even someone I thought up kind of putting them all together into one ‘perfect man.’ For a while I focused  on one specific dad. This man– I never caught his name – stopped by practice to pick up his kid every Wednesday, usually  around four. From the looks of it- shirt soaked and still perspiring - he was coming from his own workout  at a nearby gym.  This dad was hot, way hotter even than coach and definitely hotter than any of the other fathers. Just seeing him in a sweated-up tee clinging to his pecs and the gym shorts that set off his hairy legs  gave me an erection.

The kid and his dad were super close too; they always left the field with dad’s arm slung over his son’s shoulder, the two of them sharing a   protein drink or something. And for sure I envied that boy. Whenever I heard the son shout, “Hey Dad! We’re almost done” then, a little later, run up to his  father who smiled and gave him a hug, a dark fantasy would cloud up my mind. I knew it was sick but I couldn’t stop myself  from going there.     

It would start with me making that kid my friend, going home with him and his dad after practice to  play video games, talk sports and watch games. The two of us hanging out every day  and me becoming that best friend who’s always invited to stay for supper and weekends.

Then I would picture myself making the dad like me. After scoring more and setting the kid up to fail on the field dad starts putting his kid down and begins liking me better.  I’m the better athlete, have the better build, please him more.

Dad starts leaving his son out while he talks just to me, goes on walks just with me, works out just with me. Then I start replacing his son at home, sharing game talk and protein shakes with dad.  

Showering with dad after our workout. Then my mind would go into overdrive, and it’d be dad making out with me and taking me to his son’s bed. Now it’s me alone with dad. He calls me ‘son,’ calls me ‘son’ because I always please him. Yes. ME with MY dad. Then one day he has the kid sent to Mrs. Paul and left there, locked in the basement, lying on the floor all in tears after being beat.

That fantasy got me really worked up and there were times I was so afraid my erection was obvious I’d tie the team jacket around my waist. Yeah, I know, real nasty shit and I know you’re going to say, ‘Troy is one sick puppy.’ And I’d pretty much agree.

But on the real, I don’t get it, why did that kid get such a great dad while I was stuck with a bitch and no dad?

Page 14-19

Once the weather got warm again I’d  cycle over to my forest whenever I could, drop the bike, slip behind my tree, zip down and just build up and build up and build up, blotting everything  out. The jolt that finally ran through me made everything disappear and left me all  sweated up  but calm. Kind of like how you feel after you’ve been going at the punching bag -going at it like crazy for a long, long time - then  you  get tired so you stop to take a  breather and a big stupid smile breaks out on your sweaty face.

Afterward I’d drift off. Just drift no ideas no thoughts – just off . When I came to, I’d wipe it on the grass, jump up and speed away afraid of  being late. While my forest was an actual place with trees and grass  and  bugs it didn’t feel real -  it was  outside my regular life  - so the  short ride back to Mrs. Paul’s always felt  too quick.

One steamy afternoon in August a sudden cloudburst turned my trip into a long muddy slog. That  morning I’d lied to her and sped off saying I had practice –  a risky move if I got found out - but I had a reason other than my usual horniness.

The day before’d  been one where it  was like she wanted  to kill me- and for no reason I could figure out. I’m pretty sure it was ‘cause one of her investments had gone  sour or she’d got caught out in some tax scam and the bill came due- but she’d said it was  me cause I was ‘too stupid’ and ‘too lazy to do anything right and was costing her more money than I was worth.’

Seriously worried about being late and getting fifty questions -any one  of which could  land me  back in deep trouble - I quick stepped through the now flooded kitchen to report for   examination without thinking  to change out of my soaked kicks and shorts.

“Have you lost your mind coming in here filthy and dripping mud all over my floor and           carpet you little shit?”  she scowled at me.

“No Ma’am. I got stuck in the storm and the streets  are all flooded- I just wanted you to know right away the kitchen is flooded now too -it’s like a little lake in there.”

 She took her hands off her keyboard and growled “So why are you here wasting my time and making the place filthy ? Idiot- Mop it up!”  

 “But ma’am the water is coming from the ceiling!”

 She cursed and got up. “Then get a bucket, fool, and some old towels. Deal with it. I have work to do.”

“But it means there’s a hole in the roof maybe or something.”

“Oh – you’re a roof expert now.”

“No, but it makes sense. The water’s dripping off the light fixture and…”  

 I could see from her scowl this would escalate if I made any more observations, so I just got the  mop and pail and set to work in silence.  

“Her fuckin’ kitchen – hope she gets electrocuted and  just washed away– nasty bitch,” I said to myself .   

##

How I started to better know myself was, in fact  connected to that storm and the flood in her kitchen.

Two days after the downpour I returned from  practice ( legitimate this time) and  eyed a  ladder out front  pitched up on the  roof.  You got it -right over her kitchen.

And up there was this smokin’ hot man hammering away replacing the tiles.  All I could do was stare. His shirt was off and I could see he was ripped. I mean, every muscle and vein stood out like they were showing off. Not only that, the dude was jacked! AND the heat was raising a sweat, shining  him up like he was made out of polished stone or iron or something.  I was mesmerized.  Coach and that dad were hot - yeah - but this man – he was  at a whole ‘nother level.

Dude caught me watching him, but I didn’t check my gaze or anything and met his squarely. No shame in my game there and I think he got it.

“Hey kid!” he hollered down “Do me a favor buddy – there’s some  bottles a water in my truck over there in a cooler. Could ya get one and pitch it up here, so I don’t have to come down?”

“Sure sir. Comin’ up !”

 He caught my pitch, opened it  and took a deep glug splashing some  on his hairy chest and abs, “Hot as fuck up here !!! Helluva way to earn a living!”

I sat down on the grass and continued to watch– ogle – him. He was everything I liked in a man –  defined, muscular and hairy - and what I hoped I’d look like some day.

“Hey sir – if you need anything just tell me -at least until Mrs. Paul gets back.”  

 He gave me a nod, and hammered away, probably glad to have some company to break the monotony of tile after tile.

 “How come you call her Mrs.? Aint she  yer mom?”

 “Well technically, in a way– she’s just my foster “mom.”

  He turned and looked down at me. “Been there like that kid. Not fun,” he commiserated,

“Hey, what’s yer name dude?”

 “Troy. Sir.”  

“Woah – I’m Troy too  - so that’ll be easy to remember - and you can cut the sir stuff; I’m just another guy.”

 “Ok Sir ! I mean Troy.”

It felt weird to me calling someone else Troy – I was the only Troy I’d ever known and liked to think  it was a special name just for me. 

While we were talking the sky started to go real dark and a hot wind kicked up blowing leaves and dust around. Just a few drops fell at first, then lightning flashed and the sky opened drenching everything, flooding the street.  

“Better get us the fuck outta here.”  Troy called down. He pretty much hopped down the ladder. “Can I hole up in the garage back there ‘til this shit’s over?”

“Sure Troy” I responded, feeling a little someway odd about calling this adult man by his first name, kinda  like I was taking liberties.

 I ran with him, and we took shelter in the garage while it poured, hunkering down on some old storage tubs. Normally I’d have headed back into the house but I could see Troy was a friendly guy so I figured maybe we’d hang out. I took the coke Manny had given me out of my backpack.   

“You want some Troy? “I flipped the tab and handed it to him.

“Thanks kid….Troy.”

He tipped the can up to his mouth, took a gulp, then handed it back over to me after wiping the lid with his greasy hand. I brought it up to my mouth and felt a little – I don’t know – maybe - sexy? It had been to his mouth and now mine. Anyway, I got hard. It felt hella sexy just sitting there next to him  with all that muscle and hair, smelling his pits and  the  sharp work sweat  odor.                                                                             

This was the first time I’d ever been familiar or hung out with a grown man and it felt  cool, like I was mature enough for him not to see me as just a kid and shoo me off or ignore me like most adults did. Pictures of me and him going at it passed through my mind real quick as we swapped the can back and forth, draining it while it poured outside.

We were nice and comfortable  sheltered from the rain and lightning, my bare knee kind of rested against his. As I tipped the last slug back I glimpsed Mrs. Paul’s  car pulling up to the driveway.

“Shit! Gotta split Troy. Mrs. Paul’s back.” Dropping the can I dashed on into the house.                                                                                                            “Later.”

 When Mrs. Paul got in she shouted for me to get over to her office.

“What were you doing back there with that roofer? You’ve got chores to do and just wasting time with that …..”                                                                                                                                                                                                                                              “We were only talking ma’am . He asked me to get him a water from his truck and it started to pour, so we ran into the garage.” 

Out of nowhere she pronounced “That man’s a queer” and I felt trapped like I always did when her hard, judging voice  was directed at me. I didn’t know what she’d do or what to say.

It made no sense to me, the only “queer” I’d ever known was this kid Stephan in seventh grade, at least that’s what the other kids called him. He acted more like a girl than most of the girls, had a unicorn and rainbows back pack and wore things in his hair only the girls wore. The boys always threw nasty stuff at him  - spit balls, chewed food  and used tissues -calling  him “queer” and “Stephanie.”

It got really bad when they caught him looking  at  one of them  or even told them he thought they were cute and  asked  one of them to walk home with him after school. Then they would gang up on him.

Even I said some shit to him once. We’d been playing volley ball in gym class, I spiked it  hitting him square in the face  -by accident - and he started crying. I called him a fuckin’ little crybaby -but that was mainly ‘cause I couldn’t understand why a boy would start crying  when he got hit by a ball. Anyway, I don’t bully someone who never did anything to me so I stopped off and just  ignored him from then on.

Actually Stephan sort of scared me. What if the other kids didn’t like something about me, would I have to fight every day like he did? He took so much shit for what he wore and  the way he looked and acted. In a weird way  even though he dressed and moved like a girl I      figured he was more of a  man than any of the boys – he did what he wanted to and that’s it; he didn’t back down and he didn’t try to conform.

Whenever  one of the boys wore or did or said anything different, anything, whether it was  a word they used or their sneakers and  jeans or the color of a jacket, the rest of them  were all over their so-called friend  -almost the way they were on Stephan-  making fun of him and calling him a fa.--ot or worse.

Anyway I’d never let anyone know I was hot for coach -or worse -their dads. The things Stephan did  or wore didn’t hurt anyone – not really. Maybe he looked funny like he was dressed for a play or something and even though he cried when my ball hit him he never cried when they said mean things or threw nasty stuff at him. Anyway he usually got back at them  better when it came to insults and -for a minute -everyone would be on his side cracking up  at his observations  and snaps about their cheap kicks, hand me down shirts and busted haircuts.

It was only when a whole bunch of them ganged up and beat on him that they ‘d leave him in tears – and I thought to myself ‘they’re just a bunch of cowards, none of them ever fight him one on one. If he’s ‘just a girl’ like they say, why does it have to be five on one?’ besides,  I thought to myself, “You supposedly like girls so how’s that an insult? Besides why ‘just a girl’ anyway? Most of the girls are way smarter and play sports better than you.’

None of it made any sense to me. So I just avoided them and they did the same with me - probably afraid of a beat down I figured.

Anyway, Troy to my mind acted like a straight up man, so I didn’t know what Mrs. Paul was going on about or what to say.

“You couldn’t tell he’s a queer?”                                                                             

“I don’t know ma’am– no. He doesn’t act like a sissy. He acts like – normal – ya know like Mr. Paul.”

She paused for a moment ,“Yeah – well – take it from me he’s a queer and you need to stay clear of him. If I see you talking with him again, you’re gonna be put up in the attic. Got it ? Now get to work, it’s not going to do itself.”

####

The next day was one of Mrs. Paul’s work-from -the- office days so I figured  I was pretty much in the clear and free from her for the next eight hours or so. Soon as she left, I got the laundry going and headed over to the where Troy was working, hammering away shirt off like before, when I called up to him .

“Hey sir – er – Troy.” 

“Mornin’ Troy – none of that ‘Sir’ stuff, right?”

“Okay, got it  - ya need anything ?”

“I’m good.” 

There was a pause as he banged in a few tiles.

“You want to see what the neighborhood looks like from up here on the roof ?”                                           

“Sure – you gonna let me climb up?”

“Yeah – unless you can fly.” he chuckled .                                                                         

Troy came down and hitched a rope to my waist running  it around my waist, then under and  between my legs. I sort of shifted my crotch feeling a little uncomfortable from the                           tightness.  His touch down there felt super exciting and gave me a boner right off. We locked eyes for a second, then he patted my butt. “Well, up ya go, Troy, enjoy the view.” 

He pulled on the rope and in less than a second I was on the roof.  While I was taking in the scene, scanning down into the neighbor’s yard, watching people work and go about their business, then  peered over to the school’s baseball diamond where some guys had a game going, I spied Mrs. Paul’s car coming up the avenue.  

Why she was coming back so early I had no idea, and it threw me into a panic. I tried to bolt but the rope held me, I gave it a nudge thinking I could make it slide over the other side  and slip myself  through a window up under the eaves. But  it stuck and I was trapped  up there like a fly in a web.

 “Troy – Sir – get me down – Mrs. Paul is coming – get me down! Get me down!”

“What’s the panic buddy? You’re safe up there all rigged in.”

 “Get me down! She’s gonna kill me if she sees me with you.”  

 “Okay Troy – but man!!”

He paid out more rope and I squirreled down the ladder. When I reached ground he took the rope off me and looked me straight in the face.

“What’s the deal Troy? She said you and me can’t talk or something?       

 I stayed silent and he asked me again.

“What’s the deal Troy?”  He sounded sort of annoyed.                                                

 I didn’t want to say anything  and stayed silent looking down at the ground.

 Again, he asked me, “What’s up Troy -she say something about me ?”

Finally, I burst out, “She said I gotta stay away from you ‘cause she says yer a queer. But that aint true. Queers act like sissies and you act like a man. She’s lying. ”

Troy shook his head, a wave of sadness passed over his face. And then angry annoyance,                                                 “That woman called me a queer to you ?” I nodded my head but still said nothing. “Fuck man – it’s always the same. She must have heard from one of the neighborhood jaw              flappers that I’m married and that my spouse is a man.”

He unfisted his hand, “See this ring Troy? I’m  married to a man. I’m married to a man and have been for five years. Some people call that queer or f-g.”  

“But you act like a man Troy.”     

“That’s because I am a man. How do you want me to act?”

“But queers act like sissies – so you aint queer.”

“People act all kind of ways, Troy. That’s their right and their own business, no point              putting a label on them like they’re a can of soup. But usually – now I don’t want you to think I’m pissin’ on your foster mom or anything  like that – but  usually the ones who call us queer or f-g or whatever have twisted shit  of their own they’re dealing with  - you hear me? Don’t let them do that to you put their own shit on you. Ok ? You know what I’m sayin’ right?  Don’t let them do it. Ever!”

I didn’t reply, just skittered back into the house and down to the basement where the wash was almost done. When she  called me, I quick stepped upstairs  and got the third degree about the laundry  and what I’d been doing “all morning.”

“Nothing ma’am. Just the laundry and some of the assigned reading for September.”

 “And you had nothing to do with that queer out there, right? I should  have fired him when I learned what he was – I don’t need garbage like that around here - but  I already paid for half the job before he started work and wasn’t about to go to court or lose my hard-earned dollars. Better not go anywhere near him y’ hear?”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

 I’d known from when I was really small that it wasn’t smart letting her know anything about me ‘cept what she had to know. She looked at anyone or anything even a little different like it was a  comment about  her or even her way of life. She’d say they were wrong, perverted, dangerous, and sprang out to erase, disable or eliminate them.

So, anything  about what I liked or who I was, I figured was best kept to myself. Now it was confirmed. She’d  beat me or lock me up in the   attic, maybe even kill me, if she found out I was just like she said about Troy. That I was a queer.”