by
Gary Cottle
Hi. My name is Josh. It all started when I was six years old. At that age, I didn’t really think about sex or gender identity that much, so I didn’t know that it was weird for me to have a girl best friend. I liked her a lot, but sometimes when we were alone, she would touch me in the naughty place. She also used to insist that I come into the bathroom with her while she peed, so I saw her muffin like a million times. I shouldn’t have seen that. It made me feel totally weird. We spent every day together until we were like eleven. We got along great, so there was no outward sign that anything was wrong. Most of the time we just hung out and played, but every now and then she would touch me, or she wanted me to go to the bathroom with her, so she was totally molesting me. I must have known that it was wrong because I never told anyone at the time. I didn’t know that she was changing me on the inside.
By the time I was twelve, everyone assumed I was straight. They told me I looked straight, walked straight, talked straight. Guys would point out girls at school and say they knew I wanted to have sex with them. They called me "Stud" and "Butch." One guy invited me home and showed me a copy of Playboy magazine. So naturally I thought I was straight. I started thinking about girls, imagining doing stuff with them, really sick stuff…getting naked with them, and rubbing my body against theirs…you know, really hard core heterosexual fantasies.
I got heavily involved in sports. I was a real jock boy. In high school I was on the football team, and I became friends with the head cheerleader. One day she told me that she knew I was struggling with heterosexual feelings and that she was, too. She admitted that she often thought about doing stuff with guys like me. We started dating, and it wasn’t long before she started putting her hands down my pants.
After that, I was completely convinced that I was straight. I believed I would spend my life chasing after girls. I met this one girl at summer camp. She lived a couple of hundred miles away, so the only way we could keep in touch was by texting and exchanging emails. Eventually, we started sending these really sappy, completely heterosexual love letters to each other.
My brother Johnny and his partner Zach suspected I was involved in the heterosexual lifestyle, so they had me come live with them. I was scared to death they’d find out I was messing around with girls. Then one day my worst fears were realized. Johnny was driving me home from football practice, and he confronted me about the mushy, straight emails I was sending to the girl I had met at camp the summer before. I tried to deny it at first, but he had printed out one of the emails and started to read it aloud. I was so disgusted with myself when I heard my brother read those sick words about how I wanted to be with this girl every day for the rest of my life. He demanded that I explain myself. He wanted to know how a brother of his could get involved with girls. I broke down and told him my best friend was a girl when I was a kid, and we used to go to the bathroom together. I cried like a baby, and I promised I would change.
He kept me home from school for the rest of the week and made me listen to a ton of Adam Lambert and Ricky Martin songs. We watched Brokeback Mountain like ten times, too. I knew that my brother and his boyfriend had a good life together, and I wanted to be just like them. So I asked God to deliver me from all of those wicked thoughts I was having about girls, and when I did, the thoughts suddenly disappeared. I knew then that I was gay and had been all along. When I told my brother, he was so overjoyed, he started singing I’m Just A Sweet Transvestite From Transsexual Transylvania. I tried to join in, but I didn’t know all the words.
I’m a public speaker now. I tell boys that they’re not really straight. I tell them that they’re fooled by heterosexual activists who want to suck them into the heterosexual lifestyle. I tell them no one is born straight. Some of us merely choose to identify as straight. And doing naughty stuff with girls when we’re young makes us vulnerable to dark forces that want to fool us into thinking we like girls.
I used to hate the color pink, but now I try to wear a pink shirt at least once a week, sometimes twice. I’ve been learning show tunes, and I’ve given up football. No one is going to mistake me for a heterosexual ever again. I hope to have a boyfriend like my brother one day. Zach is fixing me up with his gay cousin next weekend. I’m looking forward to kissing a boy for the first time. I think I’m ready. I’m sure I’m ready. …you believe me, don’t you?
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This absurd story was inspired by another absurd story:
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