I wondered if I could share my desires with some of them, but the fear of being called a “faggot” stopped me. I would see guys touch each other’s private parts and call them “faggots.” I was alone and horribly confused. In actuality, the same boy that touched the boy in the locker room, later called him a “faggot” in the hallway. In the corner of the locker room, and still in the closet, I felt a moment of joy: What if I wasn’t alone? What if there were other boys that felt the same way I did?
Off to the side or in the background, I often overheard boys say things like “nice dick” and “you got a hairy ass.” At one point, I saw a boy playfully touch a classmate. And I can tell you I was not the only one looking.
Curious, I couldn’t help but glance at some of them while they changed. My high school locker room completely bewildered me-a small space full of sweaty boys, constantly fighting, and pulling each other’s pants down.
I was quiet and observant, and I didn’t yet know if I should, or could, act on those emotions. I was 14, just starting high school at an all-boys public school in the Bronx, when I began to feel a strong physical attraction to other boys.
