F. Jason Whitaker Writer

Dreams linger. Early morning. Watching the sun slowly appear. The darkness slowly replaced by the light.  Today is a new day. I greet the day.

I watched a show yesterday that made me sad. Not depressed. Just sad. I was sad the rest of the day. Most of the time I avoid things that would make me sad because I will be sad for at least the rest of the day. There's something about going to sleep at night, dreaming, and waking up a new person. I mean refreshed. I mean renewed. For me that middle section, the dreams, is the most exciting part of my life. In my dreams I am surrounded by people, I go places, and I have a life. In the other parts of my days I do not. Sometimes I look forward to dreaming all day.

Snow. Snow falls around me. I stand in the middle of the road. There's no one else on the road. I spin in place. Snow lands on my shoulders. It's cold but I have no desire to go back indoors. The sounds of a snowy day surround me. The winter wind blowing through bare tree branches. The sound of snow crunching beneath my feet.  If only everyday was a snow day.

The darkness of my room surrounds me. The silence inside, the noise of the world outside barely audible. My thoughts fill me. Memories and dreams and hopes and prayers. I remember things gone and things I hope to be. A random meeting in the past. A random man, older man, his mouth devouring me. It feels great. What's nice about this memory is that he left afterwards. I filled him and he left. There was always something missing. Love. Effection. Desire beyond my imagination. I imagined myself with a boy my age while the older man was down below. Times gone.

Stars above. I walk down a path in the local park. It's nice outside. I walk with no destination. The silence of night surrounds me. It's not a true silence as in an absence of sound but a calm that soothes me. My feet move forward. My mind is miles away. My mind is in the past. When I was younger I was in this park. I met an older man. He took me back to his place after a brief conversation. Small talk. In his apartment he undressed so quickly. He had hair on his chest. He took my hand. Guided me to the bed. Lowered me back onto the bed. His bed was soft and inviting. He undressed me slowly as if he were trying to hold onto each second. He wanted me. I looked down after he finished. My clothes were tossed somewhere. His lips explored my neck. His tongue moved as if tracing my outline. His tongue teased my nipples. His mouth moved further down. I was shaking from nerves. This was the first time I had ever been with anyone. I watched as his mouth consumed me. I could feel his wa...

Saturday night. What am I doing? Looking at myself in the mirror just in case I actually go out tonight. My flat is boring to me but going out is not much more enticing. My computer sits on my desk. I could chat a bit but I would have to come up with something to chat about. Will I go out? I am a single gay boy. I have chosen to be single. I am single because it's best to be single. The truth is not so grand. I am single because I am afraid of asking a boy. I watch the clock. I watch each second pass. It's like I'm counting down to nothing. Will I sit here the rest of the night? I grab my key. I lock the door. I go downstairs. I am ready to get the night started, but first I shall take a brief walk in the nearby park.

I'm sitting in my room, on my bed, waiting for my parents to knock on the door. I am rehearsing, in my head, that conversation. The conversation where they either tell me that they accept me for the person I am or they reject me. They might consider ways to fix me or change me. I am nervous. I am also excited. I have a boyfriend.