FROM THE CLOSET TO THE MOUNTAIN TOP

THE FOLLOWING ELEVEN SHORT STORIES REFLECT MY OPINION, AS A GAY MAN, ON GAY RIGHTS AND HOMOPHOBIA, BUT ARE ABSOLUTELY NO MORE THAN MY OPINION. NOW, WITHOUT FURTHER ADO FROM THE CLOSET TO THE MOUNTAIN TOP BY MATTHEW LUCAS BECKETT THE UNEXPECTED CRUSH I could feel my heart skip a beat as Gabe knocked on the door. “Jacob, let me in. We agreed not lock each other out, remember?” “Just a minute, Gabriel,” I called, knowing that he only liked Sam to call him Gabe. I look around the room. The candles are too much, too obvious, I decide and quickly put them away. I give the room one last, critical look. Everything else is perfect. Then I walk over and open the door to see Gabe's gorgeous face looking impatient and cross. “Sorry, Buddy,” I say. “I was just straightening up a bit.” This is not a total lie, even though it is also not the whole truth. Gabriel's face relaxes. “Sorry I was impatient Jacob,” he says apologetically. “I guess I'm a bit cross because Sam won't be joining us tonight.” “Oh?” I say, doing my best to look like this is news to me, even though I actually asked Laura and Martha to make sure that they kept his girl-friend away from our dorm for this evening. I don't mind that he has a girl-friend, I know he can never love me as I love him, but some time alone would be nice, and certainly tonight we need privacy. His exceptionally large nostrils sniff and then he breaks into his brilliant smile, causing my erection to harden into solidity. “Meatloaf,” he says with delight. “And you remembered that I like French Fries with it, not Mashed Potatoes.” He sniffs again. “And Garlic Bread.” One more sniff. “And Caramel Pudding. What's the occasion? You haven't made my whole favorite meal in a long time.” He pauses. “And I know when we eat here, it's always you. You just don't usually go quite this all out.” It is true that since the cafeteria closed for repairs two months ago, either I cook or we go out. I know Gay Men liking to cook is a stereotype, but for me it's also true. I decide to hold off on the full scoop. Gabe knows I'm Gay, of course, but the rest of what I want to share tonight he does not know. But I think it better to eat first, so I simply shrug. “Didn't have any classes this afternoon and decided to make a treat for my best friend,” I pause, then think and quickly add “and his girl-friend. Pity she can't join us.” I am relieved to see that he did not seem to notice my blunder. He smiles again, making between my legs even harder. “Well,,” he says. “I've been in classes all afternoon and I'm famished. So, if it's ready, let's eat.” We Say a quick Grace and then I serve both of us hot Meatloaf, French Fries and Garlic Bread. Gabe dives in with gusto at once, but I spend as much time looking at him and thinking about later this evening as I do eating. At first, this does not attract his attention, for he's always been more of an eater than I am. Since he is more than a foot taller than me, played football through High School and weighs close to if not more than a hundred pounds more than me (it's not a subject we discuss regularly, so I'm not sure of an exact amount) this makes sense. But when he starts on his third helping and I'm barely more than half way through my first, he stops. “Are you all right, Jacob, Jake?” he asks. It always makes me especially hard when he calls me Jake, which is why I usually insist on Jacob, and I'm already VERY hard this evening. “I'm having thirds, and you've barely touched your firsts.” I dive into my food. “Sorry, Gabriel,” Oh how I want to say 'Gabe', but it's still too early in the evening, The other girls promised they'd keep Sam away until 10, so thee is time. “Just got my mind on other things, I suppose.” Gabriel nods. “That boy in English Class today?” he suggests. Well, I can't deny that the young man who sits next to me in our English 101 Class is HOT. In strictly physical terms he's got Gabe beat by a wide margin, but my feelings for Gabe have become so much more than just physical, plus I don't even know this other young man's name. But, as now is not quite the right time yet to show my full hand, I nod. “He is HOT,” I add. “Well,” says Gabriel. “I wouldn't know about that personally. But I do know that he is your type.” “Can't deny that,” I say, leaving unsaid that while not as extreme, Gabe has many of the features that make our classmate my type. It is remarkable that my friend knows the facial features I like, apart from this young man possesses them more than anyone we've ever known, and yet has never guessed that I might be attracted to him. Of course, I reflect. He might not think that such feelings could arise between friends as old as us, since he only met Sam in High School. She's only ever let anyone here call her Sam. So I suspect her given name is something other than Samantha, but I've never found out for sure. As I've been musing, Gabe and I have devoured all of the meatloaf, French fries and garlic bread. Gabe gives me a rather sheepish look. “That was at least two meals. What would our mothers say?” We both give a slightly nervous laugh, although there is also the comfort of old friends in it. “Well,” I answer when I'm done chuckling. “They'd definitely say that we do not get any dessert. However, as they're not here, and I did make your favorite for that as well, once we've cleaned this up, let's have the pudding.” Gabe laughs, and I barely keep things in check, but do manage t do so. “Sounds good, Jake, Jacob. Sorry, I know you prefer the whole thing. Maybe someday. . .whatever his name is, will call you Jake and you'll like it.” “It's possible,” I say as we carry the dishes to the sink of our small kitchen. “Although I have no data to suggest that he is also Gay.” “True,” says Gabriel with a nod, running the hot water into the dish tub and then pouring in the soap. “But then, as close a lid as you keep on it, and I know why, you don't need to explain, no one you didn't tell would know that you're gay, either, Jacob. . . unless they spotted the glances you give certain guys, and that alone would not make them certain without confirmation.” Our hands touch in the dishwater, and it takes a mighty effort to keep things under control, but I do. “Fair point,” I say after a moment. We finish the dishes in silence, and then I serve the pudding and we sit down to dessert. This time, I make sure to match Gabe scoop for scoop, so that he won't think anything out of the ordinary is going on. After dessert is also devoured in its entirety and cleaned up and all of the dishes put away, we sit down side by side on the couch, although it is still an hour until any TV. worth watching is on, and two hours until the earliest Sam will return. “OK, Jacob” says Gabriel, turning his Strong, Gorgeous and HOT face full upon me, causing my hormones to do cartwheels and summersaults inside my tight balls and rock solid penis, but still remaining inside, with a great effort on my part. “Something has been up all evening. We've known each other too long and been best friends for all of that time for me not to notice. Are you dying? Are you leaving school? Did you get a date with whatever his name is? Are your parents moving to Africa or The Middle East? It's something big. Everything has been too perfect and you've been too evasive for it to be small or even mid range. I know you well enough to know all of that beyond doubt, but I can not read your mind. So out with it. Say what you've got to say.” I hesitate a moment. What if this ends our friendship. But I've come to far to turn back now., I decide. I turn to face my best and oldest friend full in the face, his Gorgeous face. “OK,” I say. “You're right. I have got something to say, and please hear me out before you act or react. Earlier in the evening, I wasn't thinking about that boy in English Class, I was thinking about you.” To my astonishment, no surprise at all registers on the gorgeous face before me. Although neither does acceptance, it just remains totally emotionless. I plunge on before I lose my nerve. “I've had a crush on you since our first day of High School, the first time I saw you after you got back from Europe. I've never said anything because I value you as a friend too much to risk that. I still do. But now,” I hesitate again. If I move on, there is no going back, EVER. But I've already come too far to tun back now. He is staring at me, now open mouthed, but clearly awaiting the rest. “But now,” I repeat. “I have fallen totally, head over heals in love with you, and I just can't keep it to myself any longer. I know you and Sam are an item, and I know that even if you didn't at this moment have a girl-friend, you're incapable of reciprocating my attraction or my feelings, but they've all just grown so strong that I couldn't keep them to myself any longer and so I just had to tell you. I hope this doesn't end our friendship, but I'll understand if it does, and I'll certainly understand if you want a new roommate, but I just had to tell you how I feel. There, I've said it.” There is nothing more for me to say now, so I fall silent. Gabe sits, open mouthed and staring, for a very long time. I am just about to go into the bathroom and relieve my hormones when he at last speaks. “Well, Jacob,” he says, as if from a great distance. “While I wasn't exactly expecting this at the conscious level, wasn't expecting it at all there, in fact, looking back I can't exactly say that this revelation doesn't explain a lot over the past almost five years, because it does. You're right, even if I wasn't with Samuel, Sam, as she prefers, I am only capable of feeling that way, hormones and heart, about women. But. . .” he takes a deep breath. “You and I have been such good friends for so long, how could you even think even this could end that. The roommate question, though, I will have to think on. I do have to ask, and be honest, because I will understand why you would for this. Did you make sure that Sam would not be here this evening?” “Yes,” I say after a moment's hesitation. “I asked Laura and Martha to make sure she was out until 10 so that we could have this talk between just the two of us. I didn't think she'd like hearing my speel,” I laugh at the end. She'd probably have killed me. “Well, you're right about that, Jacob. She would have broken your nose and literally broken your balls. However one does that, she'd have found a way. So, what do we do now?” “Well,” I say. “In about ten minutes we turn on the television. I'm not expecting anything from you, I just needed to tell you how I feel. I leave to you how much, if anything, to tell Sam. I am relieved that we're still friends,, and you can decide about the roommate matter as and when you choose. Right now, though, if you'll excuse me, I really need to get into the bathroom.” He nods, his still somewhat uncertain expression showing that he knows that this is not a urination trip, and I quickly enter our shared bathroom. I have barely sat down on the toilet before I start ejaculating, and ejaculate so long that I am barely through on the toilet and at the sink and leaving the bathroom in time for our 9:00 TV. show. Then I sit down beside my best and oldest friend, each of us a little uncertain what to do now, and turn on the TV.. THE PENDULUM SWINGS DUE GAY Sandra and Sara watched as President Phelps's right hand put the final signature on The Marriage Readjustment Act, legalizing Gay Marriage throughout the entire country. “YES!” shouted Sara, jumping to her feet. “Take that, Homophobes!” Her sister Joyce and brother-in-law Troy, sitting on the couch next to the two of them, were less excited. But even their expressions couldn't match the maroon color of Conan Votive Omoplohf's face. “And with that signature,” he said through clenched teeth. “President Phelps ends marriage as we know it. This country is literally going to Hell in a Hand Basket.” Then the screen suddenly went black. All four gasped. They had chosen to watch the event on this channel because they wanted to see his reaction, but none of them had expected quite this sudden a station wide reaction. “Of course,” said Troy. “None of us were expecting quite such a sweeping bill. Don't get me wrong, Sara. . .” he quickly added as his sister-in-law started to speak. “I've always supported you and Sandra's right to marry, I just didn't expect it to come accompanied by the termination of Joyce and my marriage.” For The Marriage Readjustment Act redefined marriage as exclusively between two man or two women. “I sympathize,” Sandra offered. “But maybe in a few years, the pendulum will return to center and there can just be equality. On the other hand, we've been denied for seven years, so, obviously not you two, but the larger heterosexual community can get a taste of what it's like not to be. . .” Troy nodded. “I understand, Sandra, there's no need to explain.” He turned to Joyce. “I love you very much, but since we'll now be living in sin anyway, as our marriage has just been invalidated. Well, to be perfectly honest, there's a part of me that's always had a thing for your brother Frank. . .” “Troy,” said Joyce. “I understand. I've known from the first time we made love that your heart, more to the point your hormones, weren't really in it. I was just the closest you could get to him under the old system, and I know you've had a crush on him since high school. Go be with him. Our marriage was always more of a friendship than a romance anyway.” Ten seconds later, Troy was gone. Shocked by how suddenly this had happened, even though she'd kind always known that it was really Frank, too, Sara turned to her sister. “What will you do now, Joyce?” she asked. Joyce thought a moment. “If it's all right, I'll stay with you for a few days. You'll be planning a wedding soon, and that is what I do.” “Of course,”said Sara, after looking to Sandra and getting a heart felt nod from her. Then she went to a drawer, pulled out a small box and got on one knee in front of Sandra. “Sandra Davidson Elia, Sammy, will you marry me?” “Yes, I will, Sara Hearthstone Loveall,” Sammy replied. “When we're ready, we can adopt children, or go through some kind of artificial insemination.” “Yes,” said Sara. “But that's YEARS away. For now, let's just focus on the moment at hand.” “Agreed,” said Sammy. Joyce nodded her agreement also, she and Troy had obviously never had children either. Then the three of them started planning a wedding. QUEERS AND FEARS. “And with that signature,” said the reporter on The 5:00 TV. News. “Simply being Gay in The United States of America becomes an offense punishable by death. In other news. . .” I never learned what that other news was, though, because I had to turn the TV. off before Mark put his foot through it. “Damn them,” said my little brother. “I just figure out who I really am, after three years of confused searching, and then they make it a Capital Offense.” “Well,” I said, trying hard to calm him before anyone less sympathetic heard through the open window. “You'll just have to be careful.” “As in hide who I truly am from everyone,” he replied. “Well, that shouldn't be too hard, since I've been doing it for a year from everyone but you and Dave, even our parents.” Dave, my husband, while I was a Heterosexual Woman and he a Heterosexual Man, was much less judgmental than the rest of our family, he and I being the only ones Mark had felt safe to tell that he was Gay without fear of total rejection. Dave and I sympathized with Mark, but of course, across town, not all of our family was having this reaction. “Good,” said MR. Bullhead. “Now people like that can be hunted down and shot like the dogs they are.” “They'll still get a trial,” said his friend Puck, who was a Police Officer. “It can't be mob rule, even with this, or society will collapse.” “Yes,” said MR. Bullhead. “But if there is an immediate threat of penetration from a fag, on a cop or someone else, it's now the same as if they are about to shoot someone, so then deadly force can be used. My son Mark, daughter Lisa and son-in-law Dave are coming over for dinner tonight. Would you like to stay?” “Like to yes,” said Puck. “Can I, no, however. It's the first night of Queer Patrol, since we've known this was coming and been preparing fir it for months. We want to make a strong showing the first night, so they won't show themselves again. So, I'd better be going. Say high to the kids for me.” “I'll do that,” said MR. Bullhead. “Go out there are cuff a queer for me.” Puck nodded, then left. Tragically, this night was not to go as anyone expected. “Mark,” I said. “Come on. We're having dinner with Dad. You don't need to look ready for romance with our father.” Dave was already waiting in the car, and I had been ready for at least fifteen minutes. When Mark finally emerged, my lower jaw hit the floor. His golden blond hair was more washed, pressed and shiny than I had ever seen it. His clothes were perfect, more perfect than I had ever seen them. He had done a shaving job like I had never seen. There was not even the slightest hint of a hair anywhere on his face, not even peeping out of his rather large nose, a place he'd never managed to get completely clean of hair before. His colored contacts emphasized the green of his eyes more than ever, and his teeth looked whiter than I ever remembered them being. But most of all I noticed what I did not see, the scar across his right cheek from the dog attack when we were children. “I see my countenance surprises you, Lisa,” he said with a brilliant smile. “Yes, I know how to do make-up. I have been in the theater most of my life, after all. I know we're going to Dad's, but who knows? I might find someone and get lucky later on on this last night, since they cannot possibly be ready to enforce this new law immediately.” I was not sure whether to smile or scream, so I shook my head and went out the door. Dad was puzzled by Mark's appearance when we arrived. “I have a big date later tonight,” Mark explained, leaving out that it was with someone he had not yet met and that that someone would be a man. Dinner was delicious food wise but scarce in conversation, since the one thing that I knew was on all of our minds was the one thing that we all knew we couldn't discuss. Fortunately, Dad did not bring it up either. After dessert and a drink, we drove back to our place and Dave and I headed for bed, since we did have work the next day. Mark, however, being in the summer between High School and College and so not having any immediate responsibilities, said that he was heading out for a night of fun. “Be very careful,” I called after him. He smiled and waved. I wish he'd listened. GOD how I wish he'd listened. “First night out on Queer Patrol, Officer Puck Triggerfinger reporting in,” I said into my radio as I drove around,looking for illegal Queer Activity. “No sign of any Fag. .. wait, young male, dressed the part, approaching. No sirens, I don't want to frighten off a collar or frighten an innocent.” “Can I help you, Officer,” said a voice that did not seem right coming from a man and that was vaguely familiar, but I couldn't put my finger on it. “Depends,” I said in my huskiest official police sounding voice. “What are you doing out here, Young Man?” “Looking for Love,” he said. “Or at lest one night of. . .companionship.” My first Queer Collar, I thought excitedly. Well, on his head be it. They should just have kept quiet. Whatever sentence he gets, he deserves. But, of course, I had to wait for an actual proposition to act. “Well,” I said. “Out on the street is an odd place to do that. Why not one of The Singles Clubs?” “I don't think they serve the kind of drink I'm looking for,” said the. . .could I even say Young Man, he looked little more than a boy. His words confirmed what I already suspected, but I still needed more to make an arrest. “I know some places,” I said, which was true, I did, even though the only place I was really taking him was The County Lockup. “Why don't you get in. These streets are dangerous at night, especially for one so young.” He hesitated at first, but then came a scream from the darkness and he quickly got in. Once inside, he looked me over. “Or we could just go somewhere,” he offered. I had enough there to bring him in, but this was my first arrest of this nature, and I wanted to be sure it stuck, so I agreed to go to a nearby motel in a neighborhood where people didn't ask too many questions. I wish I had just arrested him. GOD how I wish I had just arrested him. When we reached the motel, we checked in and were alone in a room in seconds. Then we each began to undress, he clearly enjoying this a lot more than me. Once we were both naked, we climbed into the bed and began caressing each other. I felt his erection moving towards my mouth. It was time. From beneath the pillow, I removed my handcuffs and started to slap them on him. “You are under arrest for Queer Activity,” I said. “What?” he cried. “I thought.. . You tricked me. . .that's entrapment. . .and besides. . .” His words failed as he jammed his penis into my unwilling mouth and began ejaculating, clearly having come too far to stop. “This is assaulting a Peace Officer,” I shout, “stop or. . .” I break off as I feel a second round of ejaculating start in my mouth. Without a second thought, knowing only that this is assault and so I am justified, I grab my Service Revolver from under the bed, set it against his madly pumping chest, and fire. He goes still at once. But in the moment before his life empties completely, our eyes at last meat. “Mark?” I gasp in horror. “Puck?” he replies with a wheeze, and then my best friend's only son dies in my arms. THE PRICE OF PREJUDICE “And with that signature,” said the reporter on The 5:00 TV. News. “Simply being Gay in The United States of America becomes an offense punishable by death. In other news. . .” I never learned what that other news was, though, because I had to turn the TV. off before Mark put his foot through it. “Damn them,” said my little brother. “I just figure out who I really am, after three years of confused searching, and then they make it a Capital Offense.” “Well,” I said, trying hard to calm him before anyone less sympathetic heard through the open window. “You'll just have to be careful.” “As in hide who I truly am from everyone,” he replied. “Well, that shouldn't be too hard, since I've been doing it for a year from everyone but you and Dave, even our parents.” Dave, my husband, while I was a Heterosexual Woman and he a Heterosexual Man, was much less judgmental than the rest of our family, he and I being the only ones Mark had felt safe to tell that he was Gay without fear of total rejection. Dave and I sympathized with Mark, but of course, across town, not all of our family was having this reaction. “Good,” said MR. Bullhead. “Now people like that can be hunted down and shot like the dogs they are.” “They'll still get a trial,” said his friend Puck, who was a Police Officer. “It can't be mob rule, even with this, or society will collapse.” “Yes,” said MR. Bullhead. “But if there is an immediate threat of penetration from a fag, on a cop or someone else, it's now the same as if they are about to shoot someone, so then deadly force can be used. My son Mark, daughter Lisa and son-in-law Dave are coming over for dinner tonight. Would you like to stay?” “Like to yes,” said Puck. “Can I, no, however. It's the first night of Queer Patrol, since we've known this was coming and been preparing fir it for months. We want to make a strong showing the first night, so they won't show themselves again. So, I'd better be going. Say high to the kids for me.” “I'll do that,” said MR. Bullhead. “Go out there are cuff a queer for me.” Puck nodded, then left. Tragically, this night was not to go as anyone expected. “Mark,” I said. “Come on. We're having dinner with Dad. You don't need to look ready for romance with our father.” Dave was already waiting in the car, and I had been ready for at least fifteen minutes. When Mark finally emerged, my lower jaw hit the floor. His golden blond hair was more washed, pressed and shiny than I had ever seen it. His clothes were perfect, more perfect than I had ever seen them. He had done a shaving job like I had never seen. There was not even the slightest hint of a hair anywhere on his face, not even peeping out of his rather large nose, a place he'd never managed to get completely clean of hair before. His colored contacts emphasized the green of his eyes more than ever, and his teeth looked whiter than I ever remembered them being. But most of all I noticed what I did not see, the scar across his right cheek from the dog attack when we were children. “I see my countenance surprises you, Lisa,” he said with a brilliant smile. “Yes, I know how to do make-up. I have been in the theater most of my life, after all. I know we're going to Dad's, but who knows? I might find someone and get lucky later on on this last night, since they cannot possibly be ready to enforce this new law immediately.” I was not sure whether to smile or scream, so I shook my head and went out the door. Dad was puzzled by Mark's appearance when we arrived. “I have a big date later tonight,” Mark explained, leaving out that it was with someone he had not yet met and that that someone would be a man. Dinner was delicious food wise but scarce in conversation, since the one thing that I knew was on all of our minds was the one thing that we all knew we couldn't discuss. Fortunately, Dad did not bring it up either. After dessert and a drink, we drove back to our place and Dave and I headed for bed, since we did have work the next day. Mark, however, being in the summer between High School and College and so not having any immediate responsibilities, said that he was heading out for a night of fun. “Be very careful,” I called after him. He smiled and waved. I wish he'd listened. GOD how I wish he'd listened. “First night out on Queer Patrol, Officer Puck Triggerfinger reporting in,” I said into my radio as I drove around,looking for illegal Queer Activity. “No sign of any Fag. .. wait, young male, dressed the part, approaching. No sirens, I don't want to frighten off a collar or frighten an innocent.” “Can I help you, Officer,” said a voice that did not seem right coming from a man and that was vaguely familiar, but I couldn't put my finger on it. “Depends,” I said in my huskiest official police sounding voice. “What are you doing out here, Young Man?” “Looking for Love,” he said. “Or at lest one night of. . .companionship.” My first Queer Collar, I thought excitedly. Well, on his head be it. They should just have kept quiet. Whatever sentence he gets, he deserves. But, of course, I had to wait for an actual proposition to act. “Well,” I said. “Out on the street is an odd place to do that. Why not one of The Singles Clubs?” “I don't think they serve the kind of drink I'm looking for,” said the. . .could I even say Young Man, he looked little more than a boy. His words confirmed what I already suspected, but I still needed more to make an arrest. “I know some places,” I said, which was true, I did, even though the only place I was really taking him was The County Lockup. “Why don't you get in. These streets are dangerous at night, especially for one so young.” He hesitated at first, but then came a scream from the darkness and he quickly got in. Once inside, he looked me over. “Or we could just go somewhere,” he offered. I had enough there to bring him in, but this was my first arrest of this nature, and I wanted to be sure it stuck, so I agreed to go to a nearby motel in a neighborhood where people didn't ask too many questions. I wish I had just arrested him. GOD how I wish I had just arrested him. When we reached the motel, we checked in and were alone in a room in seconds. Then we each began to undress, he clearly enjoying this a lot more than me. Once we were both naked, we climbed into the bed and began caressing each other. I felt his erection moving towards my mouth. It was time. From beneath the pillow, I removed my handcuffs and started to slap them on him. “You are under arrest for Queer Activity,” I said. “What?” he cried. “I thought.. . You tricked me. . .that's entrapment. . .and besides. . .” His words failed as he jammed his penis into my unwilling mouth and began ejaculating, clearly having come too far to stop. “This is assaulting a Peace Officer,” I shout, “stop or. . .” I break off as I feel a second round of ejaculating start in my mouth. Without a second thought, knowing only that this is assault and so I am justified, I grab my Service Revolver from under the bed, set it against his madly pumping chest, and fire. He goes still at once. But in the moment before his life empties completely, our eyes at last meat. “Mark?” I gasp in horror. “Puck?” he replies with a wheeze, and then my best friend's only son dies in my arms. GAY HUNTING. The gavel came down with such force that not only it but the desk beneath it shattered. “And with that,” came the thunderous voice of The Speaker of The House, Fred Homophobe Hatemonger, with his Dread Pronouncement. “All Gays in this country can be hunted down and shot dead on sight like the dogs that they are. So ordered.” As if they hadn't already made it hard enough on people like me, I thought, then I fainted. “John always was a soft touch,” I muttered, looking at my unconscious brother in law. Then I pulled out my revolver and shot him once in the chest and once in the head, just to be sure. “You weren't much sport to hunt, Buddy,” I tell his corpse. “But then you wouldn't have been much sport awake either.” I leave a note of explanation for my wife, his sister, on his undamaged arm, then go out to hunt me some Gays that will, I hope, be a bit of sport to catch. Larry and I ducked into an alley and then an abandoned building. “I think we lost them,” I whisper in his ear. “I hope so, Paul,” he replies. “How did they know about us, though? I never told anyone. Did you?” I laugh. “With a family as Conservative as mine, if I'd ever even just played a Gay Character in a High School Play, I'd have been on the street, so no.” “I guess they have ways of knowing, somehow, to state the obvious,” my Boy-Friend replies. I nod, saying no more, for there is no more to say. When it has been quiet outside for some time, we leave the building, turn in opposite directions to avoid suspicion, and then I head for my home, assuming that he heads for his. My first night Queer hunting is disappointing. Sure, I track down and bag a few of John's friends I knew were Fags too like the dogs they are, but there are no surprises, no big catches, and no one that puts up much of a fight or a chase. I get home to find Liz burning her brother's body with the rest of the trash. “I was mad at first,” she tells me. “But then I thought about it and realized that you were right, he was a piece of trash and a waste of space and oxygen. Did you burn any more trash?” she adds with an anxious hunger. “Just a few of his Fag Friends,” I reply. “No big surprises or big catches. No live in action busts and kills, just people that I already knew about. No one put up enough fight or chase that I would personally even call it hunting, but maybe there will be some fun ones tomorrow night.” “I'll join you on that, Matt, MR. Matthew Thomas, I should say, Queer Hunter.” I chuckle. “Matt will do, Jane.” Larry and I stay out of contact as long as we can stand. Every night the news reports how many “Queers Bagged last night and today,” with no more comment or reflection than reporting the deer numbers in deer hunting season or the rainfall in wet season, which is pretty much all year in Vancouver, Washington, I thought one of the more Liberal cities in the country, but then, the whole Nation has gone mad with this 'Queer Hunting'. I hear from friends all over the country three times a week or more about more summary executions of People whose only crime is Being Gay, many of them teenagers too young to have ever done anything about it, even if it didn't take them as long to figure things out as it took me. But, of course, you can't stay away from someone you truly love forever. “Paul,” he says when we meet in the sub basement of a long abandoned building. “I know we have to be. . .” he struggles for a strong enough term. “Beyond careful,” he finally compromises on. “But I couldn't stand to be away from you for another hour.” “I know, Larry,,” I say. “I feel the same. But since we may only have a short time, let's not dwell on the outside world. Let's focus on us, at least for these few minutes.” He nods and we start to kiss. Suddenly though, I hear something. Footsteps? From Larry's suddenly wide eyes, I know he hears them too. “Let's get out of here,” I begin, when I hear to clicks, one behind me and one in front of me, behind Larry. “Too late to run, Queers,” says a harsh, female voice. “You broke the Laws of God and man. Now you'll pay. And don't expect any mercy from me, I burned my own brother's body this afternoon after my husband shot him because he was a Fagot, so we certain;y won't be showing any mercy to strangers.” “Why can't you just leave us a,lone,” I cry. “We're not hurting anyone. We're not even asking for the right to marry or anything, just half an hour togeth. . .” I stop and scream as I hear a bullet and then feel it connect with my skull. Larry is sobbing as another connects with his skull. Then my brain explodes in a red universe of agony and then everything goes black and is gone. Matt and Jane Thomas looked down at the corpses for a moment. Then they spat on them, poured the oil they had brought with them all over both, lit a match, threw it at the pile and then walked away from the burning pile of trash. 'THE GAY MOON SETS' Joshua could feel the early urges of his other nature as the afternoon wore on towards evening. He knew it would, it always did in the hours leading up to a full moon, and he always made sure that he knew when all of the full moons were. Monica was not expecting him home tonight, she understood about his condition, and while she didn't like it, she accepted it and loved him anyway. “For which I am very grateful,” he said aloud. “Not all women would be so understanding.” So now, of course, the question was where to go for tonight's transformation? He decided on his usual bar and headed there at once, wanting to be sure that he was in a safe place before the full moon rose and he transformed. The Queer Star was packed, as it always was on these nights. “The usual I presume, Joshua,” called Daniel, his best friend and the Bar Tender, from looking around, the only “normal” one in the place. “Yes, thank you, Daniel,” he answered with a half smile, sitting down at the counter. He was happy to see his friend, but these nights were never sources of happiness. He preferred coming with Monica under other circumstances. “MR. Pearly Gates's usual,” Daniel called over his shoulder. Five minutes later Joshua Pearly Gates was drinking a large and steaming cup of ale and starting to look around. “Take your pick,,” said Daniel, noticing this. “Everyone here tonight is either a Normal Gay like me or a Were gay like you, and we're all here for the same one thing,” he said. “And it ain't the ale,” he added with a wink. Outside the sun set fully and the full moon rose, and Joshua Pearly Gates felt The Gay awaken inside him and in less than five minutes totally take him over. Joshua started looking around harder, having yet to close the deal in his mind and knowing what might happen if he did not do so soon. If we do not consummate before moon set, he thought. I will die. “I'm off in ten minutes,” offered Daniel. Joshua started to decline, then looked his friend over. He had never really looked at Daniel as a Gay before, since as a Straight Daniel was his best friend and he didn't want to mess that up. But, as he looked at him now, he realized that Daniel was extremely attractive. Bu there was still their friendship. “What happens on Gay Moons,” said Daniel, seeming to read his thoughts, as his friend often did. “Stays on Gay Moons.” Joshua nodded, sitting back to nurse his drink for the next ten minutes. But then, a rough hand grabbed his arm. “I'm not waiting for seconds,” said a very big and VERY attractive man. “You and me, upstairs, now!” “Go,” said Daniel with a smile. “I'll catch you next month.” The other man practically dragged Joshua up to the second floor and into a room, then closed, locked and bolted the heavy door. “You get undressed out here,” the man said. “I need to use the bathroom and then I'll be right with you.” Considering how anxious the man had seemed downstairs, any delay surprised Joshua, but he didn't see any harm in a short wait, and in any case he had no choice since he knew that the bolt was far too heavy for him. “OK,” he said, not knowing what else to say. “I'll be ready when you are.” His other self always dreaded these nights, but once he became a Gay he always enjoyed it. “No strings attached to these nights does have its benefits,” he mused. The stranger's quick stop in the bathroom turned into an hour, then two. “Hey,” Joshua called through the door,” I might need to use that too sometime, and I need to do it before moon set or I'll die.” “Sorry,” came a strangely muffled voice from the other side. “I just. . .” Then came a click from what sounded like the far side of the bathroom, followed a few moments later by a thud that sounded like feet hitting concrete, and then there was silence. Joshua waited a few more moments, then forced the door and entered the bathroom to find it empty. Running to the only window, he found it closed and locked from the outside. Then he saw the note on the mirror, written in red. “Die like the dog you are, Were Queer. You can not have sex with anyone in here, nor can you get out to meet your bar tending friend before moon set. I am with The Secret Sacred Conservative Police, and I have defeated you. Burn in Hell.” Joshua looked desperately around for something to break the window with, but his treacherous companion had thought of everything. Suddenly, as he saw the sky darkening with the setting of the moon, he felt a familiar sensation between his legs. But, this time, rather than ejaculating, his penis caught fire and soon his entire body was aflame. He gave one last, anguished scream, then exploded in a giant fireball. A pile of smoldering ash was all that remained when the hotel staff at last got in to clean the room. BOYS WITH BIG NOSES “Why are you always looking at me, John?” asked my best friend Daniel as we walked home from school one day. I hesitated. The truth was, I looked at him so much because I had a major crush on him and he was one of the best looking guys that I had ever known, the only guy that I'd ever had a crush on that I had also managed to make friends with. The trouble was, he was not only strictly Heterosexual but extremely homophobic, and since he was my best friend I valued our friendship above my attraction, at least by now. Truth be told, when I first met him, I invited home over to my house at least partly because I thought he was kind of cute, and by now he was more than kind of cute, he was drop dead gorgeous. Not as gorgeous as Samantha, but since I hadn't seen her since my Freshman Year of High School and even then we'd only had two dates, while Daniel was with me in the here and now, Samantha was becoming a distant memory. How Samantha and I had ended also factored into my fading memory of her, since she had dumped me when she caught me looking at her brother Travis in the same way I looked at her. But I couldn't help it with Travis then any more than I could help it with Daniel now, although Daniel was by now to me hotter and cuter than Travis had ever been. But, of course, for reasons that I have already given, I couldn't share any of this with Daniel. “Well?“, he finally says, when some time has elapsed since his question and I have said nothing, not knowing what ti say. “Just wishing I had muscles like you,” I finally settle on. He flexes his huge biceps, causing me to have to fight hard to keep from ejaculating in my undershorts. Don't smile, I think desperately. That will finish me. Fortunately, he does not. “Yes,” he said. “They are quite impressive, aren't they?” I nod, relieved that at least for the moment it ends there. Since he is very proud of how muscular he is, I thought and hoped it would. When we part and I enter my house, I head straight for the bathroom, a not uncommon occurrence after being around him. But answers like what I gave Daniel this afternoon aren't going to suffice forever. The trouble is, or at least part of the trouble is, I'm not entirely sure myself what I am or what I'm supposed to be. I''m pretty sure that at the moment I'm a Bisexual, which would be fine, Daniel's Homophobia aside, except that there was a boy named Thomas in one of my classes the year after Samantha dumped me when she caught me looking at Travis, who was unquestionably hotter than her, or any other girl whom I've seen since, and so I feel like I'm partly on a strictly gay trajectory, but something is still holding me back from completing that journey, and while Daniel is hot and exceedingly handsome, he is not as hot as Samantha, although admittedly pretty dam close, (and I am not even certain that he is not at least as hot if not slightly hotter than she ever was but I am also not certain that he is) and she was and is beyond drop dead gorgeous, while although Daniel is exceedingly handsome, he is most definitely not. So I am stuck in this kind of Hormonal Limbo, with no clear way out. *** “You seem distracted, Johnny,” my mom observes at dinner as my mind goes over all of this. Again, I hesitate, for I have not dared to share any of this even with my own family, not sure how they will react. My parents and broth Micheal might still accept me, although they might not, but in any case I am fairly certain that my extremely Conservative extended family would not. “Just thinking about Sam,” I finally say. I have never shared why we broke up, and when we were a couple I always called her Sam, although since then she has always insisted that I call her Samantha, since we are at the same school and run in the same circles and so still see a lot of each other, even though we are no longer a couple. I also can't help continuing to look at her, because while she is not nearly as HOT as Thomas was, she is almost infinitely more gorgeous than any guy I've yet seen. Suddenly, I freeze, the answer becoming clear to me and striking like a lightning bolt. Thomas put one of my feet on the hotness part of the path towards becoming strictly Gay, but to put the other foot on it, I need a Guy Crush who is more gorgeous than Samantha is or ever was. The trouble is, Daniel is the most attractive in that way guy that I know or have ever known, and as I already said, he is far from gorgeous, although admittedly during the nearly four years we have been friends, he has gone from kind of cute (at least part of the reason that I initially made the effort to get together) to exceedingly handsome, but even if there was still some cute there and so he was gorgeous, he could not hold even a single flicker of a candle to Samantha. Over the following weeks, I dwell on this problem a great deal in my private thoughts, and even as Daniel continues to get better and better looking, things grow more and more awkward between us. I think he senses that I am hiding something from him, though I pray to God every day that he does not guess what, but we have always shared everything and not had any secrets from each other, which makes this exceedingly awkward. While all of this is going on, of course, there are other girls and other boys that I have crushes on, but none of either gender hold a flicker to Thomas hotness wise or Samantha gorgeousness wise. *** At High School Graduation, Daniel looks so HOT in his cap and gown that I am very glad that I had masturbated with Thomas that afternoon, I need to masturbate every so often anyway or my body takes care of it in my sleep, and fortunately this is when that time fell, and fortunately it was Thomas's turn, not Daniel's, because only Thomas could have tamed my hormones against how HOT Daniel is tonight. As he walks across the stage right before me, I catch a glimpse of his face and do a double-take, which everyone else is fortunately too otherwise occupied to notice. The cuteness that initially turned me on to him is back, but infinitely stronger than it was when it left, while the handsomeness is still there in full swing, in fact a little stronger than yesterday, when we last got together. But even as I see his now gorgeous face, I notice Samantha in the seat two seats away from mine, and there is no doubt that she is still infinitely MORE gorgeous, even with Daniel now being gorgeous too. I am so occupied with all of these thoughts that I miss my own name the first time they call it and so they have to all it a second time, and sound extremely cross about it, although many of my classmates find it far to amusing for my liking. Once I have received my diploma, I join Daniel and many others in what is facetiously known as the holding cell, where graduates always wait until everyone has walked across the stage, and then get the real diplomas, which are kept under lock and key during the ceremony where we get the covers. I have a friend that graduated a year ahead of Daniel and I, so I know about these things. I have never told him about my inclinations either, for while Daniel is a personal Homophobe, this person belongs to a fire and brimstone point Homophobic Church. When the ceremony is over, we have received our real diplomas and put them in the covers and then met our families, we all go to the whole school reception and eat a lot more than we should and Samantha and I dance once, at her suggestion, which startles me, and I would not have even dared to ask her after how we ended. During the dance, she whispers to me at one point “This stays between us, but I think Travis is Gay too.” I mouth the word Bi, and she nods, and we continue to dance. After the first dance, her current boy-friend Frank cuts in, whom I had assumed she would dance with from the beginning, and Daniel and Travis and Thomas and I dance with a number of girls, many of whom I only know by face and do not remember come the next morning. The next morning, of course, is a bit hazy, but that evening Daniel's family, Samantha's family and my family, all friends by more than just the three of us, go out to dinner to celebrate. Daniel's girl-friend Susan and her family also join us, and he and she keep their eyes on each other all night, so only Samantha seems to notice that I can't keep my eyes off of him, except when I'm staring at her, for while Daniel has now joined Thomas in being hotter than her, although still not nearly as hot as Thomas, her enormous nose alone, which completely dwarfs his, still makes her infinitely more gorgeous than him, not to mention that her face is also a great deal shinier, although both are completely clear, and f course Daniel is now gorgeous, just not nearly AS gorgeous. That summer I see a lot of Daniel and also more of Samantha than I have since we broke up. “I don' think we can ever be romantic again, John,” she tells me when I remark on this. “but I remember what good friends we were before we started dating, and I've decided that I want that back.” I of curse have no objections. For one thing, I liked having her as a friend too, and after Travis officially comes out as Gay and she completely accepts him as he is, unlike most of the rest of their family, I feel comfortable after a time telling her about some of my inclinations, although of course I do not tell her that her gorgeousness is what seems to be keeping me in Hormonal Limbo, and she continues ton be as gorgeous as ever, maybe even a bit more as her nose gets even bigger. “It is nice to finally have someone that I can speak these things aloud with,” I tell her on one such occasion. “I was about to burst keeping it all to myself and inside.” “Well, after the way the rest of my family reacted to Travis coming out,” she says. “And the fact that I alone accepted him as he is, I couldn't very well not accept you as you are.” She holds up a hand as I open my mouth. “I know you're a Bisexual, not strictly a Homosexual, but I still would feel like a hypocrite accepting him and not you. Besides, I missed you as a friend, as I said before.” “And I you, as I too said before,” I reply. “But you say Thomas was hotter than any girl or even other guy you ever knew?” “Well yes,” I say awkwardly. “To put it quite frankly, he's hotter than you, and you are by far the hottest girl I ever knew.” She does not even blush at this, which makes me both sad and relieved. “But now Daniel is too?” there is no trace of bitterness, anger or resentment in her voice, just the acceptance of a best friend, for she has over the year since graduation become as good a friend as Daniel. I nod. “I'm sorry to have to say. . .” I start. But she waves a hand to silence me. “We are who we are. Truth be told, I haven't been turned on by a boy in two years, even by Frank, while there are a few women that have given me a twinge, for lack of a better word.” I am stunned, but I think manage to hide it. Suddenly, she asks the question that I have been dreading ever since our friendship resumed. “So, with what you've said about Thomas, and now Daniel too, it seems like you are on a certain trajectory, so what's holding you back from completing the journey to being strictly gay, since I know you still look at women too.” I hesitate, uncertain what to say. “John,” she says. “We've been friends since we were both in diapers, minus that little blip in High School. There's nothing you can say that will phase me or change our now renewed friendship. Do not worry about upsetting me, all I want is for us both to be happy. I've completed my transition, not that being Bisexual is always a transition, sometimes that's the end game, but it seems like it is as much a transition for you as it was for me, so what is keeping you from completing it. I'm much happier having completed the journey, and I know you will be too, so tell me what's keeping you from doing so. 'll know if you're using stealth, because while Daniel may not know you well enough to sense that, I do. So what is holding you back from completely becoming who and what we both know you are meant to be.” I decide on honesty, since I know she's right, trying anything else with her wouldn't work. “You,” I finally blurt out after one more moment's hesitation. She looks shocked for a moment, but then composes herself. “Me? But you already said that you now know at least two guys that are hotter to you than me?” “Oh, I definitely do,” I go on. “Hotter yes. It's not that. . .er. . . .part of it. Hormonally I'm firmly on the path to becoming and thus being strictly a Homosexual. But there's another part to it. There is the hormonal part, yes, and that is settled. But there is also what the eyes see and the mind perceive, and while Thomas always has and now Daniel does as well do more for my hormones than you ever did, you are beyond DROP DEAD GORGGEOUS while Thomas was just exceedingly handsome and while Daniel having recently gotten his cute back with a a-vengeance to add to his considerable handsomeness is now gorgeous, he is not nearly as gorgeous as you, so I'm still looking for a boy with your clarity of face, complete, a glaze as strong as if not stronger than yours, and above al and most importantly, an even bigger nose than you.” “No easy task, the last,” she says. I nod. “Sorry to be so blunt, but you did ask.” “I did indeed,” she replies, still seeming amazingly calm considering all that I have just said. “I wish I could help. I know I wasn't happy until I completed the transition, and of course am still searching for a way to tell Frank, and I know that you won't be either. But I've never seen anyone, male or female, with a nose even approaching as big as mine, since it is the width of my eyes and nearly the width of my face, much less bigger than mine, and I've got more of a shine than I've seen on anyone except maybe one guy and one girl and neither of them even had what could really be called a big nose, and so certainly nothing approaching my snout.” “I didn't say that. . .” I begin. But again, she silences me with a raised hand. “No, I did. But, to be honest, I'd appreciate it if in the future you did refer to it as a snout, because I find calling something of its size a big nose insulting.” “Okay,” I finally say after much consideration. “So to complete my journey I need a a gy crush with your glaze or if possible a little stronger, and a snout even bigger than your snout, which would have to be one-hundred percent of the width of his face, if not slightly wider.” An enormous or grand snout,” she sys. I nod. “And no guy I know comes close. I mean, Daniel has a really big nose, but its probably not even half the size of your snout.” “Maybe half,” she says. “But not more. No, he's out of the running for gorgeousness exceeding mine for sure. It will have to be a new guy, so hopefully he'll come along relatively soon, for you'll never be truly happy in Hormonal Limbo.” I nod, and we lave it there for the moment, both needing to go home from our secret meeting place for dinner and having said all that can really be said anyway. ***' Of course, Daniel and my conversations grow more and more strained during all of this time, as he continues to get better and better looking, including his nose eventually getting big enough that I agree with Samantha at a different conversation that it has now slightly exceeded fifty percent of her snout. But then it stops growing, and while his face remains completely clear and his glaze is occasionally in the same neighborhood as hers, it is also often far less, even though he remains the second HOTTEST person that I have ever known, only behind Thomas. And he is also the most gorgeous guy I know, he just not and as Samantha and I had predicted clearly never wil be anywhere close to as gorgeous as she is, with his nose stopped growing at half the size of her snout and glaze that hovers around but certainly never exceeds hers. I meet a lot of other good looking guys in college, but none are as HOT as Daniel nor do they have a nasal apparatus even approaching Samantha's snout, or enough of a glaze to make up for that. Of course, if there were such a glaze, the face would literally blind me, so I remain on the look out for a guy with what Samantha and I are now calling a massive snout, as does she, having told her boy-friend at the end of our freshman year of college that she is a Homosexual. “'What a relief,'” she told me later he had said. “Because so am I.” Within a week, he and Travis were a known item, and shortly after Samantha had an official girl-friend named Susan. “How revolting,” Daniel says to me once towards the end of our Sophomore year of college. “That is so unnatural and abominable. How can you be friends with a woman like that.” I dive into my food, saying nothing and at that moment avoiding looking at him at all costs, because while he is not and never will be anywhere close to as gorgeous as Samantha, he is the second HOTTEST person that I have ever known, and I no longer ever see Thomas since after Freshman year he transferred to a school in another state and that was thee last I saw of him, while I did still see Daniel almost every day. But the more he rants about fags and worse names that I will not repeat here, the harder it became to hold my tongue about not just my personal stake but my feelings about Homophobia in general, plus with another best friend with whom I can just be myself, I start to question whether this friendship is worth continuing. At the same time, I don't want to just break it off or explain why I was doing so, at least partly because I thought there was at least the possibility that he might resort to physical violence if he found out that I had a crush on him. It had happened with other such situations before. So, at last, we came to the end of our Sophomore year of college. I was in despair, for Daniel ranted and raved about Fags and so on every time I was within earshot of him, Samantha, her girl-friend, Travis and his boy-friend had all but told me it was him or them, and while by then I knew that there was no way that I was ever going to get the one foot off the Hormonal Path towards becoming strictly Gay, I had yet to see a guy with a nasal apparatus larger than Daniel's barely over fifty percent of Samantha's, plus by now her face had added to the glaze the glow of happiness brought on by her girl-friend that any guy with more of a glaze would have blinded anyone who saw him, which I knew no one would have. Which only left a guy with an augmented snout, and by now I was certain that there was no such guy. “I just found out one of my best friends is gay,” the word was more a hiss than a spoken word from Daniel's voice on the phone towards the end of that year. I froze. My breath caught in my throat, and my heart stopped beating. I thought that I had always been as careful as possible except for the looks, but those have been going on since High School, and I've always managed to deflect. . . “John, are you there,” Daniel's voice came, drawing me out of my thoughts. “I think you know him. George.” I let out my breath. I knew George, and I knew George was gay, I just didn't know that he and Daniel were friends. “OK,” I finally say. “I know George. And I knew he was gay. I just didn't know that you knew him, or I would have said something to warn you.” I probably would not have, but Daniel needed to hear that I would have. “Anyway,” Daniel went on. “That's not why I called you. I just wanted to let you know that I won't be able to make our July Camping Trip this year because my parents and I are spending all summer in Europe.” “Oh,” I say. “Well, I'm sorry to hear that, but I'm sure you'll have a good time there.” “I hope so,” he said. And then there was a click. The suddenness of the end of the phone call shocked me, but then our relationship was hanging by a thread then anyway. That summer I spent a lot of time with Samantha and her girl-friend and Travis and his boy-friend. Occasionally, we'd have Triple Dates, and I sometimes brought a girl and sometimes brought a boy, more often a boy. But most of the time I felt like a Fifth wheel, even though they all four constantly assured me that I was not. But still I was stuck, with Thomas and now also to a lesser but still some extent Daniel having firmly and forever claimed my Hormones for the Homosexual Side, but Samantha still being infinitely more gorgeous than the best looking guy I knew, which I'll admit was Travis's Boy-Friend, although I only shared this with Samantha and only when we were alone. His nasal apparatus was approaching a snout, but was not quite there and so certainly not an augmented snout like hers, and his face, while completely clear, was not nearly as shiny as hers. By the end of the summer, I realized that there was absolutely no chance of ever getting out of this Hormonal Limbo and so no way that I could ever have any kind of Relationship of that nature because with a guy it would be confused by my eyes and mind still being Heterosexual, but with a gal it would b confused by my Hormones now being firmly Homosexual. So that summer passed. Two days before classes started in our Junior Year, Daniel called me to say that he was back in town and wanted to get together. We arranged to meet at a building at the school and then figure out from there what we wanted to do. Not surprisingly, fairly typically in fact, I was there first and he was late. Eventually, though, of course, the doors did open and a figure stepped through them and into the hall's light. My jaw hit the floor and I did a quadruple take. His face was still completely clear, of course. But his face was even shinier than Samantha's had ever been or was, even now. And his nasal apparatus. I had never seen nostrils so big. Not just big, huge. Not just huge, enormous. Not just enormous, tremendous. Even calling it an augmented snout was not sufficient, for it was at least twice the width of his face. I finally settled in my mind on trunk. Instantly, I felt my other foot set firmly and forever on the path towards becoming strictly gay, and then both finally started walking. To this day, the rest of that day is a total blank, but I guess Daniel and I found something to do and did it, and I somehow managed to not reveal what had just happened and what it meant, because we continued to be friends for another two years. I obviously must have masturbated when I got home, but as I said that whole day remains a total blank. *** Then one day, towards the end of my Senior Year of College, it finally fully happened. For eight years, big noses on clear and shiny faces had to some extent tuned me on on both guys and gals, gals not as much since some of what I have already mentioned, but some. But then, after waking up after collapsing after my last college final ever, I went down to the cashier's office to cash a check for cab fair to go see Samantha and spend the night at her place, as we had arranged some time ago, since she lived off campus while I, being unable to drive because of a medical condition, had found it easier to live on Campus all four years. The young woman working the desk said that she could not give me cash there but could give me a ride to the bank on her lunch break in a few minutes, and I agreed. But the important thing about that encounter is that she had a nasal apparatus almost as big as Samantha's snout, a completely clear face and a glaze not far behind Samantha's, and there was not even the slightest twinge from my hormones, not the slightest hint of an erection, nor was there anything of that nature from my eyes o my mind. When I got to Samantha's I told her the good news that I had finally completed my journey, and we both celebrated late into the night. It would be nice to end the story there, on a totally positive and happy note, but there is one more piece of this puzzle that must be placed. The next day, when I got back to Campus, Daniel marched right up to me, red faced and fire-eyed. “How can you have spent the night at the home of that. . .that. . .that thing, that abomination.” I sighed. The time for hesitation was over. It was time to put it all out on the table. “Because I'm Gay too. I was bi for eight years, but when Thomas was hotter than Samantha back in our Sophomore Year of High School, that set my Hormones firmly and forever on the path towards becoming strictly gay. I was then stuck in Hormonal Limbo for a long time because no guy I knew matched her gorgeousness, but when you came back from Europe two years ago with that Trunk you've still got, that took care of putting the other foot on the other part of the path, and yesterday at The Cashier's Office, Betty's all of that face did absolutely nothing for me, so my journey is now complete. That is how I can spend the night at Sam's House.” The nickname I just used on a whim, since our relationship is now completely healed, even though different. Daniel stares at me red faced and fire eyed, breathing very hard, for several long minutes. Then he shouts as loud as he can. “Burn in Hell, Queer Faggot, our relationship is over.” That was no more than I had expected, for me it had really ben over for a long time. What I had not expected was for him to knock me to the ground and punch me in the face so hard that everything went black. THE BOY WITH NO NAME, “Thomas, you are banished from this family, this community, The Faith and thus The Kingdom,” said the judge. Sheila buried her face in her hands and wept. It was true that her twin brother had come out as Gay, which was unforgivable, according to The Law. “But it was really that outsider Matt's fault for seducing him,” she said quietly to herself. “Matt could not have seduced him were Thomas not already inclined towards the abomination,” her husband Eric pointed out. “We must observe The Law and The Custom.” Although her heart was breaking, she nodded, folded her arms and turned her back on her brother's stunned face. Then, as one, all present but Thomas said his first name “Thomas” then spat on the ground. Then, they all said his middle name “Angel” and spat on the ground again. Then his last name “Fairy” and spat on the ground once more. Then, they all wiped their left foot, the foot of The Wicked, in the spit of his identity, and it was over, his name had been forever banished from The Book Of Life. “Sheila,” he screamed. “I'm your brother. Don't do this. I can't help who I am and thus who I'm attracted to.” She longed to go to him, to comfort him, to do something, but she could not. It would make her just as damned as he to ever even speak his name again. Thrashing, screaming, crying and threatening, The Boy With No Name was carried from The Council Chamber and thrown into The Darkness Beyond, symbolizing The Eternal Darkness his soul would some day face. After his screaming and cursing from outside the hall had dissolved into sobbing and the sobbing had eventually gone silent, The High Priest addressed them. “The Banishing Ceremony for The Boy With No Name is now concluded. To conduct any other business in the same gathering would be almost as vile as he. Therefore, this meeting is concluded. Return to your homes, and if he approaches any of you, clear him from your path, but otherwise ignore him, for he no longer exists.” Apart from The High Priest, who always left last to secure The Tempe, Sheila and Eric were the last to leave. Sheila's heart was very heavy. She knew that what had been done must be done, but it was still hard to know that she would never see her twin brother again, in this world or the next. “Sheila,” said Eric. “I know what you're thinking. But you mustn't dwell on him.” She gave her husband such a hard look that he took a step back. “When your twin brother, whom you grew up with from day one, has been banished from your presence for life and for eternity, you can talk to me about what I may and may not dwell upon. Until then, you may not.” They both knew that her husband's only sibling had died with his mother in childbirth, and her bringing this up seemed to sting him enough that he did not speak of the matter again. But every day she was reminded of the boy whose very name had been banished from her mind by the ceremony, but she still saw his face in her mind. She also had to admit, in the privacy of her own mind, although never aloud, that the other young man was quite attractive. She had never dared to put it to words, even in her mind, but from puberty she had always wondered if The Boy With No Name was inclined that way. She shook her head, trying in vain to clear her mind of forbidden thoughts, almost as forbidden as what had brought the ceremony of now a month ago about. But it was no use. In spite of everything, blood was blood, and her blood was almost the same as. ..as. . .The Boy With No Name's blood. The only difference was that her blood was from Light and his blood was from Darkness. “But is it really that simple?” she found herself asking one day when she got home from her work an hour before Eric got home from his. “Are any of us really all good or all bad? ALL STRAIGHT OR ALL CROOKED?” She thought back to when she first became aware of her sexuality. It had been mostly boys, of course, but there had been one or two girls that she also very briefly fancied in the very early days of puberty. That is normal. She had been told. Everyone has a little of that early on. What matters is that you settle on the Right Way in the end, when you do settle. “So why did I go the right way when that moment came, but my former twin brother, The Boy With No Name, go the wrong way?” She was deep in contemplation when she felt a presence near her. Turning, she saw a figure detach itself from the shadows. Before her stood a woman. Sheila had seen her before. She was a part of the community, but Sheila was not sure of her name. “Can I help you?” asked Sheila. “If you can't,” the slightly younger woman answered. “No one can. They think I'm. . .think I'm. . .I'm. . .different. Like the boy from a month ago. They want to banish me too.” “And are you? Different, I mean?” asked Sheila. “No,” the woman shook her head. “I kissed a woman last night. Just once. Just to see what it was like. But I never want to do it again. I much prefer kissing men. It was. . .I want to say awful, but I guess it wasn't really that different. But I still only want to kiss men from now on. Will you he;p me?” Sheila considered a moment. “I'll do what I can,” she finally said. “I can testify to what you just told me. Beyond that, I don't know that I can do much.” “Thank you,” said the barely more than a girl. “Since it seems you've forgotten, my name is Travis.” And then, suddenly, Sheila remembered everything, and then darkness crashed all around and inside her like a high tide at the sea. BOYS WITH TRUNKS “Why are you always looking at me, John?” asked my best friend Daniel as we walked home from school one day. I hesitated. The truth was, I looked at him so much because I had a major crush on him and he was one of the best looking guys that I had ever known, the only guy that I'd ever had a crush on that I had also managed to make friends with. The trouble was, he was not only strictly heterosexual but extremely homophobic, and since he was my best friend I valued our friendship above my attraction, at least by now. I WON'T BORE YOU WITH THE SAME MATERIAL ALL OVER AGAIN, BUT THIS IS HOW I WISH MY STORY HAD ENDED Tthe important thing about that encounter is that she had a nasal apparatus almost as big as Samantha's snout, a completely clear face and a glaze not far behind Samantha's, and there was not even the slightest twinge from my hormones, not the slightest hint of an erection, nor was there anything of that nature from my eyes o my mind. When I got to Samantha's I told her the good news that I had finally completed my journey, and we both celebrated late into the night. It would be nice to end the story there, on a totally positive and happy note, but there is one more piece of this puzzle that must be placed. The next day, when I got back to campus, Daniel marched right up to me, red faced and fire-eyed. “How can you have spent the night at the home of that. . .that. . .that thing, that abomination.” I sigh. The time for hesitation is over. It is time I laid it all on the table. “Because I'm gay too. I was bi for eight years, but when Thomas was hotter than Samantha back in our sophomore year of high school, that set my hormones firmly and forever on the path towards becoming strictly gay. I was then stuck in hormonal limbo for a long time because no guy I knew matched her gorgeousness, but when you came back from Europe two years ago with that Trunk you've still got, that took care of putting the other foot on the other part of the path, and yesterday at the cashier's office, Betty's all of that face did absolutely nothing for me, so my journey is now complete. That is how I can spend the night at Sam's house.” The nickname I just use on a whim, since our relationship is now completely healed, even though different. Daniel stares at me for several long minutes. Then, he seizes both sides of my face in his huge and incredibly sexy hands. I gulp, dreading what this may portend. But then, he roughly pulls my face right up to his face and presses his lips into mine as hard as I would think he possibly can. As we continue with our lips locked, the parts of his trunk that are beyond the outer edges of his face and which I realize from this close also exceed the outer edges of mine, because I now realize our faces are EXACTL Y the same width, curl in and wrap around as much of my face as they can reach, almost starting to touch the back of my head, engulfing all but the very back of the sides. As our lips press harder and harder together, his trunk presses harder and harder into the sides of my face. After what seems like both forever and no time at all, our lips part, both of us gasping for air, and his trunk recedes enough for me to pull my face back a little bit, although it still keeps a firm grip on the places just in front of my ears and beyond. “What a relief,” he says at last. “Because I DO NOT think that I could have kept my attraction to you a secret for another day.” I stare at him, bewildered. “But if you're gay too, what was all of that homophobic ranting about?” He thinks for a long time, then looks me in the eyes, his face filled with shame. “Two things. For one thing, hiding my true nature from my homophobic family and trying in vain to deny it to myself. Also, since I thought you were, for lack of a better term, 'straight', I didn't want to put our friendship in jeopardy because, while I knew that you weren't as vitriolic as I have been projecting, I did not know how you would react to learning how I felt about you, and so I did not want to even give a hint of my true feelings. I apologize for all of that. But, I do have to ask, with all of that, you never once thought 'the boy doth protest too much, me thinks'?” I consider. “Not consciously,” I finally say. “But looking back, my subconscious definitely had its suspicions, and this does make several other things come into a much sharper focus and make a lot more sense. So, where do you want to go from here?” “Out to dinner,” he says without hesitation. “As a dating couple, my treat. And since I am younger than you, calling me your boy is fine with me, and you'll be my man. Neither of us has a girl-friend that we need to break up with, so now that we each know how the other feels about each of us, there is no reason not to start dating.” “Works for me,” I ay with a smile. “The names, and the rest. But,” I ask, suddenly remembering. “What about your family?” “Let me worry about them,” he says. “Sooner or later they were going ti have to decide whether they loved me or their flawed religious beliefs anyway. Sooner is better, because now I do not have to figure out how to hide it any longer. My treat tonight. After all that I've put you through these last few years, that's the least I can do. Your choice. Oh. . .” he says, seeming to realize the position of his nostrils for the first time. “I suppose before we can go anywhere, I'd better withdraw my trunk from your face” He starts to do so. '”Let's kiss one more time before you do,” I say. As our lips lock for another long moment, my erection is so great that I am very glad that I had masturbated myself completely dry this afternoon, and know that I will have to be sure to always do so before I have dates with the boy who now looks on course to become my boy-friend. THE UNEXPECTED CHOICE She was going to have to choose. She had always known that in the end she would have to choose, but it had always seemed like the choice could be delayed, like the time when she would need to make it was a long way off. But not now. They would both be at the party this evening, and they would have to talk with each other. It was inevitable that sooner or later they would realize that the girl each of them was describing as the love of their lives was the same girl, her. She would have to choose, before then if at all possible. “But David is SO handsome and Travis is SO strong,” she mused to herself. “So how do I choose?” “Matt?” called her mom from downstairs. “It's one minute to liftoff. Are you coming soon?” “I'll be right there, Mom,” she called, doing a final touch up of her make-up. The choice would have to be made at the party, or they would make it for her by both dumping her when they learned of each other. “If that is how it happens,” she said to herself in despair as she descended the steps. “I just hope Travis doesn't mess up David's face too badly.” * “You seem distracted, Dear,” said her mom from the driver's seat. Matt sighed. “David and Travis are both going to be there tonight,” she said. “I know I need to choose, but I still can't, and I'm afraid of what Travis will do to David if he finds out either way.” Her mom said nothing, and Matt nodded in understanding. This was a mess of her making, and only she could clean it up. * “Drinks, Matt?” said David, approaching with two glasses of punch. Then he saw Travis on her arm, set the drinks down on the table, it looked like just in the nick of time, for a moment later both arms went limp and his knees went slack as he stared at the other boy, and the other boy stared back at him. Knowing that her worst fears were about to come true, Matt tried to get between them, but both shoved her lightly aside as they continued to stare at each other, although, to Matt's amazement, it did not seem to be with anger. “Um,” she began. “Travis, this is. . .” Travis turned and stared at her then. “You've been seeing him, too?” “Well, yes, er. . .” she said. “It's not, er, well. . .” “You've been keeping this fine piece of work to yourself?” asked David, continuing to stare at Travis. “You've kept this gorgeous face away from my eyes?” Travis put in. “Not that I blame you for not wanting to share.” “Well,” Matt faltered, not sure that she had heard right. “Yes, I, um, er, well...What?” Travis extended a hand towards David. “I'm Travis. Travis Matthew Thorn.” David took the hand. “David,” he said. “David Brandon Alice. I've never looked at a guy like this before, but then I've never encountered a guy that was this nice to look at before.” “There was one, once, a long time ago, before I met Martha,” Travis replied. “But that's all in the past. But, of course, now so is she.” Matt had expected the last sentence, even the use of her given name in it, but was totally bewildered by EVERYTHING else she was hearing. “She was a nice person to pass the time with,” said David. “Until meting you at this moment, but now that we have met, I'm through with her and girls period, forever.” “Me too,” said Travis. Then, each kissed the other's hand and then, right there, in front of everyone, they kissed on the lips and then headed for the dance floor together, arm in arm. Matt stared at her two former boy-friends cutting across the dance floor. Of all of the possibilities for how this night could have turned out, this was the most unexpected choice. TH DATE Chris and I had been internet dating for nearly a year. It felt like much longer and no time at all. We had the best talks. I could talk to her like I'd never been able to talk to a woman before. We had so much more in common than I had ever had with another woman. Yet every time I tried to arrange an in person, face-to-face get together, she'd put me off. “Oh, this weekend isn't good for me. My brother's getting married.” “Not this weekend, it's my great-grand-mother's funeral.” And so on. “I'm starting to think that you are not as serious about this relationship as I am,” I finally typed in exasperation. “Oh, it's not that,” she replied at once. 'it's jut that I'm not sure you would like me as well if you met me face to face. I'm not exactly beautiful.” “I don't care what you look like,” I shot back at once. “I know your soul.” “Then why does an in-person meeting matter to you so much?” “Because there's only so far an online relationship can go and I want ours to go further.” There was a very long pause. “All right,” she finally said. “This Friday, at The Grill on 35th, at 8:00P.M. I'll be in the back corner booth. Don't go too crazy when you see my face.” I assured her that I wouldn't and spent the rest of the week in extreme anticipation. * * * Finally, the glorious evening arrives, and I shave more thoroughly than ever, take the longest and hottest shower in history, and then dress up in the best suit I own, having cleaned and pressed everything, even my socks and underwear, earlier in the day. I arrive at the grill five minutes early and see a man sitting in our booth. “It's still five minutes,” I say to myself. “He'll clear out when she approaches and explains.” But fifteen minutes later, he still sits there, and no women has approached the table or even come through the door. Finally, I march over angrily and clear my throat loudly, causing him to look right at me and, very strangely in my opinion, smile. “Excuse me, Sir,” I say. “But I am supposed to be meeting someone at this exact table, she is already late, and I would appreciate it if you would move.” His smile almost reaches his ears. “Why are you smiling like that?” I demand. He stands and extends a hand. “John?” he asks ,continuing to smile. “John Sprinklsparks?” “Yes,” I say shortly. “How do you know my name? And why are you smiling so?” “Because,” he says, still beaming. “You're even handsomer than I'd hoped. I'm Chris, Christopher Lens.” “I'm looking for Christina Lens,” I almost scream. His smile fades a little, but not nearly enough for what I am currently feeling. “In any of our conversations on your account, John The Stud, on Meet Your Mate, did I ever actually say that my name was Christina, or was it always just Chris?” I think hard, desperate to make what seems to be unfolding not so, but can find no such relief. “It was always Chris,” I slowly admit. “I filled in the rest because that was what I wanted it to be. So you're queer?” “I prefer the term 'gay', but yes, I am into other men, not women. I apologize for not being totally forthcoming, but I was just checking that sight out when I tumbled on you, and we got on so well that I couldn't stop. That was the reason I didn't want a face to face meeting, because I knew the good thing we had going would end when you saw my face. Shall we at least have a decent meal like two decent gentlemen before we leave this place and never speak again, or maybe you kill me.” This suggestion brings me up short. Yes, I am angry about all of this, but I am not a murderer. “I won't kill you, I promise,” I say. “I am angry, furious, yes, but I'm not a killer. Since we're here, we might as well have our meal. Beyond that, we'll see. I'm not into guys that way, but maybe we could be friends.” He gives a smile and a laugh of unexpected delight, and then we call for menus. THE QUEER CORRECTION. “Every queer in the world should be given corrective therapy to turn them straight,” says Speaker of The House Paul Freddy Marsh on the television screen in Matt and my living room, causing us both to shake our fists at the screen. “How would he like it if we started trying to 'correct' them to be like us?” I ask in an angry but off hand tone. Matt thinks a moment, cocks his head at me, and gives a wink of his left eye. “You know, Mark?” he says. “That's not a bad idea.” I can not think what he is talking about for a moment, then catch on and start to laugh. But, to my surprise, he does not follow suit. “That was a throw-away, off-hand remark, a joke, Matthew,” I say. I always use the full first name when I want his full attention. I instantly get it. “We both know the kind of therapy he is talking about is quack science at best, downright dangerous at most. Besides, finding anyone to fund any research for such a project, even if it were something that actually could work, would be impossible in a society with as much anti gay sentiment as there is here even now.” He stops and thinks a moment, then smiles and shakes his head. “All right, Mark, you're right, on the surface of what I said, that was a 'Mathew' moment, yes, I know the code. But, what I really meant is, what if we started saying that we could do that kind of conversion? How would that make them feel? Maybe then, they'd start to understand us better.” I consider a moment. “You know, Matt, you might be on to something there. Tomorrow, at lunch, let's see what we can find out about their crack pot science ideas and then start figuring out how to turn them on their heads for our own crack pot science ideas.” He laughs, as do I, both knowing what utter nonsense all of this is and at how our adversaries will react when we put this forward as something that is just as legitimate as their ideas. *** To our astonishment, the research is not nearly as difficult as we expected, and by week's end we have a diagnosis and prescribed therapy as believable sounding as the homophobes' and start advertising it on the web, being sure that within twenty-four hours there will be a host of angry responses none of which will be anything but emotional and no thinking rationally or anything at all like that involved. But our biggest surprise comes when we get home from work the evening after the day we post this. “Hello,” says a very attractive young man, stepping out from behind our house just as we pull into the driveway and disembark from our car. “I am here about the corrective therapy.” For a moment, I can not think what he is talking about, and I see from the look in his eyes, neither can Matt. Then I see comprehension come into his eyes at the same time that it comes into my mind, and that he is fighting as hard as I not to laugh. That was a joke, I think. But, of course, now that we have a customer, we have to give him something. “Come on inside,” I say. “We'll start the process with the interview.” He nods and follows us in. Five minutes later we all sit in our living room, Matt and I on the couch and our first customer on an easy chair facing us. “OK,” I begin. “Let's start with your name.” “My name is Matthew Mark Luke John, and yes, I have heard all of the jokes many times.” “OK,” I say. “Then I won't make any. So, why do you consider yourself in need of 'Queer Correction'? Why do you think you should be converted?” “Well,” he starts off. “It's complicated, hard to explain and a bit of a long story.” I gesture around the empty room. “Do you see any other customers waiting around here? You have our undivided attention. But to help you, we need to know your story.” Matthew John closes his eyes a moment, takes a deep breath, and begins. “I guess it all started when Angela and I, she was my then girl-friend, anyway, when she and I were making out like crazy and I realized that I was soft as could be between the legs.” “So, you are gay?” I ask, puzzled. “Then why do you need our help?” He shakes his head. “I wish it were that simple,” he says. “The truth is, I've been at least at some level turned on by guys since I was twelve years old, but I've never been able to quite break through something to get fully there, as if there is something blocking me from quite reaching the threshold of actual, conscious attraction. I can get so turned on by a guy at school that I go straight into my bathroom when I get home, but rub until supper time and never quite reach ejaculation, even though I feel close several times. And, when I masturbate with gals, it is not nearly as pleasurable and while I do always eventually ejaculate, it is always small and weak, while I can feel if I could get there with a guy it would be huge. Can you help me become who and what I know that I am meant to be?” I think a moment, and then an idea comes to me. “Which of us do you find more attractive, Matt or me?” He looks back and forth and considers quite a bit. “Matt,” he finally says. I exchange a glance with my boy-friend and see that he will try whatever I suggest, since this young man, little more than a boy, really, clearly needs our help, if we can possibly give it. “OK,” I say. “You two are going to go into the bathroom together and. . .” Matthew John shakes his head. “And I'll masturbate with hm? I've tried something so close to that so many times that I know it won't work.” “Which is why that is not what we are going to do,” I say. “Matt is going to masturbate you. All you'll need to do is look at his face. He'll rub, re-lubricate, everything that is needed, until you ejaculate, and then he'll clean you up. I'll be out here when you're done, and we'll go from there” Once they enter the bathroom, all that I can do is wait and listen. At first, the noises are not promising, a lot of grunts of pain and some curses, and a few hushed but bitter in tone sounding words. But then “The Eagle Has Landed” shouts Matthew from the other side, and Matt gives a triumphant whoop. Five minutes later, “OK, Matthew, you'd better flush, but don't you think that's enough? How much do you have?” I hear a flush. “A year's worth, after everything,” our guest says. *** An hour later, he is shaking our hands heartily and smiling broadly. “Thank yo both so much.” he says. “I know this is just step one,” he says, placing a very large amount of money into each of our hands. “I'll be back next week for step two.” The moment his car pulls away, Matt and I look at each other, mouths agape. “What have done Marcus?” he asks. “I don't know, Matthew,” I reply. “Step two?” The following evening, however, step two goes clear out of our minds as we see the line round the block for step one. We bring them in and hear their stories and do what we can, including Matt and I each masturbating several men, as well as other treatments, as fast as we can, getting as many in and out as possible. Several say that they were formerly gay but were put through that other therapy by family or friends and just want to get back to what they originally were. But there are also many with stories like Matthew John's, who have just never felt right as hets., and everything in between and beyond. We even make the 10:000 News. “Queer Correction numbers four times those of the other conversion rate, and one-hundred percent of customers satisfied and relapse rate of turning back het right at zero, much better than the other conversion therapy. In other news. . .” I mute it and turn to my boy-friend. “Well, we did it. We started this out as a whimsical joke, and now we're beating them. Time to celebrate.” Matt nods silently, drops to one knee and pulls out a ring.

GIVE ME THE GUN, A COLLECTION

GIVE ME THE GUN. A COLLECTION BY MATTTHEW LUCAS BECKETT THE RIGHT TO BARE BRAINS SHALL NOT BE INFRINGED The mood was contentious and extremely tense as the vote began. At first, sensible Democrats were hopeful. “Surely, just requiring people purchasing a gun at a Gun Show to go through the same background checks as a gun store purchaser is something everyone could agree to. The only people that would adversely effect are criminals and the mentally unstable, whom everyone agrees should not have guns.” But, as the votes began to come in from The Republican side of the isle, it became clear the The Nutty Rebellious Anarchists Official Campaign of LIES, DECEPTION AND FACT MANIPULATION had had an effect. Several referred to the rumored registry as they cast their neigh votes, even though the text of the actual bill specifically banned such a registry, as several Sensible Democrats had tried to get through their Republican Colleagues solid granite skulls. Eventually, when it became clear that the Republican filibuster could not be broken, the Democratic Majority Leader called for an end to the voting, knowing that if it went all the way, the bill could not be brought up again, while this way it could. “So, to the mentally ill and those with criminal histories, we say, just go to the gun shows and you can get whatever you want,” the majority whip muttered under her breath as they all filed out of The Senate Chamber. “We did it,” Senator Rob Armory raved like the lunatic that he is on TV. that night. “We stopped the government from taking away every Americans' God Given Second Amendment Right to own any gun or guns they want.” People who had lost loved ones to gun violence turned their TVs off after that. A few days later, at the Phoenix Gun Show, a man with a wild look in his eyes walked up to a dealer. “Hello, I need to buy a gun,” he said. “What kind of gun would you like?” the dealer asked, looking not the least bit concerned at the man's mad looking eyes. “Something powerful,” said the man. “I just got out of Prison, and there are government agents and aliens trying to get into my home and read my mind twenty-four-seven.” “How about an M16 with an expanded clip,” the dealer offered. “That would be great,” the man said, looking wildly around. “And hurry, they're coming to get me right now.” He opened his wallet and pulled out three one-hundred dollar bills. The dealer took the money. “What were you in prison for?” he asked conversationally. “Murder and armed robbery,” the man answered without skipping a beat. “Did you do it?” the dealer asked, taking the requested gun out of its glass case. “Yes,” the man replied. “OK, here you go MR...?” “I'd rather not say, as I am number one on The F.B.I.'s, C.I.A.s and Interpol's most wanted lists,” the man replied, looking nervous. “Very well, here you go, Sir,” said the dealer,handing him the requested gun. The man took it and then ran from the show room without further comment. The next day at The Capital, Rob Armory and others were still basking in their recent victory. “I love seeing Democrats cry,” he said. “'Oh, those poor children, and if. . .'” he did a mock sniff. “'If he'd had to go through a back ground check..oh, no,, wait, it was his mother's gun. Still, if there were background checks at gun shows, we could prevent,oh, woe is us, some tragedies.' When all they really want is to control every aspect of our lives.” He heard a click and looked up to see the man, pointing his new gun straight at him. “You've been screwing my wife,” the man said. “That's why she left me. And you're the one whose been sending government and alien probes into my home and even into my mind. Prepare to die.” Without another word and before anyone could act, the man emptied a whole cartridge into Senator Rob Armory's head, and when Emergency personnel arrived, wrestled the man to the ground and took him away, there was no point in even calling an ambulance. WHEN GUNS GO THE WAY OF THE DINASAURS. “And with President Yolanda Sandleson's Signature, The Official 'Save Our Children From Gun Violence' Bill becomes The Law of The Land,” said The White House correspondent without emotion. But Fred Gunslinger couldn't keep the emotion from his voice. “They're creating a National Gun Registry and next they'll be rounding them up and taking them away.” “Only from Criminals,” said Sam, his Boy-Friend. “Law abiding citizens like us will not have a problem.” Fred snorted. “I love you, Sam, but sometimes, Man are you naive.” Sam said nothing, for this was not the first time his lover had made such an accusation. “Twenty-Nine Murderers caught in New York City thanks to the new Registry,” a different Reporter said a few days later. “Some are still against The Registry, but President Sandleson says that the number of now solved murders is proof both that it is working and that it was the right thing to do.” “Well,” said Fred as he and Sam listened to the news while eating at Grape Fruit Heaven and Burgers on Fire. “That is good, I'll agree. But I still think that this Registry is both unconstitutional and could lead to a seizing of legitimately owned guns.” Sam sat for a long moment without speaking, then, finally he said. “Don't look around, but you know who is standing in the door, pointing her legal gun right at you.” You-Know-Who was Sam's one time Girl-Friend, Marge, who had never totally accepted that Sam didn't want to be with her any more even though they had been together all through High School because Sam didn't want to be with any woman any more. Before Fred could speak or even duck, she fired, and two seconds later Fred's brains splattered all over the table. Sam cried out in rage, sorrow and horror, then thankfully blacked out. When he was aware again, he lay in bed, and Fred was beside him. “You didn't think I wouldn't have taken some precautions, after last time, did you, Sammy Boy?” asked Fred when he saw Sam's stunned look. Then Sam knew, this was a dream. Fred hadn't called him 'Sammy Boy' in years. He woke for real, and Fred really was dead, but at least, he saw on the news, Marge had been arrested. But as he watched the news, he saw that while there were more gun violence arrests than there once wee, there also seemed to be a sharp up tick in gun violence overall. Every day the number of gun murders seemed to increase. Finally, President Sandleson went on the air again. “Due to the recent up tick in gun related violence, I am indefinitely suspending The Second Amendment. All Fire Arms will be confiscated and destroyed immediately. We know where you all are. I strongly encourage all citizens not to resist the armed police officers when they come to take your guns.” Sam groaned. He wasn't quite the Gun Nut that Fred had been, but he did like his hunting rifle. His thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the door. “Your guns please,” said an armed police officer. “Even your Civil War rifle.” “Now hold on,” said Sam. “That's historical, not functional. It's been in my family for. . .” The Police Officer whipped out a voice recorder. “Subject is resisting. Warrant already issued in case of this eventuality, now executing warrant.” The cop puled out her gun. “Are you arresting me?” asked Sam. “No,,” she replied. “Death warrants were issued in advance for anyone who resist. So, you will now die.,” Before Sam could react, the gun was at his temple, discharging and the world went black. THOSE THAT LIVE BY THE GUN “The only defense against a bad guy with a gun is a good guy with a gun,,” said Bulethead Caliber Assaulrifle, President of The Nutty Revolutionary Anarchists on THE CONSERVATIVES RULE AND LIBERALS DROOL Television Network. “So, all you Good Guys out there, go out and buy all the guns you can, RIGHT NOW.” Charles switched off the television. “Well, I'm off to the gun store,” he told his wife, Hesla. “I'm coming too,” she said. “I might some time face a bad guy when you're not around.” “Fine,” said Charles. When they got to the gun store, however, the line was out the door, around the block, across the street and at least halfway down the next block. “Might as well get in it,” said Hesla Gunhand. Charles Gunhqnd nodded. Ten hours later they walked from the gun store, packing heat in a major way. Charles had an automatic assault rifle on both hips, a hunting rifle slung across his back and a fully loaded 200 caliber pistol in each hand. Hesla wore two 400 caliber pistols on each hip, four shot guns across her back and held one assault rifle in her left hand and two in her unusually large right hand. Others they passed on the street heading out of the various stores and those they passed still on their way in looked very envious. Suddenly, there was a cry behind them. Whirling, they saw a man lifting a bag from a woman standing by the open trunk of a car. Both instantly pointed all of their hand held guns at the man. “Drop the bag, Sir,” they both said. “There will be no stealing today. We're the good guys with the guns.” “Wait,”the man woman cried out. “We're. . .” Suddenly there was a click behind Charles and Hesla. “Drop the guns, both of you. You will not be robbing this couple. Not while this good guy has a gun.” Then there was a third set of clicks. “There will be no bad guys with guns doing any killing today. I'm the real good guy with a. . .” There was another click. “No bad guys will be doing any shooting today. The Good Guys with the guns are here to save the day.” There was a one more set of five clicks. “All of you bad guys with guns stand down, or The Real Good Guys with Guns, us, will. . .” Suddenly, the woman that had been holding the bag swooned and the man took a step towards her. Charles and Hesla shot, and then everyone was shooting. The four other sets of clicks first, but then everyone in the crowd that had bought their guns already and those that had brought their weapons from home. When the police arrived a short time later, they found everyone in the crowd lying dead, including Charles and Hesla and the man and woman, whose IDs revealed they had been husband and wife and that the bag contained heavy groceries, which he had presumably been trying to help her with. ARM EVERY TEACHER Following the latest school shooting, in a small mid western town, there was once again much talk of Gun Control. “No,” said Cartridge Bulletbrain, Head of The Nut case Rebellious Anarchists, of which I was a proud, card carrying member. “What we should do is arm every teacher. If there had been one teacher with a gun in that school, that madman could not have done all of that killing.” “That's right,” I said. “Give us the ability to protect our charges, and we'll do it.” To my astonished delight, this correct view of things actually prevailed. Two weeks after the incident, every teacher at my school had a concealed carry permit, and everyone did. So, when I see a group of five masked people charge through the metal detectors, weapons emerging and starting to blaze, I think we are ready. I pull out my colt-45 and start shooting at them. They return fire and soon our bullets are flying all over. Doors burst open, teachers emerging with their guns drawn and blazing, children crying, screaming, shouting and everyone running every which way. I scream in anguish as I see one of my bullets hit a child. “Get out of the way, children,” I cry at the top of my lungs. A bullet grazes my ear from behind, and I whirl to see if one of the intruders has made it past me, but there are so many guns blazing and bullets flying now, it is impossible to tell who is shooting at who. “Allen,” scrams a colleague as she runs past my ear. “Get the children out of here, now! This is a blood bath.” I start trying to round up children even as I continue shooting, I hope at the intruders, although they seem to be everywhere now. I scream as all around me children I have known all of their school age lives and colleagues I have known for many years fall. I start rushing the remaining children I can gather up towards the door, when I feel something crash into and crush the back of my skull and my world shatters. THE PLICE REPORT FROM JOHN WAYNE ELEMENTARY SCHOOL: 450 ELEMENTARY AGE STUDENTS, 20 FACULTY MEMBERS, 1 PRINCIPLE, 5 INTRUDERS. ALL 476 ACCOUNTED FOR. ALL 476 DEAD. SECONDS FOR EVERYONE' “There should be no restrictions at all on who can buy guns,” said Colt Bonehead Oozy, The Head of The Nut Case Rebellious Anarchists on TV. after the latest shooting. “Everyone should have the right to buy a gun. The Second Amendment does not say “except children, except the mentally ill or except those with criminal backgrounds” it says “The Right of The People To Keep And Bare Arms Shall Not Be Infringed” Period. Therefore, all such restrictions should be done away with.” “At least,” I cried. “I can get a gun.” I'd spent the better part of my fifteen years in Juvenile Detention, mostly due to my schizophrenia and Multiple Personalities, Freddie, in particular, was quite violent, but I still ought to be able to target shoot if I want to. “Not so fast, Norman,”said my ,mother. “His opinion does not make it policy.” She was technically right, of course, but since both The Executive and The Legislative Branches of The Federal Government were firmly in the control of Republicans, and everyone knew that the top People of The Republican Party all but slept with Colt Oozy, I knew it was only a matter of time. To my parents horror, I was right. “Don't worry,” I told my parents as we watched President Fire Arm Gun Brain sign The Restoration of The Second Amendment Bill into law. “I won't shoot you.” “You won't, Norman,” said my father. “But what about Freddie. And what about people you don't like.” “I'll just use it for target shooting, I promise,” I said. “And only I will handle it. When I feel someone else, particularly Freddie, coming, I'll empty it and lock it up.” I don't think they believed me, but as I had been saving my money for years and there was a gun store a block away, there was nothing they could do. “I'd like a '38 Special, please,,” I said, walking up to the desk. “That's expensive, kid,” said the clerk. “You look a bit young to write a check, and I don't see any parents with you, so. . .” I pulled out my wallet. “Will five hundred cash do?” I asked, handing him five crisp one-hundred dollar bills. “They're real, you can check,” I said, sensing his next objection. “I've been saving for ten years.” Five minutes later I was headed for the door with my new gun. “So,” said a mocking voice I knew and hated all too well. “Retard Boy has a gun now?” I felt Freddie starting to come up, and fought to keep him down. “Yes, Charlton Wayne, and unless you want to have worse mental health than me, I suggest you keep your big mouth shut.” He starts to laugh, which is the one thing that I was really hoping he would not do. “Nobody laughs at Norman,,” I now Freddie say in my own voice, causing everyone else to back away. Before Wayne Charlton can respond, I load my new gun, put it right to his chest, look right into his wide and frightened and tear filled eyes, smile, and pull the trigger. Then I leave and Norman walks home and shoots himself in the head, not wanting to go to jail, and so we all eleven die. HOW MANY MUST DIE? I couldn't believe it. I finally got a gun. I'd wanted one all my life of course, but. . . “Sir, you were diagnosed with multiple personalities and as schizophrenic when you were two, and you've been in and out of Prison since you were fifteen. This is a Respectable, Responsible, Law Abiding Gun Store that would lose its reputation as such if we sold someone like you a gun. . .” was all I heard at every store. “But I just want to target shoot and hunt deer and pheasants,” I protested again and again. “That's what your current, peaceful personality says,” they would always reply. “But what about your more violent personalities. And your other. . .issue?” I never had an answer for any of these, for three of my personalities were rather violent, one of them extremely so. But I could usually tell when she was coming and so would make sure the gun was empty and the ammo put away before she got there. However, I'd tried to explain this the first few times and gotten nowhere, so I did not even attempt it anymore. So, of course, I was thrilled when I heard about the so-called “Gun Show Loophole” and then found out that there was a gun show coming to town a few days later. “If I still lived with my parents,” I told the elephant I shared my apartment with. “They wouldn't let me go, but since I'm on my own now, I can.” “Go for it, Jim,” he said. So, of course, I did. “A six shooter is fine,” I said. “I just want to target shoot and hunt deer and pheasants.” “If that's all,” he said, handing me the gun and taking my money. “Why don't you already have one?” I hesitate, making sure in my mind that the transaction is complete, then answer. “Because this is the first Local Gun Show since I got my own place and gun stores won't sell to someone with schizophrenia, twelve personalities, three of which are quite violent, and a criminal record going back more than half my life. But there are no checks at gun shows.” Before he can respond, I dash off and am out the door with my loaded six shooter and one spare clip I grabbed as I was walking out before anyone has a chance to stop me. I see a heard of deer walking down the street, but there are people too, so I keep my hand in check and engage my feet to follow them. As they and I alone turn onto a side street, the biggest one, walking at the back, suddenly turns around and faces me. “Why are you following us?” he says in a vaguely familiar voice. For a moment I stop, trying to place the voice. Then, suddenly, I know. The man who first gave me shock therapy. “DR. Marshhead!” I cry, raising my gun as the deer facade falls away to reveal my arch nemesis, the man I swore at thirteen I would some day repay for that electricity. “Prepare to pay for your crimes.” “Wait,” he cries. “What are you talking about young man, I'm not a doctor and I've never seen you before in my life.” “Lies,” I scream, and pull the trigger. As he falls, the horse beside him screams and runs at me, so I shoot her too. I hear one of the younger zebras trying to contact the alien mother ship with his beeper device, so I shoot him too. An older young lioness jumps at me, so I shoot her as well. I ready my second clip, knowing I will need it soon as a monkey and a crocodile from the group run at me. After killing them, I reload, then shoot the four charging unicorns. I empty my last two bullets into the two aliens that are about to attack me. That only leaves the crying and terrified looking little boy. “Better strangle him, or he could be a witness,” says a familiar voice in my head. “But they were just deer, lions, crocodile, monkeys, unicorns and aliens,” I tell it aloud. “Why would he care about them?” He looks up, and though the tears still run down and streak it, his face is flushed with anger. “They were my family, you Nut Job. My name is Charles Moses Winchester. Memorize my name and my face. Someday, when I'm older, bigger and stronger, they will be the lat thing you ever see and hear in this life.” Before I can respond, I hear sirens all around me, and then there are police everywhere. One of them picks up the child and rushes him off. “Drop the weapon Sir,” I hear from all directions at once. “It's empty, see,” I hold it up and put my finger to the trigger to show them. My one sane self points out too late that this is a mistake, for they open fire immediately and then all of my worlds collapse. FIRE AT WILL “The Second Amendment is Sacred,” declared Nutcase Rebellious Anarchist, head of The Organization that bore his name. “All of the rest of The Constitution and our Nation's other laws were made by men. But: 'The Right To Bear Arms' came directly from God Himself. So no one may question it in any way.” “You tell 'em Nutcase,” shouted Firehand Triggerfinger at the figure on the bar's TV.. “That's what we need in this country, more people to understand that it is a GOD GIVEN RIGHT, to be able to buy and carry any weapon we want.” “But without The First Amendment,” his sister's boy-friend Mark pointed out. “You wouldn't be able to express that view if the people currently in charge disagreed with you, so it is at least as if not more import. . .” Suddenly, Mark's eyes went wide as Firehhand put a revolver to his large belly and pulled the trigger. “The Second Amendment is all that matters,” declared Fiehand as he kicked Mark's body out of his way and left the bar. “Would you sign this petition for American born Latinos' Right to Vote,” a woman asked him as she approached him right outside the bar. “No,”” Firehand said. He pulled out his revolver and shot her in the face. “There is only one Right that matters. The Right to Keep and Bear Arms.” As he walked down the street, he saw a large crowd outside the new abortion clinic. There were people chanting “Right to Life” others telling them to be quiet, and some of them shouting back “Right To Protest.” “Life and Protest are not Rights that matter either,” said Firehand. He emptied his revolver into the crowd and many fell. The rest scattered. He spat. “All these irrelevant Rights. Only one Right matters.” “Order in the Court, order in the court,” he heard to his left. Looking in, he saw a boy on the witness stand. He stopped to listen in as an attorney finished asking the boy a question. The boy hesitated, then said. “Your Honor, Members of The Jury and attorneys, although I am under eighteen, I believe that I still have Constitutional Rights. Therefore, I invoke my fifth Amendment Right against self-incrimina . . .” The boy stopped as Firehand's bullet shattered his head. “Only one Right matters,” said Firehand, then walked on. “Well, what's going on here,” he said, passing a boarded up building with a lot of women and minorities gathered around it. “The company is cheating us,” one of them said. “So we are going on Strike until they grant us Equal Protection under The Law, which we have a Right. . .” The speaker's eyes went wide as Firehand's bullet connected with her temple. “There is only one Right that matters, The Right To Keep and Bear Arms.” “Hold on there son,” said a burly Police Officer appearing out of nowhere. “That doesn't mean you can just walk down the street shooting anyone who annoys you. I'll take that gun.” “NO ONE IS TAKING AWAY MY SECOND AMENDMENT RIGHTS,” shouted Fireand, shooting the police officer on the spot. “MY gun is MINE, AS GOD INTENDED, and that is all that matters.” Then he kissed his gun and walked home. THE GUN RUN, “I hope not to see you here again, Fred,” said the guard, I forget his name, as he signed my release papers. We both knew he would, of course. I had been in and out of prison for forty years, since I was ten years old. Obviously, it had been JV back then. I tried not to break the law, but for a paranoid, delusional, schizophrenic, bipolar, multiple personalities, individual, all of which I had been diagnosed with when I was seven, along with every other psychological disorder, it was difficult if not impossible to avoid breaking the law. About the only thing I hadn't done was armed robbery, since with my criminal and mental health history, I was on the list of DO NOT SELL TOS even for private dealers at gun shows, and no one would even sell me one out of their driveway, and believe me, I had tried all of the above. Two days after my latest release, though, I am watching the evening news when “this just in, Hothead Trigger Finger's Republican Majority in The House has just followed the Republican controlled Senate in voting to override President Coolhead's veto of bill grae36,which repeals every gun restricting law ever passed, effective immediately. “From now on, if you have money, you can get whatever you want, even military grade weapons” The Speaker of The House said just after the final vote. “No more background checks or any of that other nonsense. . .” I don't hear the rest, for there are fireworks going off inside my head and stomach. “All it takes is money” I muse to myself. Well, I have plenty of that. My parents had left me quite a trust, since they knew that I would never be able to hold down a typical job. Of course, I had always had a trustee who administered my financial arrangements, but since this most recent time I had gone to prison for murdering her and of course a new one could not be assigned during the five and a half years that followed, I had used a revolver, after all, and the Republican judge had not wanted to be too hard on a fellow gun enthusiast. So, Monday morning, I go to my bank and clear my account before anyone gets any the wiser about it. Then I go to the nearest gun store. “How may I help you, sir?” asks the clerk. “I want one-hundred m-16s, and enough ammo to refill each of them twelve times,” I reply. “That will cost. . .” he begins, then sees the bill I am holding. “Would a one-hundred thousand dollar bill cover it?” I ask. He nods and the exchange happens. Once I have the guns, however, I shoot him point blank in the forehead and so keep my money as well. Then I walk down the street, randomly shooting people, sometimes to kill and sometimes just to maim. But then, someone shoots a shoulder fired missile back at me. “I need one of those,” I say aloud. After a long search, I find a military grade weapons store and walk in. “I want two-hundred shoulder fired missiles, five-hundred rocket propelled grenades and one-thousand rocket launchers,” I say before he can even ask. Before his next question, I dangle a one million dollar bill in front of him, and the words die on his lips. Once I have what I wanted, so does he. When I leave the store, I mount one of my new treasures on my shoulders and shoot someone clear to oblivion before they can shoot me with their alien laser beam. Then I shoot a charging elephant that moments before had been in the guise of a person. “You shot my mother,” cried a boy of not more than ten. He points a rocket propelled grenade at me. “Prepare to d. . .” Suddenly, he stops and cries out as one of my grenades hits him. Then I shoot one of my nuclear missiles into a crowd of gaping spectators, which includes some alien and government spies that have been watching me fir years. Suddenly, I hear a rocket launcher go off behind me. I turn just in time to dodge it and throw one from my shoulder to retaliate. Then another comes at me, and I reply with equal force. Another shot, and I shoot back. Then I fire at someone trying to control my mind, and the person standing beside them shoots back. Something whistles past my ear from behind, and I throw a grenade and empty one cartridge of my m-16b in that general direction. And suddenly, everyone on the street is shooting, at me or at each other, and I am throwing everything in my considerable arsenal in all directions, by means of retaliation or preemption. Projectiles from every fire arm known to man fly in all directions, and soon the air is full of every kind of ammunition there is and people's death cries and the scrams of the injured and dying. I hear another shot whiz past my ear from behind, whirl and shoot the boy who fired it. Suddenly, I feel a great weight smash into my spinal cord, cry out and then I also die. THE RIGHT WORDSS AT LAST: If Republicans and their bcd mates in The Nut Case Rebellious Anarchists get what they really want, all gun restrictions at all abolished for everyone, even those with criminal and/or mental illness histories, this story is mere child's play compared to what will actually happen, so let us make sure that they never get that chance.