As I write this, I am, I shall confess, rather under the influence of intoxicating liquors. Or, rather, just alcohol. I've had vodka and lots and lots of beer.
Bisexual Boy, damn him and his pseudonym, wasn't even there, in spite of the fact that I picked out a cute tee-shirt and shorts, and that I practically got naked (down to my boxers) out on Sacagawea's front porch.
I'm proud of myself, for even in my state of advanced drunkeness, I still keep up the cloak of secrecy that hides mine and my friends' and family's identity. What if I were to just tell you who I am right now?
My name is BB, and I weigh 125lbs, and I just showed up at a party and drank way too much, and there were no gay guys, and the straight redneck guys called me a faggot. That made me sad and hurt my feelings. I can't help being gay.
Homophobia is a negative and destructive emotion, even for someone who can barely sit up straight, let alone be straight. When they called me a faggot, I gave them the finger and told them to fuck themselves. I'm gay and that's all there is to it and anyone who doesn't like it can go away and leave me alone.
I LIKE THE COCK.
Tonight I kissed some girls, even though I want to kiss some boys. Sometimes when you're at a party you do silly things.
I saw some breasts tonight, breasts that were shown to me in the full knowledge of my homosexuality. I have to go to bed very soon. It turns out I'm leaving for my grandmother's tomorrow, not Wednesday.
Oh gay people (specifically, gay, hot, skinny boys who are like me), where are you?