gay coming of age

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A young man makes a discovery about his cousin and himself

The magazine – Part 1 of 3

I look back on those days with tremendous fondness. Hardly a surprise; that was when…

No, I won’t jump to the end. I’ll start at the beginning.

I loved my cousin Harley. I admired him with every fibre of my being. He was older than me, and I looked up to him as the embodiment of everything I aspired to be when I got to be his age; well-liked, funny, cool, and totally at ease-in-his-skin. Sounds like a crush right? And given the events that later transpired, I could understand you thinking that my feelings towards him were a mere teenage hormonal rush of blood and emotions, perhaps even coloured by repressed homosexual desires. But it was more than that. I truly felt seen when I was in his presence; like I was someone that mattered. I wasn’t some lonely, awkward kid, in desperate need of affirmation. I had other interests, and other friends. I didn’t dye my hair black, wear goth clothes or lay away at night sobbing about how alone I felt, because that wasn’t how I felt. I was a normal teenager who had simply had the good fortune to have a terrific relationship with his cousin.

Harley was in college, and I was… well, let’s just say I still had to worry about homework. We moved in different worlds. His was the world of parties, illicit alcohol, cars, and sex. Mine was the world of homework, curfews, and chores.

Of course, we had known each other since I was old enough to recognise him. We had lots of cousins in our family, and I got on well with most of them, but Harley and me were both single kids, and we lived closer to each other than any of the others. His parents owned a decent-sized holding just a couple of miles outside town; close enough to ride to on my mountain bike if the weather was good. Alaska tends to attract families that prefer their own space, and who have an appreciation for the wilds. People think it’s all snow and mooses. Meece? Mooosen? I don’t know what the plural of “moose” is, but yeah, they live up here, and you definitely don’t want to bump into one, but it’s warm in the summer, with long days, and lots to do.

Harley and I had developed a special bond. When I was a kid, I tagged along with him whenever our families got together, and while he could easily have viewed me as a burden, instead, he watched out for me and made me feel included whenever we did stuff with other people. Whether it was skinny-dipping at the river, riding snowmobiles in the winter, or shooting hoops, he always made me feel as though I was a welcome addition to the group.

He was not the leader of the pack, vroom vroom, but he was liked and respected enough that they listened to him, and they took their cues on how to treat me, from him. The only time he didn’t let me tag along, was when he was dating. He started around the age of fourteen, and my balls were still pips then. I didn’t know what the fuss was about, and I felt a pang of insecurity about the new interest in his life. Paradoxically, after he went on date nights, for a while, I would make myself unavailable to socialise with him, and he picked up on it quickly, handling my jealousy with understanding and patience. His kindness made it clear that there was always room in his life for me, but now he had other needs, and soon, I came to trust that I was not going to be simply discarded.

Of course, I didn’t understand what dating was all about at that age. I knew it meant hugging and kissing, and a year later, I learned that boners were involved. I got them, but they were nothing but a curiosity at the age of twelve; something to be played with, but not really enjoyed. More like a biological fidget spinner.

At the age of fourteen, I had my first wet dream – yeah, I know it was late. That’s probably why it was so messy. I don’t recall if a dream actually precipitated it, but I woke up horny, to find that my underpants were a slimy mess. My aching boner made it immediately obvious what had happened. I got up to change my briefs, only to see that my duvet cover had a huge incriminating wet patch as well. I wiped the slime from my thin pubes with a t-shirt, put on a fresh pair of briefs, flipped the duvet over, then went back to bed.

The next morning, for the first time ever, I put the duvet cover in the laundry. Mom saw me.

“It’s not laundry day why are you putting that in the wash?”

“It’s dirty,” I replied.

She gave me a momentary look and our eyes met. I coloured up, and she understood.

“No problem. Did you need a fresh duvet too?”

“Ummm, yes, maybe. Probably,” I mumbled, remembering the mess.

“Just grab one from the linen closet. And the grey cover.”

And that was my entry into manhood. Suddenly my cream factory was doing business.

But enough of my very first experience. I was telling you about Harley. I was visiting his house, as I often did. We’d spent the day working on the snowmobiles. It was not yet winter, but autumn was hinting, and he wanted to make sure they were tuned and ready for the first snows. They could fall unexpectedly early up in Willow.

I didn’t own a vehicle, but his family had four; a couple of Ski-Doo Neos; heavy duty machines for long distance expeditions or work, and a couple of much lighter Arctic Cat ZR 200s, that were great for playing in the snow.

He was teaching me how to strip and tune an engine. I was not a fast learner, but he was patient.

By 4, the sun was getting low, the Autumn cool had soaked through our clothes, and we were ready to call it a day. We retreated to his house, where we washed up. His mom planned to make dinner before I headed home, and we had an hour or so to kill so we retired to his room to hang out.

Harley had fired up his Playstation and loaded the latest NBA basketball game.

“Where’s the other controller?” I asked.

“Oh, it’s plugged into the fast charger by my desk.”

I walked over to his desk, and looked around, before seeing the DualSense on the floor. The desk was next to his bed. I reached down to unplug it from the charger, but as I did so, I saw something that froze my blood. It was a magazine, opened face up under the edge of the bed. On the opened spread, there were two young men, perhaps late teens or early 20s, smiling at the camera. One was on his knees, and the other was behind him crouched down. The cameraman was positioned at a 45-degree angle to them so that he could see the space between them, and the guy behind had his dick embedded half way into the ass of the lower one. The guy on the bottom was clearly enjoying it, and though he wasn’t touching himself, his rock-hard cock protruded beneath him, almost parallel to his belly. He was circumcised as I was, but he was cut much deeper, and his helmet looked like a rocket mounted atop a veined piston.

I stared wide-eyed and paralysed for perhaps five seconds, taking in every detail; the happy faces, the droopy balls of the guy being fucked, how smooth they both were.

My cousin and hero was a homo! It came as a body blow. It knocked the wind right out of me. My chest tightened and my breathing felt laboured.

I forced myself to pick up the controller, and then I returned to Harley’s side. His proximity tingled now that I knew what I knew; knew what he liked to look at.

We played until dinner. I usually lost as he had so much more opportunity to practice than I did, but I was distracted, my thoughts on the magazine, and it was an effort to focus on the game at all.

What did it mean? Did he feel that way about me? Did he fuck guys? I tried not to overreact. Lots of people were gay. It was common. But there was still a slight stigma, especially at my age.

Harley playfully teased me as he won game after game, but after a while, he noticed that I was not retorting to his jibes.

“Hey, Luca, you okay?”

I snapped out of my thoughts and forced myself to play natural.

“What? Yeah, I’m fine. Just distracted.”

“You sure, you look pale?”

He reached out and put his hand on my forehead and I flinched away from him. He looked surprised. We were normally totally at ease physically around each other, even naked. Even though my dick was so much smaller than his, I was comfortable that it was just an age difference thing.

“Whoa, easy, I was just gonna check your forehead,” he said.

“Oh, sorry,” I said, returning my head to its previous position.

He placed his fingers on my forehead.

“I’m fine,” I assured him.

“Yeah, feels normal.”

“I was just distracted is all.”

“What by?”

“Oh um, nothing, just thoughts,” I blustered, only amplifying the mystery from his perspective.

“Oh right, thinking about a girl huh?” he said, and nudged me with an elbow. “Is she cute?”

I blushed but didn’t answer. If only he knew. The image of those two naked guys was in my mind. I recalled every detail.

Harley’s grin widened at my blush but he let it drop.

“Okay, 78 to 26. Lucky we’re not playing for money!”

Later, his mom served dinner and we ate. I sat facing Harley with his parents at right angles to us. I found it hard to meet Harley’s eyes. Every time he spoke or our eyes met, mine slid away like oil on a hot pan. I struggled to act natural. It felt like when you become aware of your breathing or blinking, and suddenly autonomous processes become really laboured. After a while, he noticed and gave me a quick questioning frown. I looked away again.

“You guys fallen out?” his father, Joseph, asked.

“I don’t think so,” Harley answered.

“No sir,” I added.

“You’ve barely said a word,” he said to me.

“I’m just tired,” I lied.

“He said he was distracted,” Harley added.

“Woman problems?” Joseph asked.

“That’s what I said!” Harley exclaimed excitedly, a grin lighting up his face.

“Nah. It’s okay. Just thinking about a tough homework assignment,” I lied. “sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry for son. Hope it goes well.”

“Actually, I’m gonna head off. I really wanna get it finished. Do you mind if I don’t stick around for dessert ma’am,” I said, turning to Harley’s mother.

“No, of course not. It’s good that you take your studies so seriously.”

I gave her a smile and rose from the table.

At 10.30, I received a text from Harley. It read, “Okay to call?”

“Sure,” I responded, and a moment later my phone rang.

I answered.

“Hey.”

“Hey man, so what’s REALLY up?”

“What, I had h…”

“Don’t give me that,” he interrupted. “I know you too well. It was the magazine wasn’t it? I forgot it was there.”

“The magazine?” I said playing dumb.

“Dude, come on, it’s me you’re talking to. Don’t treat me like this. I deserve better than that.”

I considered acting dumb again, but he DID deserve better than that. He’d been my mentor; my protector, and my best friend all my life.

“Yeah,” I admitted. “Are you a…” I checked myself. ‘fag’ seemed such a brutal word. “Are you gay?”

“Nah, I’m studying gay fucking for a paper,” he responded. “That’s why I keep the magazine under my bed to jack off to. I just wanna see what they like about it.”

“Seriously?” I asked, thirstily leaping on the possibility that he was actually straight.

Harley burst out laughing and I felt dumb, but I laughed along with him.

“No, not seriously. Yeah, I’m a fag. You can use that word so long as you’re not using it as an insult.”

“Duuuude,” I said, “How long?”

“About 9 inches.”

“What?” I asked dumbfounded, then I realised he was making a dick length joke.

“Nah, for real. Forever, I guess. Like, I was 12 when I first started noticing dicks in the changing rooms. Maybe 15 when I started appreciating them.”

“But you date girls!”

“Not so much. Enough to give it a try.”

“This is so weird. I don’t know what to think. I thought you were so cool.”

“Nahhh, I was never all that cool,” he said.

“Yeah, you were. Supercool.”

“And being gay changes that?”

I thought for the longest time. I had a literal philosophical debate with myself. Eventually Harley spoke up.

“Luca? You still there?”

“Yeah, yeah, sorry. I mean, it shouldn’t change things, but it feels different now.”

“Why? I’m still the same person.”

“I dunno, it feels like you’ve been hiding something from me. That you’re NOT the same person.”

“That’s not fair. Do you discuss your jack off fantasies with me? Or even the girls you find hot? I’ve never even seen you with a girl. Because that’s your business not mine. All I care about is our friendship, and what makes you happy.”

I pondered his words for a long time. It was a lot to take in.

“I’m gonna need some time to think about this Harley. Get my thoughts straight.”

“Fair enough. Love you dude.”

I hung up the phone without answering.

Half an hour later I was in bed trying to sleep but I felt guilty for holding him at arm’s length. My mind ran in circles for 45 minutes before I finally drifted off.

The next morning it was the first thing on my mind when I woke up. Harley a fag! I couldn’t believe it. My head pounded at the enormity of it.

I pondered the thought on and off all day at school. Did he fuck people in the ass like the guys in the porn mag, or worse, did he let people fuck him?! It barely seemed possible. The thought earned me a basketball in the face in the afternoon, when my mind was elsewhere during gym, and that was when I finally pulled it together and decided that I would talk about it with him when I got home.

I didn’t know what I was going to say to him, but I knew that I would have to be upfront with him about how I felt.

I had supper with my parents, and did my homework, clearing the decks so that I had time to talk to him without interruption or other things on my mind. At a little after 8, I called him.

“Hey Luca!” he said cheerily, as though there was nothing wrong.

“Hey Harley,” I said with less energy than usual.

“How’s your day been?” he asked.

“Not so bad. Kinda weird. I got a bloody nose in gym.”

“Fuck, how’d that happen?”

I heard a voice in the background.

“Language please Harley!”

“Sorry mom,” he said. “Gimme a sec, let me go to my room.”

A few moments later he resumed.

“So, what happened?”

“I was distracted. I missed a pass. I was thinking about something else.”

“Were you badly hurt?” he asked with his usual big-brother concern.

“Not really, it hurt like a bitch, but no serious damage.”

“That’s good, so what were you distracted by?” he asked, and I was sure he already knew.

“I was thinking about that magazine. About you.”

“Yeah, I guessed as much.”

“It’s so weird to think that you’re a homo. No offence.”

“None taken. It’s the truth, but why is it weird? Nothing’s changed.”

“Hasn’t it?”

“Dude, I’ve been gay for years, and you just never knew about it. I’m still the same person.”

I thought about it. I couldn’t argue with his logic but still something felt different.

“Do your folks know?”

“Mom does. I’ll tell dad when I get my own place. I don’t know how he would take it.”

“Nah, he’s kind of rugged isn’t he?”

Harley laughed.

“Yeah dude, that’s how I’d put it too. I bet he wrestles bears when we’re not around.”

I laughed at the thought.

Harley continued, “I mean, he’s always been an amazing dad, and I’d hate to lose that.”

“Yeah. So um, do you have a boyfriend?”

“Not at the moment.”

“At the moment?”

“Sure, there was a guy. We stopped seeing each other when he got a place at Washington State. You met him a couple of times; Owen: red hair, braces.”

“I remember him. He was okay.”

“Course he was. Why d’you think I liked him?”

“Oh yeah. Makes sense.”

“Hey look, if you wanna discuss this, we can carry it on, on Saturday. You are still coming by aren’t you?”

I hesitated for just a moment, before quickly pushing my reservations away.

“Course I am,” I said with false enthusiasm. “Can’t wait.”

I felt like a fraud.

Harley ignored any slight awkwardness.

“Great. See you then.”

I spent the next couple of days thinking about what he had said. That HE hadn’t changed; only the way I perceived him was different. I turned the thought over and over in my head. He was right. I mean, it wasn’t as though I had to be present when he was having sex, and he had never dropped any hints or come onto me, so why should I care? But my thoughts kept returning to that magazine. Two guys fucking. He looked at that image and it turned him on. It made me feel weird to think about it.