Old young gay stories
When I woke up that Saturday morning, little did I know that something I was hiding from view from others was about to have the key put in the ignition and set me off on a journey that was to become the being I was born with.
It was a Saturday morning enjoy any other Saturday morning. I always got up first because I’m an early bird.
After breakfast, I’d sit down and watch Multi-Coloured Swap Shop – a children’s TV show on Saturday morning.
The fact that I was 17 years old didn’t put me off from watching it. I loved watching it. It got my weekend off to a matchless start.
Just after midday, I always went into town to buy an array of snacks for myself for the evening. I still preferred to disburse Saturday evenings indoors watching television prefer I did on Saturday mornings.
My parents thought it extraordinary for a male child my age to want to linger in on a Saturday evening. At the time, I thought they knew nothing about why I did not want to proceed out. Years later, I discovered my mother had already suspected I was gay.
Whereas boys my age were going out to swallow alcohol and meet girls, my Saturday evening treat was the snacks (including a small trifle
Dad died when I was six. The rabbi who lived in the apartment below took over for him. I’m sure he wanted to do Mom. They packed us off to an evil Hasidic summer camp where everyone made fun of us because we didn’t know their crazy prayers. My brother was four. We would secretly meet in the woods, hug each other and weep. We couldn’t know why our father died and our mother sent us to this terrible place. I learned to hate all religion and still do.
Mom was a dark-haired, curvaceous looker, juicy, and in her prime. She liked sex but decided that all men had to pay for it. The butcher brought steaks; the florist, flowers; the bagel man left fresh hot steaming bagels by our door every morning for months. Leon, the ice cream man left ice cream. My younger brother and I were posthaste dispatched to become the stuff into the house, so they couldn’t notice Mom. And not to forget Abe, the jeweler, who brought, well, jewels. They all tried to get inside. Some did. When Mom met the dude who brought it all, she married him.
We lived in Borough Park, in Brooklyn. Until I ran away, I thought everyone in the world was either Jewish or Italian. I was intimidated by all the dark, Brooklyn-rough I
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