The date is November 2nd. I am almost midway through my senior year in high school. This semester's finals are quickly approaching, though school has not exactly been my main focus. Things have been really tough. I have decided to start a journal. My therapist suggested that maybe writing would be a good outlet to let go of some frustration and anger I have. He believes it is a good alternative to violence and drugs. I had never had a problem with drug abuse or a bad temper. In all honesty, ever since this summer began, I feel somewhat depressed. I have seen numerous doctors and counselors but all seem to believe that this is just normal teenager stuff that I am dealing with. I'm not sure whats been bothering me, but what I do know is this: I am scared to death that I might not be straight.
My name is Emmett. I have been dealing with emotions that I do not know how to cope with since I was a freshman. I like women. I like women a lot. But sometimes I wonder if I am just trying to convince myself that the feelings I have for men at times are normal, or do not exist. I come from a very religious background. I can't be gay. I would lose everything. I have not spoken a word to anyone I am close with, not even my closest friend, Stephanie. But I have these unwanted feelings at times, sometimes I think it's a phase of curiosity that everyone goes through. Sometimes I am scared that they are developing into something more real.
I started therapy to hopefully clear my head a bit, but I have been going for six weeks and I cannot find it in me to open up to him. After having my first 6 sessions, I do not feel connected to him enough to open up and talk about my biggest fears and worries. I always found myself never being able to concentrate during my hour long session. I always catch myself day dreaming, drifting in and out, watching the clock, waiting to go home, and sometimes, I find myself admiring this guy a little too closely. My therapist's name is Damien Wentz. He is one of the best known people around here that work trying to help the youth dealing with depression, anxiety, and similar obstacles. I like the guy don't get me wrong, but it's so hard to pay attention for two reasons. One, I just simply don't want to be there as I don't think it is helping me mentally, not after 6 weeks of it. Two, the guy was insanely attractive. Mr. Wentz had to be in his early 30's, about 6'2, and he looked like he worked out religiously. I can't stop staring into his eyes. The greenest green I had even seen with flowing sandy brown hair that was always perfectly styled. Those teeth that he had clearly taken excellent care of. Admiring his arms in that button up dress shirt that is rolled so tightly up to his elbows. His biceps always look like they would rip the shirt right in two if he had even flexed the wrong way. I was so curious as to what he looked like under there. His pants are always just slightly too tight, enticing you to want to examine his thighs that filled them out to the point of bursting, but slowly loosening as they wrapped down to his ankles. And his bulge... His pants were just tight enough around his crotch to let you know that the guy was probably packing heat, but leaving enough to my imagination that got my mouth watering at times and....
Stop. I have to stop myself. I can't have these images running through my head. "I am straight," I say to myself as I unconsciously feel my shorts tightening as my cock is plumping up. Oh shit. I can't let this be happening. Concentrate on the walls. The floor. The time. I am relaxing now. I can feel my dick starting to limber. That was a close one.
Sometimes my mind runs wild and gets the best of me. Here I am, a 17 year old straight guy fantasizing about my 30 some year old therapist. I caught myself just in time. My session was over, finally.
I am what I would describe myself, in all honesty, as a nerd. I get straight A's in school without really trying, I don't play any sports, but my good friend Justin, who I had been quite fond of since elementary school, was a starting running back on the high school football team. Other than him, I didn't really associate with any jocks at school. I am about 5'9 in height, 160 pounds with very lean muscle. I am happy with my body image. I started working out with Justin about two years ago and I have seen excellent results. My abs are clearly defined and I wear shirts on the tighter side that my arms always fill out nicely. I have deep, mysterious brown eyes and coal black hair that I always keep spiked on top and shaved on the sides. My calf muscles were arguably the most impressive on my body, at least they were my favorite asset on myself. I love to run, in fact I was on the track team every year until this year. I'm still not as fast as Justin, but on good days, I can keep up. I always am sure to wear shorts that compliment my ass well, as I have a bit of a bubble butt from all the squats I had done the past two years. I was particularly fond of it, actually. As for my dick, well, although I had never used it (yes, I am still a virgin in every sense of the word) I never exactly got picked on for my size in the locker room during gym class. Soft, my cock was about 5 inches. I am a more of a shower. When fully erect, my dick stands at about 7.5 inches, and a little fatter than average. I have small hands, so my fingers can barely touch when i wrap my fist around it. My balls are pretty good sized, too. Overall I was very happy with my physical appearance, but I was nothing compared to a lot of the guys at school.
As my session ended, I exited the building constantly checking myself to make sure my pudgy cock was well hidden as I approached the vehicle where my mom was patiently waiting. I nervously sat in the passenger seat, knowing she was going to ask if my session went well. I glanced over, gave a slight, fake grin, and nodded. My mom was my rock. She had no idea about anything I was struggling with, and part of me just knew that I could never talk to her about it. I love the relationship we have, and I would never do anything to jeopardize that.
After a few seconds of awkward silence between the two of us, we headed home for dinner. She always tried to make small talk with me, but my answers stayed relatively short. Even though i had a great relationship with my mother, I had been very sheltered from her for the past six months or so, hence why she strongly suggested the therapy. She was genuinely worried about me, and so was I, at times.
The car ride was quick, and by the time we had arrived home on this beautifully warm Tuesday evening, my father had dinner already prepared. Tuesday was taco night. I walked into the door to the wonderful smell of my father's cooking and had a seat at the dinner table which was also already set with plates and silverware.
"How was it today, Em?" He asked in his stern voice as he turned to face me. The relationship between me and my father had dwindled over the past few months much like my relationship with anyone I once held close to me. The main reason for this is because I was almost sure one day he had caught me masturbating in the shower, even though neither of us never talked about it and ever single encounter we had afterwards has been a bit awkward. I am not sure if it was awkward because I just assumed he had heard me moaning that day under the hot running water when he entered the room without knocking, or if it was all in my head and he really had no clue.
"Not bad," I responded. Short, sweet, and to the point. I always answered him with the same two words every Tuesday evening.
"Son, me and your mother love you dearly and we only want whats best for you. We have not seen a change in you since we started these meetings, and we are shelling out quite a bit of money. If you don't think it is helping, you need to let us know, because there is no reason for us to continue if you are not benefiting from the sessions." He looked at me for an extended period of time, as he always does when he senses I'm getting nervous.
"Honestly dad, I'm not the one who asked for these sessions in the first place. No, they are not helping," I responded after about thirty seconds in a manner that was more harsh than what I meant for it to sound.
After being warned to watch my attitude, which I did because I was genuinely scared of my father, we agreed that we will finish the two months that was already paid for, and then I would not continue to go back to see Mr. Wentz, which part of me was almost sad about. I wouldn't get to see those big muscly thighs anymore or try to guess how big and fat his delicious cock was. I wouldn't get to stare into those amazingly beautiful green eyes and slowly undress him in my head and imagine myself slowly walking over to him to sit on his lap as our eyes stayed connected, and then breathing slowly and heavily slowly lean in as our lips grew closer together and his hand gently grabbed the back of my head and-
No. No. No. I hurriedly finish my dinner and go out for a run to calm myself down. I shouldn't be thinking of such things. My cock was pretty hard in my tight shorts at this point when I got up to leave the table. Hopefully my parents didn't notice. I grab my headphones from my sweater pocket that hangs by the front door, plug them into my phone, put on some music and take a jog as I normally do once or twice a week in the evenings just to keep my stamina up.
As I am traveling down the sidewalk listening to my newly made playlist, I started crying. I didn't know what to do. I felt so disconnected from everyone I used to be so close to and every day I went on feeling myself drifting from literally everyone in my life, slowly pushing them away. My friends and family were noticing I was hurting but I knew no way of covering it up. I had tried all summer but when school started back, it really set in. I am trapped and I'm worried that I am going to start losing the ones I love dearly. I ask myself if it is finally time to talk to someone about this. I knew it couldn't be my parents, I still felt uncomfortable talking to Mr. Wentz about this, mostly because I was always starstruck by his beauty. Justin? No way. He's a jock, the star running back of the football team that was having its best season in school history, about to host their first playoff game at home. He would surely laugh and think I was gross and the friendship with him I had since I could remember would surely be no more. What about Stephanie?
Stephanie. My best friend ever. We grew up together. Our moms love each other and are practically sisters. And I love Stephanie even more so. I always loved the days when I would go over to her house and Toby, her older brother would be there, and we would play freeze tag in the back yards as kids. Toby moved away two years ago after finishing high school, for what I assumed to start college, but Stephanie never talks about him anymore, and I have not seen or heard from him since. Realizing this made me wonder exactly where he went, what happened, and why he doesn't visit. Maybe I'll ask her.
if I am going to ever open up to anyone, I'm not sure who else it could be besides Steph. But even at the thought of just mentioning it made me squirm. I kept fighting back tears as I ran faster and faster down the sidewalk, distracted. I don't know what I was running from. Nothing was chasing me, except my own thoughts. I have officially become a victim of myself. Scared to think or act or feel or speak. I had been tearing up for about ten minutes before I could not hold back anymore. I just needed a good cry. I stop running at an instant and just sat there on the sidewalk, crying and wondering what had become of the person I used to be and why I had lost all my happiness. I put my head down into my hands and just bawled. I couldn't stop. I wanted to be okay with myself, whether I was straight or otherwise. I had stopped the flow of tears into my palms but just sat there for a good while trying to garner the emotional strength to stand back up so I could finish my jog back home. As I was about to raise my head up to look out into the sunset at the end of the street, someone's hand touches my shoulder.
I glanced behind me. It was Stephanie. At this point I had gathered myself pretty well, but the look on her face told me that she had seen me sitting on the sidewalk crying into my hands like a goof. She just smiled, wiped one final tear from my cheek, and helped my up. I arose off the ground slowly and shakily, but finally back on my feet and balanced. I was welcomed into her arms with another smile, and a long, tight hug. She patted my back a few times but did not let go. It was an amazing feeling knowing I had a friend here in her that knew I was hurting and didn't need any words to know that I needed her. We can communicate without having to speak and when she does speak she always knows exactly what to say. Finally letting go and resting her hands on the sides of my arms, she just looked me in the eyes and smiled a third time, still not saying anything. We walked over to a nearby bench and sat down. I rested my head on her shoulder and she combed my hair with her delicate fingers. I started crying again and she turned me around and latched on even tighter to me than the first encounter.
"Okay bud. Sit up here and look at me," she ordered as I quickly gathered myself and pulled away to sit facing her. "Emmett, I have watched you all year struggle with this internal battle and until now I have kept my peace, but you are clearly not telling me something and you seem to be getting distant from me. Please don't shut me or anyone else out..." She paused. I begin to open my mouth but no words come out. "You don't have to talk, just listen. Whatever it is you're struggling with, nothing will ever hinder our friendship. Not a single thing. I have been here for you through the good, the bad, everything. It's clear you're not ready to talk. But when you are, please come to me."
I am trying my best at this point not to break down in front of her. I had been hurting for so long and she knew the whole time. I always trusted her with everything, and in that moment I knew that when I was ready, I would turn to her.
"Emmett, something has been bothering me, too." She said. It caught me off guard a bit. Finally able to speak without my voice cracking, I answered.
"What is it Steph? You know I'm here."
"I have talked to your parents. And Justin, all of them, including myself, are very worried about you. Whatever you are going through, we are all going through it too, because we love you. When you're fighting a battle, we fight with you."
"I know I haven't been myself. I am trying."
"It's okay, just please talk to someone soon." She said and smiled with a smile that was comfroting but I could also tell she was genuinely concerned.
"Hey Steph, can I ask you a rather personal question?" I asked.
"It's about your brother, Toby."
She hesitated and glanced down. "Okay."
"What ever happened to him? Why doesn't he visit?"
"Em, Toby is in a rough place. He hasn't been on great terms with the folks, so he doesn't come in all that often. He does ask about you though."
"Is he okay though?"
"Yes, he is fine. I talk to him pretty frequently. I really want to go see him soon. Would you like to come?"
"Yes. Just make sure it is good with him first," This really struck my curiosity. I had hoped she would go into more detail, but I didn't push the conversation any further. I had a hunch that something was up, but now I know for certain. This confused and concerned me, but Toby is 20 years old. I'm sure he is handling himself just fine.
We said are goodbyes and hugged. I went on my way to go get some rest, as I had been out longer than I intended. When I arrived home, mom and dad had already locked themselves up in their bedroom, so I grabbed some leftovers and heated it up before heading upstairs to my room. I decided to take a shower, after sweating so much on my run. When I got in, I had images of Mr. Wentz flashing through my head. I picked up where I had left off, not shutting out the thoughts this time. I was sitting on his lap, unbuttoning his shirt, and our lips and tongues intertwined tightly. I started rocking ever so slowly back and forth, grinding my ass all over his growing bulge. The thoughts were enough to make me need some relief, so I reached down and grabbed my throbbing cock. I used the water in the shower as a lubricant and started thrusting up into my hand as I leaned head forward against the shower wall. I imagined squatting over Mr. Wentz big fat cock and lubing my ass and his bright pink head up with spit and sat down on it. He slowly impaled me and started bouncing me up and down on his lap, right there in his office and I let him to anything he wanted to me. I finally fantasized about him standing as I wrapped my legs around his waste, never letting his huge cock leave my hole. He laid me on his desk, and while pounding harder than he had before, grabbed me by the back of my neck and pulled my head up as he leaned over for a long and passionate kiss. I blew my load all over the shower wall. And for once, I didn't feel guilty or dirty at fully immersing myself in my thoughts of having sex with another guy, and I went to bed quite content.