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Archive for November, 2008

I got payed by the Citadel on Thursday.  That helped.  Not as much as I’d like, but it means I can pay bills without fear of checks bounding and still put a little into the credit card to stay under my limit.  I also got a check from the Choral Society concert yesterday.  That $250 will also be a big help.  Now I can definitely make it until next Thursday for the Restaurant’s paycheck.  I fear it will be abysmally small.  But every little bit helps, eh?

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Pleasantly pitiful

Any day that I sing at the Citadel with the boys is a good day, so today was a good day. 1of2 looked particularly beautiful today.  The pinnacle of eleven-year-old beauty.  2of2 did as well, and I had a brief exchange with the Russian’s mother in which we talked about the Russian’s hair cut.  :D  I’m so pitiful.  But I don’t really mind.

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My life is in need of a little maintenance, I think.  I am writing this on a dining room table cluttered with junk, trying to avoid putting the book in a spot of jelly or the like.  Tuesday.  I’ll do it Tuesday.

Yeah right.

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Broke

Today I ran out of money.  I knew my spending was getting out of hand, but I ignored it.  I was having too much fun with my friends to restrict it.  And then today I didn’t have enought room on my credit card to buy a pizza.  I also just took a voice lesson and payed my teacher.  $120.  So now I have nearly $2,500 on my credit card and $75 in the bank.  I can’t buy gas.  I can’t pay my bills.  I can’t even feed myself.

Painful or not, I need to work more hours, and find a better job.  I get paid Thursday.  I think.  And then I’ll get the check from the Citadel soon too.  Maybe, maybe, between the two, I can pay my water bill and keep the car running.

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*note: All names I use are nicknames. I do not refer to these people by these names to their face, behind their backs, or even in my own head. The nicknames exist for the purpose of this blog only. Sometimes, I don’t remember somebody’s name and so I give them a nickname in my journal as well as in this blog. Some will be the same in both, some will be different. And I’m not telling which is which. :p

*warning: The following is a collection of adolescent memories. I am not proud of many of the events depicted. I do not condone them, and I regret them. Also remember that children and teens can be very cruel and stupid, and that I was only a horny kid myself. I don’t believe that makes the behavior acceptable, but I don’t think we (I) shouldn’t be judged by our childhood mistakes.

*WARNING: The following contains descriptions of minors in sexual situations. Don’t read it if you shouldn’t, whether that reason be legal, moral, or personal.

Tiny Tawny

And other music camp boys

Year 1

I first went to music camp when I was… I think 13, going into 8th grade. I may have been 14, because I remember only being able to go for the middle school weeks despite being old enough for the other weeks, but that might have been the next year.

Anyway, I don’t remember my roommate’s name, nor my councilor’s name that first year. I do remember the name of the dorm we stayed in. It was the same as The Beloved.

I also remember two other names. Chucky (who’s nickname shall be explained later) and Ozzy. Chucky was a slightly annoying boy a year or two younger than myself. I think he was mainly annoying because he would disrupt my time playing Civilizations 2 on my councilor’s computer. He’s memorable for reasons from my second year.

Ozzy lived across the hall. (Chucky also lived across the hall, but not in the same room as Ozzy.)

I also remember The King of Diamonds’ name, it would seem.

Anyway, my roommate was my age, as was Ozzy. The King was probably a year older. I don’t know about the Odd Kid. The Odd Kid had some mental disability.

I didn’t find my roommate at all attractive. By this time, while I hadn’t admitted that it defined my sexuality, I knew of and was mostly undisturbed by my attraction to boys. I was only attracted to physically immature boys, but it didn’t occur to me – I think – that that was significant. I just thought it was a phase.

My roommate was not prepubescent. That + his being black = me not at all attracted to him. Bummer. He was a cool kid though. He taught me the song “Burn baby, burn.” (Disco inferno!)

Ozzy, on the other hand, I found very attractive. I can’t say if he was prepubescent, but I suspect so. He had red hair, was noticeably shorter than me and his voice hadn’t changed.

Ozzy was my best friend for those two weeks. I spent most of my time with him and with a female councilor who’s name I couldn’t even remember then, let alone now. She had a tongue piercing. I thought that was pretty cool.

I don’t remember specifically fantasizing about Ozzy, but I’m pretty sure I did. But I do know that the extent of my “sexual” contact with him took place in a single episode. I walked down the hall toward our rooms (it must have been near a performance because of our attire) and heard a commotion. I think I came to it late, because I don’t remember it’s beginning. The Odd Kid had taken a shower and the King had stolen his towel. Modest, the Odd Kid wouldn’t come out of the shower without it, and the King ridiculed him, refusing to give it back. He (quite correctly) insisted that the Odd Kid had nothing to be ashamed of, no reason to hide. Then he proceeded to drop his pants in front of Ozzy and myself as well as the Odd Kid (who couldn’t really see through the frosted glass of the shower door) to make his point. The King found it funny. I found it uncomfortably amusing. But Ozzy, who was changing into concert attire at the time, seemed to find it hysterical. He joined in the teasing, pacing around the room in his briefs, covering them front and back with a towel crying out, “I’m so ashamed! I have a butt!”

I laughed a little, because I did find it funny, kinda, but I was too uncomfortable and distracted to really get into it. Mostly I forced myself to keep laughing to cover up what was really going through my head.

First, I was absolutely shocked when the King dropped his pants. Ever since changing into swim suits in Boxy’s room when I was in first or second grade, and he gave me his “boys vs. boys” rationale for why it was OK to not change separately in the bathroom but at the same time in front of each other, I knew that boys weren’t supposed to be embarrassed being naked in front of other boys. But I also knew that most were anyway. I still feel uncomfortable being undressed in front of others unless someone else has established the precedent. So I certainly wouldn’t have had the guts to do what the King was doing.

Also, he had a really big penis. At 13, while younger boys were my primary and defining attraction, I was also 13. When presented with sexuality, I responded in kind. It was also at 13 that I made out with Princess (a girl) and had my truth or dare (dare or double-dare) game with No. 2 and The Sheriff (two boys). So, maturity aside, his penis was right there for the viewing and big enough not to be missed, so I looked hard.

But then Ozzy started doing his “I have a butt” thing and the King’s big floppy dong was forgotten. It was what I’d been hoping for the whole session. Seeing Ozzy naked. He sure was cute…

But I never did see him naked. In his underwear was as far as it went. He was even covering that, so I didn’t see more than his legs and torso and at that age I didn’t know enough, wasn’t mature enough, to fully appreciate those.

Anyway, I realized that Ozzy could just as easily have been the one in the shower, too embarrassed to come out. He probably would have let himself be shamed into it eventually, but he wouldn’t have been happy about it. And he certainly wasn’t about to expose himself now, when he didn’t need to, even while teasing another boy for the same shame.

My estimation of Ozzy dropped that day. At least I think it did. Maybe I just see it as the first sign in retrospect. I was also a little ashamed myself. I didn’t participate in the teasing, but I laughed. I laughed to cover my true interests. I laughed to prolong Ozzy’s show. But the Odd Kid didn’t know any of that. Not that I’d want him to. All he knows is that I laughed.

In the end I think I walked away before things resolved. My discomfort and the impending concert making me too anxious to see how things turned out.

That and my conclusion that Ozzy wasn’t going to let me see him naked.

Maybe if I’d gotten naked too…

Year 2

The next year, I was back for the middle school weeks again. This was the year I could have gone to the HS weeks, but scheduling wouldn’t allow it. (Boy Scout camp?) Ozzy was back too. We found each other early on, but a year had changed him a lot. Me too, probably, but I didn’t see that.

His voice had changed. He was taller. Still shorter than me, and still boyish in many ways, but puberty had certainly done a lot of work over the year.

So had popularity. That mean side I’d glimpsed the year before (along with a few more sides of him ;) had grown. It didn’t take him long to decide that I wasn’t friend material, but a target for teasing. He found a group of kids that liked that sort of thing and tore into me the whole session. The kids he ran with didn’t actually seem to have that much problem with me. They never teased me themselves, but they were very appreciative of Ozzy’s efforts.

Initially I was hurt, but he and I didn’t really run into each other all that often, so I was able to move on without too much difficulty. I spent my time with the female councilor I’d befriended the last time along with a few other kids I just met. And occasionally my roommates.

That year, they’d accepted more kids, so we were assigned 3 to a room. I’d been top bunk the year before, so this year I chose bottom, eager to try out something my past year’s roommate had done. Put a blanket up as a curtain to enclose the bunk and make it private.

Both of my roommates were middle schoolers since I’d arrived for the middle school session. They assigned all new arrivals together. Anyway, Top Bunk Boy was really into religion. He brought a 10 Commandments poster to camp with him and put it above his head on the wall. It was in an ultra modern, teen-targeted translation. Something like, “Hey, save sex for marriage, man!” He was cute, but I never really got along with him to the point that we’d seek each other out during free time.

The third boy (who didn’t get a bunk, but a mattress on the floor), I did get along with. It was the previously slightly annoying Chucky. He was no longer annoying. Plus, he was really cute.

I lusted over him for most of the two weeks. The three of us would goof around before bed, after lights out when we were supposed to be sleeping. TBB found Chucky’s “doll face” hilariously terrifying. I think it was supposed to look like the doll from Child’s Play. Chucky and I would also sometimes spend time during the day together. All that interaction increased my attraction to him.

Eventually, I started to take advantage of the fact that Chucky slept on the floor. I would watch him sleep. Music camp seems to be for me the place to do things I am later ashamed of.  (One time, at band camp…) Watching him sleep and jacking off while doing so seems slightly stalkerish but my real shame came just a few nights before it was time to go home.

Chucky was a briefs wearing boy. His briefs were (to me) surprisingly loose, too. It made me wonder if my judgment about briefs being uncomfortably tight may just have been a result of my wearing too small a size. (Actually though, my switch to boxers in 6th grade, peer pressure aside, was possibly justified. Trever was prepubescent. He had less to fill those briefs. I, at the age of 11, was physically mature for my age. A pair of Hanes boys underwear that would fit my waist at that age probably didn’t have a lot of room in front.) His loose briefs also made me rather happy. I was often in my bunk when he changed his pants (I never saw him change his underwear. The King’s is the only penis I’ve seen at music camp) and so got a good angle to view his crotch and I could almost see into the pouch around its loose edges.

While Trevor didn’t seem to have a problem stripping to his underwear in front of me while changing, he either wasn’t comfortable staying that way, or just truly believed in the worthwhileness of pajamas, because when he got ready for bed he would wear a white undershirt and a pair of pool (billiards) boxers over his briefs.

This annoyed me. Not because I had designs that the briefs or boxers or their combination would interfere with, but because I really wanted to see him take off his briefs before putting on the boxers.

But it turns out their combination did get in the way of my plans that one night. I hadn’t touched a penis other than my own since that camping trip with No. 2 and the Sheriff. Seamus (my best friend at home) obviously was never going to let me touch his, and Chucky was just so cute. I was too scared to try and convince him to mess around with me, so I decided that night that I would touch his while he slept and he would never know. I spent a painfully long time unzipping his sleeping bag far enough to get access to his crotch.

When I finally did, after nearly panicking ever time he moved, afraid he would wake up and catch me, I placed my hand on top of his crotch and groped. But I couldn’t feel much. There was too much fabric in the way.

So I slowly worked open the fly of his boxers and got my hand inside. I was really risking it now. No way to quickly look like I was innocently asleep if he woke up if I had to first yank my hand out of his pants.

When I felt around this time, I felt what I was fairly certain was his soft penis. I couldn’t tell much about it. His briefs were the type with the fly, so it had double fabric in front. I wasn’t quite satisfied, and wanted to feel more, but there was no way I’d be able to get my hand into his briefs without waking him, even as loose as they were.

All this time I’d been jacking off. As disappointed as I was with the results of my – let’s face it – molestation, it was sexually thrilling enough to send me over the edge. After I’d finished, my will to continue left, so I pulled my hand out, zipped up Chucky’s sleeping bag, and went to sleep myself.

The next day I was terrified. What if he’d woken up and not said anything? What if he told? I watched him closely trying to see if he acted any differently, towards me specifically.

He didn’t seem to, so I was relieved. That night I decided to try again (stupid!) but the way he was sleeping, the way he’d zipped the bag, made it difficult to get in without disturbing him. I considered briefly that maybe he did know and that he’d done it on purpose to stop me from doing it again, but that was a bit extreme. Most likely it was just accidental.

And then we went home. I was disappointed with myself for not thinking to do it sooner, and so have more time to try. Obviously, I think it’s best that I didn’t.

Year 3

And finally, Tiny Tawny. My third and last year at music camp there were scheduling conflicts that seemed they were going to prevent me from attending. But recalling my experiences the year before, I really didn’t want to miss it. So my mother worked it out. I would attend for the length of one session, but I would be straddling two adjacent sessions. My first week would be the final HS week and my second would be the first MS. I vaguely remember insisting that I attend for part of the MS session, saying that it was more fun. Of course, there’s no way I could have known that since I’d never attended the HS weeks before.

But you know what? I was right. I met a few kids (Rocky, and some girl) that I spent time with, but for the most part I didn’t like the HS week much. I didn’t really care for my roommates. One ignored me, and one was alright, but the alright one also scared me a little. I was 15 at that point, but they must have been older still, because I felt like a little kid compared to them.

Other things that happened that year: I studied with a voice teacher other than the one from the years before whom I didn’t like (Mrs. Schumacher). Met another female councilor (I think the other one wasn’t there that year) who was a better fit for me. A girl had a crush on me for the first time that I’d noticed. Not fun. Lived in a different dorm building.

As the first week came to a close, in a move of great ballsiness, I asked the woman in charge of housing to please assign me middle school roommates when my current roommates left. I told her that I felt more comfortable with younger kids (which compared to my roommates the first week was true). She told me that wasn’t strange. I sure thought it was. She not only agreed to give me middle schoolers, but gave me the job of assigning ALL the rooms in my wing.

So I looked at all the boys for my wing and gave myself the youngest two. Both 12 I think. I don’t remember the name of one, but the other was Tiny Tawny. I then spelled out all the names on paper signs for the doors, each letter a different color.

Then I waited for them to arrive. The first roommate to arrive seemed cute enough, but was a little disappointing. He had a friend who was coming that week too, whom I’d put in the other room of the suite. (Each wing had two suites. Each suite had two rooms.) Since Tawny, the third roommate, hadn’t arrived yet, I switched him and roommate 1’s friend.

Then the friend showed up and didn’t seem to care so much about the boy who’d requested him, but was pissed at me for taking him out of his other friend’s room, whom I’d originally put in his room just by chance. So again I indulged them and switched myself to the other room.

So now I was again in a room with Tawny. When I saw him, my annoyance at the room swapping evaporated. I’d landed a good deal. Sure, Tawny was in my room to begin with, and I’d traded two of the three from each room rather than one, but I ended up with the best possible situation. I didn’t care about #3, but I was just as pleased to have him as a roommate, if not more so since the other option would have gotten in the way. #3 kept to himself.

Once again I selected to bottom bunk and again made my cave. Unfortunately, Tawny took the top. At first I was glad he got the better bed, but then I realized it was inconvenient. While it wasn’t this way from the start, pretty soon into the week, Tawny and I after lights out would stay up in my cave with flash lights and play cards and look at his skateboard magazines. Tawny was a skater. Preteen skaters are cute! And Tawny was my first clue to that. Nothing sexual ever occurred between me and him, conscious or otherwise, but I sure loved seeing him sitting there on my bed in nothing but his soft bright red boxers.

To give you an idea of how tiny Tiny Tawny was, he had size 4 ½ shoes. At 12, I was wearing size 8. Such adorably small feet.

Tawny and I sometimes hung out during the day, but usually we only saw each other in the room. But at 15, a week felt like a long time and our time together seemed significant. I think he really looked up to me similarly to how The Beloved would a few years later. But I didn’t understand that at the time. I was trying to be his peer, not his mentor.

That year I also interacted some with Mrs. Schumacher’s son. Mrs. Schumacher came back for the second week. He was probably 10 or 11 that year. Another real cutie. Red head like Ozzy. He was a singer, which thrilled me. Boy sopranos always have.

And speaking of Ozzy, I barely remember him from that year. I’m pretty sure he was there, but I think we kept respectful distance. I like to imagine that he was ashamed of how he treated me the year before. He’d certainly mellowed.

In the end, the girl who had a crush on me gave me a stuffed animal tearfully to remember her by. I felt very sorry for her. I kept the animal on a shelf in my room for years out of respect for her feelings, even though I never thought of her as much more than an acquaintance.

My goodbye with Tawny was much less emotional. Uneventful. Unmemorable. We agreed to keep in touch and maybe visit. We never did either.

(Of the three boys – Ozzy, Chucky and Tawny – I made the least of Tawny, yet I titled this entry after him. There were no real events to retell. We never really did anything other than hang out in the bottom bunk. But off the three, I felt the most strongly for him, enjoyed his company the most, and with him I have no regrets other than not keeping in touch.)

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The silver lining

Tomorrow morning is my fifth shift at The Restaurant.  I’m alternating between being satisfied with this work, and wanting to quit and find something else.  It can be quite stressful, especially when I feel like I don’t know what I’m supposed to be doing, but once things get in the swing, as much as I don’t like interacting w/ the customers, I really feel like it’s something I can handle.

Of course, the fact that Saturday night – late as it went and insane as it was – was a bat mitzvah with a pack of 8-13yo boys, and the night before had that cute 9 or 10 yo really helped to brighten my days.

Hopefully I’ll have another interview with The Secretary of State on Tuesday and start working at the Citadel sooner than later.  Better pay and reduced dependence on The Restaurant will make me happier.

Need to sleep.

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Complaining

I had a good conversation with Jess today.  This is actually significant, sadly.  Recently whenever we talk it seems like she’s complaining about something, or she’s having a hard day, etc.  I don’t wish to be cruel, but it’s every time now, and she has said to me herself that she doesn’t like it when a friend relies on you only for emotional support, and never for fun.  She was talking about having to be cheerleader for someone else’s ego, but I think it translates.  After a few minutes of the same on the phone with her I started thinking, “all she does is whine at me.”  But then, she stopped herself and basically admitted that.  Then the conversation actually became a conversation and I got into it.  I didn’t want to get off the phone.  It was nice.  I need to be a more active phone participant.  Not just let her talk, but contribute myself.  Steer the topic to something mutual.  For surely, the one sided conversations we’ve been having are as much my fault as hers.

Anyhow, the topic of conversation started with…a complaint.  From me.  I mentioned the recording I just got of a concert I sang last spring.  I got it on Thursday, and listened to it for the first time today.  I did not like what I heard.

I had thought that I was getting much better.  That my tone was richening, deepening, becoming fuller.  but the sound I heard from that recording still sounded to me thin and very like a student and not a professional.  Maybe I hadn’t been as “on” that afternoon as I thought I was.  Or maybe the recording isn’t as true as I think it is.

Or maybe – worst of all – I really have improved as much as I thought, and that’s the better sound.  Which ever, I’m very happy to be having a lesson tomorrow, because I have a long way to go.

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