Platform Souls

Chapter Twenty-nine - Frazzled

About Me

'I've always wondered whether you have some sort of autism. Not that it matters at all, but am I right? What's it been like, for you?' Evan asked, as a blunt opener.

Oh.

'Can you tell your story, if I tell mine?' I asked, wanting to ensure this baring of souls was going to be mutual.

'Yes, I want to,' Evan assured me. 'But, do you mind going first?'

Both on our backs now, we touched heads and nestled close in my bed, soggy, as I thought how to condense the last eight years of my life for Evan. It was a great idea of his, actually, to share our most difficult episodes whilst we were captive to the comedown mood.

I explained to Evan he was just about right, because whilst I had Asperger's diagnosed, this was at the mild or 'lite' end of the spectrum. However, I had other issues overlaid with my autism. I wasn't just socially awkward and anxious - typical autistic traits - but had suffered a crippling lack of confidence, and some passing issues with my speech. Everything, puberty included, crashed together when I was 12, and there was an 'expert' who suggested I might thrive better in a special educational setting.

I knew he was listening attentively because just at this point of emotional turbulence in my story, Evan both kissed my cheek and - I found this very impactful - searched for my gooey hand and held it.

Thanks to my many champions at Rivers and my parents, who fought for me, I remained in mainstream education and began to overcome some of my challenges. I detailed how my experiences made me intensely loyal to the school, but also how some kids had bullied me with the 'Wacko Jacko' stuff.

Evan squeezed my hand and made me tell him whether he'd been one of the verbal bullies back in lower school days. I could reassure him, truthfully, that I had no memory of him abusing me, and in fact had no memories of him at all pre-dating year 10. Evan apologised for not making much of an impression on me, early on, but I told him he'd made up for it and more, tonight.

I said being gay had made my troubles harder, as something I felt the need to bottle-up just when supporters were encouraging my self-expression and nurturing my conversational skills. I'd never felt depressed about the gay thing, though, and I'd enjoyed admiring boys secretly as I grew-up.

Evan asked when I'd known for sure I was gay, and I placed that knowledge at age 11 or 12. He sounded surprised because the self-revelation had hit him much later, and harder. It seemed so cruel - the more I thought about it - to make an unwanted gay discovery on the other side of puberty when, maybe, you'd already dated girls and had formed assumptions of a conventional family future.

Evan moved to lighter questions about my crushes and kinky turn-ons, but whilst I was happy to field them and laugh along with him at my candid answers, we'd had twenty minutes of my story and I wanted the same searing honesty from him, before horniness returned to distract us.

About Him

First this:

'Look at it from my dad's point of view. He let his marriage fall apart, which was mostly his fault. Other women wouldn't give him a second glance, anymore. He hates his job, and his career is at a dead-end. His own dad is ill two-hundred miles away. His eldest son needs care, and now the second son, who was a dead cert to come-up with the grandchildren, is going to announce he's a useless disappointment of a faggot. There isn't much fun in any of that, and I just don't know when I'll be able to tell him.'

And shortly afterwards, this:

'You know, Jack, I'm not even religious but there were nights - and this was about the same time as the divorce - when I prayed it wasn't true that I was gay, and that I'd wake-up with the gay gone or maybe switched to Jordan, which was a horrible thing to wish, I know.'