The Soundtrack of My Life

"Apologize"

JANUARY 2008

The boy I sat next to in Geometry has been my crush for a couple months now. We spent many days goofing around before and during class; I'd laugh at his jokes, and he'd laugh at mine. We'd sit together during lunch and walk to each other's classes. We would even text on occasion; my heart fluttering every time his name popped up. Some days we would talk on the phone, comparing our lives and asking questions about homework. 

During these phone conversations is also where we found out we had one big thing in common: we both had gay dads. This was something we connected deeply on, and frankly, was one of the main reasons I was attracted to him. It wasn't for his long curly hair, or his sea-green eyes, or even his sense of humor. Those were all perks compared to the fact that we could bond over having queer fathers in our lives. 

His name was Wyatt and as of yesterday, he was my first ever boyfriend. Our friends had pressured us to finally get together, mostly because of our odd commonality in father figures. I really did like him; I just wasn't sure if he felt the same. He spent a lot of time pining over my friend, Bridget, but when she shot him down for the hundredth time, he finally asked me to be his girlfriend. Not much changed between us though. Sure, we held hands through the halls and hugged, but we never kissed. PDA was frowned upon at our school anyways, and I was quite content with us just being, well, us. 

It was time for geometry, and I was both sad and happy that I was going to be tortured for the next hour of my life. Math was never my strongest subject, but at least I could spend some extra time with Wyatt. His curly, wild hair bounced into the classroom and his green eyes lit up when he saw me in the back of the room. Before class, he spent some time talking to some of his friends that sat near us. Just as the bell began to ring, and class was going to start, he came toward our shared table.

He slammed his messy binders on his side of the table and gave me a small smile. "Hey."

I smiled back. "Hey." 

He pulled out his chair and sat down. We both scooted closer to one another, wanting to feel the electric current that flowed between us. It was addicting; I had never felt anything like it before. We both reached for each other's hand; his right fit perfectly with my left. Since we sat all the way in the back of the classroom, the teacher never knew we held hands during class. We made sure to not draw too much attention; she already didn't like Wyatt very much for some reason. But I was a good student; I tried my best, and I would turn in my work on time. I think that was why she really didn't pay much attention to us. 

Wyatt moved our clasped hands to his lap, the back of my hand rested on his upper thigh. He moved our hands together, up and down his thigh. His navy sweatpants were thin and sleek to the touch and grew warmer as the back of my hand slid across his thigh. I tried to listen to what the teacher was saying about acute and obtuse angles, but I found it difficult. We normally just let our hands dangle between us, but this position of hand holding was new. 

I glanced toward his direction and he gave me a playful smirk. It made my heart flutter. That was when I saw something move out of the corner of my eye near my hand. When I looked down at his pants, I saw an ever-growing bulge forming at the center of his sweats. My heart started racing; not in the excited way, but in the embarrassed type of way. I felt like I saw something that I shouldn't have, and immediately faced front. My hand stayed clasped in his, afraid that this part of our relationship would be over if I pulled away. I stared straight at the overhead projector, looking at the confusing jumble of numbers, letters, and shapes. 

Wyatt continued to rub the back of my hand on his pants, and slowly raised it to the bulge that had been forming. Only, it wasn't as soft anymore. He rested my hand there, casually; as if this was something completely normal. He flexed it once, twice, and then a third time, trying to get me to do something, but I was paralyzed. I couldn't move. I didn't know what to do, or what to say, so my hand stayed resting on top of his erection until five minutes until the bell would ring. 

Everyone started to pack up their things, and he let go of my sweaty hand. I watched as he pulled his shaft up into the elastic of his boxers to hide his hardness from our classmates. I wiped my hand on my jeans to get rid of the sweat that had been pooling between our two palms. I looked up at him, and the sparks that normally occurred had faded. 

He stood up from his chair and looked at me while raising an eyebrow, "See you at lunch?"

I nodded, unable to speak. 

"See you later." 

"See ya." I said quietly. As I packed up my things I thought about what had happened. My hand still felt warm from his touch, but also felt dirty; used, almost. I shook my head, trying to get rid of the stiffness underneath his pants out of my mind. He had never done anything like that before, and I was more confused than ever. Maybe that was just something boyfriends and girlfriends did together. After all, I'm a freshman in high school now. I'm old enough to handle a relationship. I can do this. 

I gathered my things, and headed out the door. I vowed to myself to be more mentally prepared if this would happen again.