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  2. Going to do some writing.  Alone.  In my house.  If the mailman shows up this time, I'm calling the police.  :P

  3. deville

    Chapter 3

    The parting with Kyle at the pool was disappointing and I empathise with Drake. Kyles answer was not what he was hoping for ... let’s hope Kyle was playing it safe giventhe presence of his friends and Drakes past . Let’s hope Pam is able to step up and sort some of Drakes issues . Who is handling the estate and how should be a priority!
  4. Wesley8890

    Last Post Wins #46

    Supernatural mega-marathon!!!! Sam and Dean are so hot!
  5. @henry690




    Officially you joined up and never came back, thousands have done that(and still do), before you came here. However, before I joined I spent a couple of years visiting the site and just reading the stories. With that in mind, in case you stop by without signing in, here is proof that everyone counts here at GA. So on this day, your day, I want to wish you a very Happy 20th Birthday!! Have a great day!


    Take care


    (I can't for the life of me recall my 20th BD. Which means one of two things. It was so bad and sad, that I drank myself silly. Or that I had such a blast, that I partied and drank  myself silly. Since I can't say for sure, I choose the second scenario and smile at the good time I probably had:wizard:).

  6. ValentineDavis21

    Chapter 13

    I've been working at The Treasure Cove for a week now. I love it! On nights when it's really crowded it can be stressful and tiring but I'm actually pretty good at table bussing. When the people are done eating I clear the tabletops off: I put the dishes in a plastic tub, wipe off the tables with a rag and cleaning solution. Then I wipe down the cushions and take the dishes over to the dishwasher. When I leave for the day I'm satisfyingly exhausted; I feel like I'm doing something with my life. I had no idea working and making my own money could be this fulfilling, even if it's just for chump change. Buddy, on the other hand, is a hard guy to figure out. I'm not saying I don't like him I'm just saying he takes some getting used to. He's very blunt, has a foul mouth, but once you get used to it you discover moments of softness and kindness. For example, two days ago, an arthritic old lady came into the diner. She was so stiff-and-slow moving it hurt me to watch her. Buddy served her himself the whole day: He fetched her her coffee and treated her like a perfect gentleman. Today, however is a different matter entirely. Buddy clicks his fingers at me. Though he looks calm I know he's real flustered because the tips of his ears are bright red, something I've picked up on. “Johnny, hurry up! We got three tables that need cleared off!” I have to bite my tongue to keep from telling him I'm going as quick as I can. Today was the first baseball game of the season and everyone is stopping in for a bite to eat, and graduation day at the high school is next Wednesday. I step through the swinging double doors that lead back into the kitchen and set the tub on the counter. Ricky, the dishwasher, rolls his eyes at me. He's short, shorter than I am which is saying something. He has a wiry build and keeps his hair styled like Elvis, who he has playing on the radio right now. “Damn, people must be really hungry,” he says. “You have no idea,” I tell him, wiping my sweaty forehead with the back of my arm. “Buddy riding your ass much?” “Like you wouldn't believe.” Ricky shakes his head sympathetically. “I feel for us, lil buddy. But like I said to you just the other day he's always ridden the newbies harder. His idea of conditionin’, you know. But once he can see you can stand on your own and he doesn't watch you all the time he lays off.” I go back out to the front - and walk right into someone. Before I even look who it is I mutter a hasty, “Sorry”, asking myself how I can be such a success, and when I look up to actually see who it is it's- Phillip Russo of my English class. “Johnny?” he says, looking down at me, reminding me of just how tall he is. He looks just as surprised to see me as I am him; I'm even more surprised he can remember my name since I've only been in his class for a couple of weeks. “I didn't realize you worked here.” I let out a nervous chuckle and hate the way all the blood immediately seems to rush to my face whenever I have his attention. “I just started a few days ago. With school I'm only working part-time but I suppose it's a start.” I scramble for something to cover up my idiotic, self-conscious blabber and manage to drag out, “So were you at the baseball game?” “I was,” he says. “It's my favorite sport…” Before he can finish what he's saying, Buddy shouts, “Johnny, quit standing around jibber-jabbering! Get back to work!” Inside I curse Buddy. “I have to get back to work,” I tell Phillip. “I'll see you in class, then.” Phillip surprises me by shaking my hand. His skin is very warm and his touch makes my mouth go dry. … Ever since the fiasco at the movie theatre, Gwen and I haven’t spoken - or rather she’s been ignoring me. Every time I try to approach her so I can explain things, she walks away, not even looking in my direction. I’ve never felt so guilty. You should’ve explained things a lot sooner, I tell myself. Instead you tried to bury things and let things get too far. This time I see her sitting under a tree, reading a book, and this time, come hell or high water I’m going to make sure she doesn’t get away. I’m going to tell her everything, why I’m really living here at Adermoor Cove with my aunt and uncle; I’m going to tell her about the conversion therapy, the drugs I’m taking, about Tony. If she wants to hate me afterwards that’s fine by me, but at least my conscience will be clear. Or so I tell myself. “Gwen,” I say. She sees me and immediately starts to get up, slinging her bag over her shoulder. Her face is dark. She looks at me with eyes full of hurt, anger, mistrust. “Stay away from me, Johnny,” she says. “I’ve got nothing to say to you.” Several students sitting around the courtyard glance in our directions. I didn’t want to come to this, to make a spectacle out of it and embarrass myself further, but if this is what it takes to make things between Gwen and me okay again then so be it. Contrary to what she thinks I care about her - just not in the way she wants me to. I manage to catch up and grab ahold of her bag. “Gwen - wait! Will you just listen to me for a second?” “Let go of me!” She whirls around and shoves me hard enough to send me stumbling back a few steps. “What, I don’t get a chance to explain myself?” “After what happened last week what is there to explain?” she asks. Tears were now streaming down her face; she was actually crying. Clearly I’d misjudged the severity of the situation. “You just left me there! What was I supposed to think?” At first I can only stand there and watch her face get all red and puffy, watch the tears stream down the sides of her face; I feel like the biggest asshole on Earth. “I’m sorry,” I say. “I’m sorry I hurt you. But I’ve been trying to talk to you all week and you won’t let me. I’m just trying to make things right between us because I don’t want to hurt you. So when you’re ready to hear what I have to say, you just let me know.” “Alright,” she says after a few seconds. “Alright, I’ll listen to what you have to say.” “Have lunch with me. I’m buying.” “Where did you get money?” she asks. “I got a job.” “Really? Where?” “I’m a table busser at The Treasure Cove.” We walk to the recreation center and grab seats at a little cafe inside. We grab sandwiches, chips, an apple, and Cokes. After we’re done eating, Gwen says, “Start talking. You’re not out of the woods yet.” For a moment I don’t know what to say; I’ve spent the last week rehearsing what I want to say, where I want to begin but now my words and mind lock up. So I push myself forward and say the first thing that comes to my mind: “I’m a homosexual.” Saying three words has never been so difficult before. I wait. I study her face. I prepare myself for her reaction: the rage, the disgust. At the moment she just looks shocked, like it was the last thing she expected; perhaps it was. “You like being with men?” she says. “Yes.” “How can you be sure?” “I’m very sure. I had a lover back in New York. His name was Tony.” “The one you told me you loved like a brother?” “Yes.” “But you didn’t just love him like a brother, did you?” “No.” I almost choke on the words as I remember all the good times Tony and I shared: going to the movies mostly, walking along the beach, taking the ferry to check out the Statue of Liberty. The feeling of his lips, looking into his eyes, the feeling of him inside me. I force myself to keep talking. All that is behind me now. Tony might as well be dead to me; his parents made sure he’s dead to me. “There were guys before him I dated, but I didn’t fee l for any of them the way I did for Tony. I would have married him if I could. I would have spent every day of the rest of my life with him.” “So what really happened between you two?” Gwen stares at me intently; I have her complete attention. “Our parents found out about us. We were leaving the movies and it just so happened my parents saw us kissing. They were going out for dinner at a restaurant on the same block as the movie theatre.” Even now the scene plays out before my eyes as if it’s really happening: Tony and I in the alley, liplocked. The sound of my mother’s voice, “Johnny?” We stop, turn, and there, standing in the mouth of the alley is my parents. My mom is all dressed up dinner, wearing her most expensive earrings - silvers crosses encrusted with blue sapphires. I remember thinking, This can’t really be happening, they really can’t be standing there - can they? I remember being flooded with guilt, how my mother had started crying, burying her face in my father’s chest? I’d started towards them, trying to comfort, trying to explain, wanting to make things better; it hurt my heart to see my mother crying like this, knowing I’d caused it. I’ve never seen Dad look so devastated, so angry. He holds a hand up, blocking me from stepping any further and says, “I think you’ve done enough, Johnny. Oh yes, I think you have done quite enough.” Then they turn and walk away. “My parents told Tony’s parents,” I continue, clearing my throat. “After a few days I went to his place to see if everything was okay. His parents were there. His mother answered the door - she wouldn’t let me inside. Not long after the dean of NYU expelled me from the school on grounds of morality.” Tears are streaming from my eyes and I’m choking on my own words; the tears feel hot and thick and syrupy against my flesh and I’m folding the napkin in my hand over and over again as if doing so will reverse time. “Now I’m seeing a conversion therapist here at the institute. In order to be able to get my degree I have to make the appointments and I’m living with aunt and uncle who watch my every move.” “I should have known,” Gwen says wondrously, shaking her head. “How could I have not known? Women are supposed to know these type of things.” My heart is pounding against the inside of my chest. “If you hate me, I understand, but I hope you don’t.” “I knew this boy in school,” she says. “His name was Dwight Howard. He was this awkward little kid everyone made fun of. They called him ‘queer’ and ‘fairy’ and his father beat him all the time. I always felt awful for him. I always felt tempted to talk to him, I don’t know, try to be his friend, but fear of what others would think of me always held me back. I would imagine what my own parents would say and think...and just freeze. In our junior year - we were always in the same class - Dwight got caught in the locker room with our gym teacher. It was all everyone in the town talked about for days The teacher was sent to jail and Dwight was forced into going through...conversion therapy...too. A couple of years after we graduated from high school Dwight killed himself. Put the muzzle of a shotgun in his mouth and pulled the trigger.” Then to my surprise Gwen takes my hand. Her eyes brim with emotion. “I’m sorry Johnny. I’m sorry for not seeing the signs, for being so ungodly selfish. I don’t hate you, not one bit.” “Even though it’s a sin?” I ask. “I used to think it was wrong...the idea of a man and a man together. Or a woman and a woman. But after what happened with Dwight I’m not so sure.” Gwen looked down at her hands. “He was in a lot of pain and people treated him horribly. He was in so much pain he took his own life. I don’t want to see that happen to you...if it did...” Her voice breaks. “I don’t think I could bear it. No one should be so unhappy they kill themselves.” I let out a breath; I can actually breathe again. “You have no idea how glad I am to hear you say that. Please don’t tell anyone Glen; I can’t stand the idea of anyone else knowing. It was already hard enough telling you.” “I won’t. I’ll keep it between us.” She takes my hand in hers. “I swear.” … That night I lay on my mattress, writing in my journal. I’ve been so lost in my thoughts and getting them all out on paper that I don’t realize I’m out of notebook until the point of my pen skids off the paper and touches the mattress. I look up, surprised, and flip through the notebook. Yes, I’ve filled the whole thing, from one end to the other, and it only took a couple of weeks. Except for the sound of Uncle Bo’s snores coming from the bedroom across the hall - he snores really loud - everything is quiet. I love the quiet, the stillness of the night. It’s the only time where I can truly be myself, especially when I’m writing. In the daytime I’m an actor: with my aunt and uncle and Lloyd my psychotherapist. I tell them what they want to hear, follow the script, go through the motions. I take the drug Lloyd prescribes me even though it makes me nauseous and kills my libido. I do my homework. But during the night, when I’m writing, I let it all out. I write down what’s really going through my head, and when I’m too tired to write down any more I slide it under my mattress. Fortunanty Aunt Tilda and Uncle Bo seem to respect my space. And why wouldn’t they? It’s not like I actually have anything here. I turn out the light, roll over on my back. I make a mental note to get another composition notebook and to turn in the written analysis for a book Phillip Russo assigned, Flowers for Algernon, which just came out recently. Reading the book has been a bittersweet experience: I feel so connected with Charlie: the operation he has to go through just so he can live a “normal” life, so he can finally break free from the fringes of society. It’s pretty heavy. It pushed the envelope. There's one other thing pestering me and I can't shake it: Phillip Russo. Ever since bumping into him at The Treasure Cove he’s constantly been on my mind. I literally can’t stop thinking about him. I think about the first day of class I had with him, the feeling of connection and familiarity I had with him, the certainty that I knew him. I get the feeling everytime I see him. Every single time. Sometimes, when the feeling hits me particularly strong I get nauseous. And I get the sense he feels it too; when he looks at me I see it in his eyes. I’ve been thinking I want him to read my journals. I want him to read about what I’m going through: why I moved to Adermoor Cove from New York, the conversion therapy, the effects stilboestrol has on me. I want him to know all of it. But the idea also frightens me: It’s a big risk. What if my feelings, the sense he might understand, is wrong? What if he makes it uncomfortable? What if he tells the dean of the school and I get expelled just like NYU. I can’t push the thought away. It feels like something I have to do. The next day, after class, I tell Gwen not to wait for me, there are some things I have to do. I wait until the class empties and Phillip Russo and I are alone. My legs feel like rubber as I approach his desk. I have the notebook in my hand, the palm slick with sweat. I’ve been gearing myself up for this all day, watching the seconds on the clock tick slowly by. But now the floor feels like mud sucking at my feet, trying to hold me in my place. Still, I force myself onward, my eyes focused on the goal. Phillip’s back is turned to the chalkboard. The eraser looks absurdly small in his large hands, which makes sweeping circular motions, erasing the white chalk. Then he stops and turns, as if he can sense me coming through some sort of sixth sense. Our eyes meet one another’s and I’m flooded with that strange feeling of deja vu. Whenever he looks at me there’s like this invisible force that holds me in place and all I can do is look back. It renders me motionless. “Johnny,” he says after a moment. He sounds surprised, as if seeing me standing there is the last thing he expected. He also sounds pleased. This is the first time I’ve been alone with him, with no one standing around to hear our conversation. The fact that we’re completely alone only makes me more nervous, more afraid. “Can I help you?” “Yes, I wanted to see if you have anymore notebooks,” I say, sounding more brave and steady than I feel. “I wouldn’t ask, but I’ve already filled this one.” “Already?” He takes his glasses off, looking at me with those dark brown eyes. He has very beautiful eyes; whenever I look into them it’s impossible to look away. “You must love to write.” I grin despite myself. “I do.” “I have plenty, so yes.” He reaches into his briefcase and hands me a fresh composition notebook. “Thanks,” I say. “You’re welcome. I’m looking forward to reading your analysis on Flowers for Algernon. I know the semester’s just starting but I can already tell you’re a talented writer. Have you thought about making a career out of writing?” My stomach is all aflutter. He thinks I’m a good writer! I think. He gave me a compliment! Suddenly I feel giddy, so giddy I could dance. “Yes. I want to be a writer.” “You’re very intuitive and insightful for someone so young,” says Phillip. I can feel myself starting to blush. I look away, hoping he can’t see it even though I’m sure it’s impossible to miss. He clears his throat, “Is there anything else I can do for you?” “Yes.” Here it is: the moment that will make or break me. “I was wondering if you would read my writing. I’m sure you’re very busy with other things but just whenever you have time...and maybe if you can tell me what you think.” “Sure,” he says to my relief, taking the notebook from me gently. “I’d love to. You’re actually the first student to ask me to read something personal...since, well since I started teaching here.” “It’s nothing,” I tell him nervously. “Just thoughts.” “I’m sure I’ll enjoy it. You’re a very bright young man.” He’s looking at me in that odd way again, like he wants to say something but can’t find the words or the courage. A thousand words pass through my brain, each one sporadically different from the next: Tell me what it is you have to say...don’t be scared, just say it; and I think you’re a phenomenal teacher; and I feel like I know you; and what I really want to say is, I’m entrusting you with this, this sensitive, detrimental thing, so please don’t use against me...don’t use it to hurt me...I’ve been hurt enough. “Thank you,” I say. “See you next week Mr. Russo.” He smiles kindly. “For the final time, Johnny, call me Phillip. I insist.”
  7. TLM280249

    5 Letters

    Brad's underwear tended towards nudity SHEER
  8. TLM280249


  9. Today
  10. Kev

    Chapter 15

    I'm in love with these guys … I think Mike would be perfect for me, I always had a thing for teachers. Christmas in June … hell it feels like winter at the moment over here, even had the heating on this morning. Thanks for the story … loving it!
  11. ColumbusGuy

    Chapter 20

    I'm not a 'bleeding heart liberal', but I come away from this one with an abiding fear that a boy is about to be lost to the system and lose his last chance to redeem himself. I think Kyle wants to change, but he can see no way for it to happen. At every turn in his life he's been abandoned and steered into bad directions, beginning with a worthless father and an older brother who saw him only as a convenience for sexual relief rather than as one who should guide his younger brother and help him. I don't see Kyle as irredeemable or evil...it takes a boy who has freedom of choice for that to happen, and Kyle has had no such option. He isn't a leader of any sort, and those who came into his life could sense that, and use it to their own advantage. He had no chance against those odds...and now, I think Adam and Troy might be the final chance to set him on a better path than life-long institutionalization and victimization. Kyle's crime was as an accomplice, so perhaps the right word at the right time could mitigate things for him? Are Troy and Adam willing to step up and give him that hope? I think Adam is, but Troy needs to be an active participant also, and at the moment I don't think he will be....Come on Adam, try to steer Troy to be his better self.
  12. @Timothy M. Saw this, and thought of you. s1G5j5y.jpg

  13. NimirRaj

    Chapter 6 - Close Proximity

    He should have made a comment asking Artie please not to get icing on him again to subtly remind him they’d met briefly before. It’d have been a nice, comical icebreaker.
  14. Graeme

    Chapter 4

    The interest in the jacaranda has surprised me, so here are some links about that particular tree. Sadly, it collapsed in late October, 2016, but nine months later, they unveiled a genetically-identical tree in the same location. @Timothy M., you left off one: Shelley, the baby sister he never had! Otherwise, yes, he's building a support network, even if he hasn't quite realised that yet. Of course, we still don't know if those people will be around long enough to provide true support, or if they're only there on a casual basis. @impunity, if Clarissa wasn't abrasive, you wouldn't recognise her Some people are like that, but that doesn't mean that they're not good at heart.
  15. Yesterday
  16. Shadow086

    Chapter 30

    I actually like these chapters more than the ones with sex in them, most of the time. This is what makes these characters feel so real and relatable, and makes me care about them. I really hope Derrick's mom gets the job, she deserves it.
  17. Page Scrawler

    Make us laugh!

  18. Disjecta Membra

    Newsletter Game: Pride Month Headline!

    There are a few that caught my eye, but I feared the same thing as you. I was semi-wary of this one as well, since it doesn't actually reference Pride in the headline, but I think it's a fascinating concept.
  19. I almost went with one called: "Opinion: I have no faith in PRIDE." However, while I liked the headline, I thought it may get too political.
  20. I'm about to start a new thing on GA... a GA "classroom". I know, I know, I just finished school. LOL I found a book with writing challenges for 100 days featuring all different aspects of the craft. I'm not going to throw them out every day, but I was going to do one per week with features in the newsletter, social media, etc... so if you're interested in learning more about writing and having some fun at the same time, join the Writer's Circle Club now and check out the GA Classroom: Writing Challenges topic! 

  21. Disjecta Membra

    Newsletter Game: Pride Month Headline!

    Alright, I have one! "Report: “Gay glass ceiling” prevents gay men from being promoted" This should be fun.
  22. Wesley8890

    Last Post Wins #46

    I thought you were my friend 😢😢😢😢😢
  23. NimirRaj

    Chapter 11

    It’s very warm in there...Dad didn’t smell sex? 😂 I’m betting Papa didn’t raise no fool and that dad has an idea about what’s going on. I get a vibe that Deme’s family wouldn’t be that objectionable to him being gay. In the end we don’t know a lot about the personalities or views of anyone outside of our two main characters so it’s hard to anticipate how anyone might react. I mean Shane hasn’t even mentioned having any friends to make judgments on how they might react for instance but hopefully his mom will be accepting. His sister will just be jealous. 😂
  24. Valkyrie

    Last Post Wins #46

    Sloth overlord? *waddles around the Panda/roach/sloth and nabs the shiny, puts it back on his head, waddles around again, nabs the shiny... etc.. fifty times while the slow one raises its arm to try and stop me* MINE
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