“Thanksso much for helping us out on such short notice,” the young white woman said as she stood in the doorway with a young African American boy. He looked like he couldn’t be more than thirteen or fourteen years old if that, poor fellow.
“Why don’t you come on in?” I said as I opened the door wider, encouraging the young woman and the boy to enter. Inside were thirteen other African American youths, ranging in age from twelve to twenty-one, all engaged in a variety of activities. They were spread out all around the great room, adjoining kitchen and dining area.
“Why don’t we go to my office where it’s a bit quieter?” I suggested. “We can talk while I fill out the paperwork.”
Once we were seated, I noticed that the boy had a very nasty bruise on his left cheek, as well as a much more serious-looking bruise on his right upper arm where it was evident someone had grabbed him forcefully.
Looking down at the paperwork, I saw that the boy’s name was Darryl and so I looked right at him and asked, “May I call you Darryl, or is there another name you go by that you’d prefer?”
Looking down, never making eye contact with me, he answered with a voice that had yet to change, “Darryl’s fine, but some kids call me ‘Dare’.”
“What do you like to be called?” I asked again.
Still looking down, he said, “Dare’s fine. It’s cool.”
“I see you live on Grandview,” I added, “not far from where I grew up.”
“Really?” he asked, looking up at me for the first time.
“My husband and I were next-door neighbors. We lived a couple of blocks south of Kessler, and you live a block north of Kessler. You could easily walk between your house and mine.”
“Yeah, but the houses south of Kessler are real nice,” Dare challenged. “Mine’s not so good.”
“You go to middle school on Westlane?” I asked, trying to keep him talking.
“I go to North Central,” he replied indignantly. Looking down at the paperwork, I realized he was indeed fourteen and a high school freshman, even though he didn’t look it.
“Sorry about that,” I said back with a smile. “You look a bit young for your age, but then so did my Rick.”
“Yeah?” he asked.
“Yeah,” I answered. “He got teased a lot, but then anyone that teased him had to answer to me.”
Getting a sad look on his face, he replied, “My best friend Ryland looks out for me at school, but that only made it worse with my old man. He’s worse than the kids at school, calling me a sissy and a faggot. I’m not even gay, but that don’t matter to him.”
Laughing, I said, “You’re certainly not the first straight boy that’s stayed with us, but all the other boys here are gay. We provide a safe haven — a sanctuary — for boys who’ve been thrown out of their homes, particularly if they’ve suffered abuse as you have. Most often, it’s because of being gay, but not always.
“Are you gonna feel comfortable staying in a house full of gay boys?” I asked.
“It don’t bother me,” Dare answered. “Ryland’s gay, and he’s cool. He’s a football star, just like you were. He led our school to an undefeated season this year,” he answered with obvious pride in his voice.
“Your best friend’s Ryland Tanner?” I asked. “He’s one hell of a quarterback,” I exclaimed.
“Yeah he is,” Dare agreed. “He’s gonna be in the NFL and go to the Super Bowl, just like you. Maybe he’ll win three Super Bowls for the Colts like you did.”
“I didn’t realize Tanner’s gay,” I thought aloud.
“Are you kidding?” Dare exclaimed. “His dad’s even worse than mine! He could never be out.”
“Dare’s father caught him giving fellatio to Tanner,” the lady added.
“Ryland told my dad it was all my idea — that I came on to him — like I seduced him or somethin’. My dad believed him.”
“What really happened?” I asked.
Looking down again, Dare answered, “We’ve been messin’ around for years. It was Rye that started it. We blow each other all the time — almost every day. Sometimes we do more,” he added as he blushed. I couldn’t help but wonder just how ‘straight’ Dare really was, but I figured we’d have plenty of time to discuss that after the woman from Social Services had left. Chances were he was either bi, or quite possibly gay and in denial. A lot of our boys were in denial when they arrived — so powerful is the sentiment against gays in the African American community, that sometimes it’s easier to pretend to be something you’re not rather than to hate yourself for who you are.
I knew all too well how that worked. When I first started football practice in high school, one of the players trying out for the freshman team was a blatant homophobe. When I made quarterback, he quit the team in disgust. It turned out Bret was a closeted gay brother himself, deathly afraid of what his father would do to him if he found out. Bret went so far as kidnapping my Ricky at the homecoming dance to try to get me to off myself, so I’d be out of the way. He was a seriously disturbed, self-hating young man.
Thank God for Trevor Austin and Larry Peters. Trevor managed to talk Bret down and he got him to open up. Larry was a white boy who lived in my neighborhood and was also on the freshman team. I knew Larry was himself gay and in the closet, but what I didn’t know at the time was that Bret and Larry both had major crushes on each other. The two of them ended up making out in front of everyone that night, and Larry’s parents took Bret in until they both went away to college.
Bret had to do community service at a homeless shelter downtown to make up for his little stunt, but he continued to volunteer there even after he’d finished putting in his time. He became outspoken on the plight of gay African American teens and ended up being the president of the GSA two years in a row. He was and is my best friend in the world next to Rick. Although we went to different colleges and although he never made pro, we’ve always managed to stay in touch.
He’s now the principal up at Carmel High and he’s legally married to Larry, who’s the head football coach. We go out together all the time with another couple we’ve known since high school, Lyle Herndon and Cam Dunnington. Lyle’s one of the best basketball players in history. He led the Wizards to four NBA championships before retiring and returning to his hometown to become the Pacers’ head coach. Yup, we’re all pretty tight — three brothers and three white boys, four of us athletes and all of us gay.
Reminiscing about Bret and Larry, however, I couldn’t help but think about the terrible day in 2012 when three of us nearly lost our lives. We were only seventeen years old, it was our senior year in high school and we were playing for the state championship…
<> <> <>
“Trevor!” I shouted when I saw my good friend approach. “What brings you here?” I asked. We were in one of the locker rooms at Lucas Oil Stadium and less than an hour away from the state championship game. I was totally surprised to see him; he was supposed to be in Boston, where he attends MIT. Our arms went around each other as we embraced tightly.
“Well, other than hugging hot, naked football players, I’m here to watch you and the guys play in the championship game,” he answered. It was only when he said that, that I realized I was indeed naked. I’d been getting ready to put on my jock and my cup when I’d spotted him. I musta turned beet red when I realized it, but then I never was all that modest — nudity didn’t bother me, but it was kinda weird to be caught by my friend with my pants down, so to speak.
As we released each other from our embrace, I noticed Jeremy Kimball and his husband, David Reynolds walking up to us, followed by Trevor’s husband, Kurt. It was the first time I’d seen Jeremy in person with short hair and I had to admit, as good as he looked with long hair, he looked even more handsome with it cut short.
“Hey Bret, how’s it hangin’?” Jeremy asked as he approached.
“Pretty well from what I can see,” David answered for me with a stifled giggle as he made a point of staring at my junk.
“Very funny,” I said with a laugh of my own, and then after a round of hugs, I asked, “So what really brings you back here the week after Thanksgiving?”
Wrapping his arm around Jeremy’s shoulders, David said, “They’re giving my baby an award at halftime.”
“Really?” I asked.
“Yup,” David confirmed. “Four-time state swimming champion wins five Olympic medals.”
“Of course, I should have thought of that,” I added.
“And he thought he wasn’t Olympic material,” David chided his husband as he squeezed his shoulders even tighter.
“Leets and Geeks,” Kurt chimed in.
“Leets?” Trevor asked, wondering what his husband was saying, as did I.
“Ath-letes,” he explained.
“Ohhh,” Trevor responded. “That was pretty bad, honey.”
“I try,” Kurt said with a smile.
“Speaking of which,” I began, “Harvard soccer has sure had a banner year. In fact, they’ve done pretty well the last three years.”
“Dave’s an outstanding team captain,” Jeremy related.
“But we still didn’t make it that far in the playoffs,” David said with a sigh. “Let’s face it, we’re pretty good, but in college we’re up against the nation’s elite soccer players.”
“You are elite soccer players,” I countered.
“Maybe in NCAA competition,” David admitted, “but we’re not pro material. We wouldn’t even want to play pro soccer. We’ve got better things to do with our lives — not that pro ball isn’t a worthy ambition,” he quickly added, remembering that’s exactly what I intended to do with my life.
“Speaking of which, Lyle Herndon’s sure put Wisconsin on the map the last couple of years, hasn’t he?” I commented.
“He has at that,” Kurt agreed.
Just then, Bret Andrews and Larry Peters came up behind me, arm in arm, similarly attired to the way I was, which was to say they were in the altogether. After another round of hugs and explanations as to why our friends were there, we chatted about school and all the things that had been going on in all our lives. Larry and Bret were actually making plans to get married in the summer, as were Rick and I, and that led to a discussion on wedding arrangements.
Noticing the time, I said, “Listen guys, we really need to get dressed and ready for the game.”
“Oh I don’t know,” Kurt said with a smile, “I’d much rather see you guys dressed the way you are now during the game.”
“Oooh, naked football,” Jeremy chimed in, “That’d be pretty hot. A bunch of naked guys piling on top of each other — I like the sound of that!”
I could feel myself boning up, which apparently didn’t go unnoticed, as Kurt said, “Looks like our football players like the sound of that too.”
“Kurt, you devil,” Trevor added as he hugged his husband close. “You said that with such a straight face.”
“There’s nothing about me that’s straight,” Kurt joked. “I thought you’d know that by now.”
Blushing, Trevor replied, “Come tonight, I’ll show you just how well I know that.”
“Any more talk like that and Bret and I will have to do a sixty-nine, right here on the floor,” Larry added, getting a round of ‘Ooohs' from everyone else.
“Hey, Bro,” I heard Brad Reynolds voice from behind me. Brad was David’s brother and the Junior Class President, not to mention the best wide receiver with whom I’d ever worked. He obviously already knew about his brother, brother-in-law and their friends bein’ in town.
“Anyway, we'll see you guys after the game,” I hastened to add since we really did need to get going.
“You can count on it,” Trevor replied, and we waved to them as they left.
“Let’s get goin’!” I told my compatriots as we bumped fists, and then proceeded to dress for the game. Coach didn’t look too happy by the time we finally staggered in to join the rest of the team, but then he launched into his usual pep talk without sayin’ anything.
We were playing a team from Fort Wayne, a city of about a quarter million people located in the northeastern corner of the state. Fort Wayne is also one of the most religious cities in America, housing the national headquarters for the Fellowship of Evangelical Churches, the Fundamental Baptist Fellowship and the Missionary Church. That almost made it the capital of the Bible Belt. Coach brought this up specifically ’cause these three churches are among the most vehemently anti-gay around. As I also remembered, Fort Wayne was the only city in the state that didn’t vote for Obama in the ’08 election. With three out-and-proud gay boys on the team, not to mention a closeted brother that I knew about, there most certainly could be trouble.
“If the guys on the other team resort to name calling, try your best to ignore it,” he admonished us. “I’m not saying intimidation’s right, but if they have to resort to it, it just shows they’re an inferior team.
“If on the other hand they resort to physical violence, don’t hesitate to call them on it. The refs are well aware of the situation and they won’t hesitate to call a penalty or to kick a player out of the game if they resort to hate-related violence, or any other violence for that matter.”
Coach then went on to talk strategy, analyzing their wins, losses and style of play. There was no doubt about it; they were a good team and a formidable opponent who deserved to be there, as did we.
We lost the coin toss and, not unexpectedly, they elected to receive. Larry was our best kicker and he managed to kick the ball nearly all the way to our end zone. They ran well with the ball but we stopped them cold on our forty-yard line and our defense kept them pinned down during the next three plays. Too far to make a field goal, they tried for a first down in desperation, only to lose possession of the ball on our forty-five. Bret was in charge of our defensive line and he did an absolutely amazing job.
On my first play as quarterback in the state championship game, I faked a lateral to Larry while I crossed behind him, hiding the ball as I continued running sideways. As planned, Brad was wide open downfield and I quickly leapt into the air and threw more than thirty yards for the quick touchdown. Larry kicked for the extra point and we were up by seven.
The rest of the first half pretty much went the same way, as we scored two more touchdowns and they only managed to score a field goal, making the score at halftime twenty-one to three. The game was gonna be a blowout.
Unfortunately the other team became more and more belligerent as they fell further behind, resorting increasingly to name-calling and at one point, an illegal hit that earned them a penalty.
I would have liked to have remained out on the field at halftime to witness the award ceremony for Jeremy but we were all expected to remain together in the locker room with Coach goin’ over strategy. There really wasn’t much to go over, actually, given the way the game was going, but Coach admonished us not to get cocky. He pointed out several instances where teams with leads similar to ours ended up losing the game in the end.
Coach also warned us that the name-calling and possible violence were only likely to get worse as the game progressed, so we had to be careful.
We all whooped it up as we exited the locker room, preparing to retake the field for the second half of the game. We were in one of the most modern indoor stadiums in the world, a stadium that had just hosted the Super Bowl the winter before. Bret, Larry and I were together as we often were, with Larry just ahead of Bret and me. Bret was looking back at me and talking about our plans for the Winter Break as we continued walking forward.
Neither of us was really paying attention to what was happening around us, so when an explosive sound suddenly split the usual din made by the voices of a boisterous group of teenage athletes, it came as a total shock to us. None of us really comprehended what was happening. Suddenly, there was blood all over Bret and Larry was on the ground. Bret was still walking forward and tripped over his boyfriend just as another explosive sound rang out. Bret landed on top of his boyfriend and didn’t move.
Reality finally started to dawn on me as I found myself face-to-face with a boy holding a gun. I was splattered with the blood of my friends and in that instant, I knew I was about to die.
The sound of a third gunshot never came however. Instead the kid grabbed hold of my arm, put the gun against my head and said, “Move it, faggot.”
He literally shoved me forward as he pushed us out onto the field. At first no one seemed to notice, although I’m sure they must have heard the gunshots and wondered what was going on. One of the players on the other team shouted, “Sawyer has a gun!” and pretty soon panic took hold as players, coaches and referees ran every which way in search of cover. In mere moments the only two people left on the field were the kid with the gun, and me.
The crowd was silent. They were mesmerized.
“Listen up!” the boy shouted and his voice echoed throughout the large stadium. Apparently, someone had trained a parabolic microphone on us. “I left two dead faggots by the locker room, but I wanted to save Mathews for everyone to see what happens to faggots.
“Every week growin’ up, we’d go to church on Sunday. Almost every week, the preacher spoke on how we’re all goin’ to Hell.” My eyes opened wide when I realized what he’d just said, but I wondered if he even realized he’d just outed himself.
“My father is even worse,” he continued. “He’s always spouting off how fags don’t deserve to breathe the air — how they should all be rounded up and shot. Well guess what, Dad? You’ve taught me well. Your son is the angel of death, bringing justice to all the faggots of the world.”
Just as I was expecting to hear the sound of a loud bang, and then nothing, I spotted a young man walking onto the field. WTF? As he got closer, his features became more and more recognizable. He was fairly tall, with reddish-brown hair, dark-rimmed glasses and he had a ‘preppy’ look, with jeans and a polo shirt. It was Trevor. Fuck!
The boy who was holding me swung his gun around and aimed it squarely at Trevor, shouting, “Stay the fuck back! Come any closer and you’ll be joining the other faggots in Hell.”
“I just want to talk, man!” Trevor shouted back in return as he held up his hands in front of him.
“What the fuck makes you think I want to talk to you?” The boy with the gun asked.
“Because I’m the one who can make it right?” Trevor answered as he resumed walking toward us. Double-Fuck!
“I MEAN IT!” shouted the boy. “Stay the fuck back or it’ll be the last thing you ever do!”
“But I can help!” Trevor shouted in return. “I know just what you’re going through. I’ve been there, man!”
“What the fuck do you know about me, white boy?” the boy with the gun asked.
“I may not be black,” Trevor began, “but I know what it’s like to grow up in a religious household. My parents are Evangelical Christians. As far as I was concerned, admitting to being gay was tantamount to admitting I was a rapist or a murderer. I knew my parents would disown me, or worse, if I came out.” By now Trevor was standing directly in front of us and the boy had his gun pointed right at Trevor’s heart.
“Every week I sang in the church choir,” Trevor continued, “and every week the preacher told us that people like me were going straight to Hell. I tried not to be gay. I prayed every day and every night to God to make me normal, but the feelings I had only got stronger.
“When I accidentally outed myself at school, I thought my life was over, man. I knew that when my parents heard about it, they’d either kick me out of the house, or worse. I seriously thought about offing myself, but then some friends of mine convinced me I should suck it up and let the chips fall where they may.”
“So what happened?” he asked. Trevor had actually gotten him talking!
“What happened is that it turned out my dad already knew,” Trevor answered.
“Ya serious, man? And he didn’t kick you out or beat you up?” the boy asked.
“Yah, I’m serious,” Trevor replied. “I thought I’d covered my tracks well, but I should have known better. My dad runs a company that specializes in Internet security. He found it strange that there were a bunch of attacks on my computer from gay porn sites,” Trev added with a laugh.
“Man, I’m surprised your old man didn’t kill ya,” the boy exclaimed.
“I thought he was gonna, but he decided he was gonna try and save my soul. Seems the more he read up on making a gay kid straight, the more he realized he’d lose his only son if he tried. He and my mom didn’t like it, but they accepted it and eventually came to realize that what the preacher taught was wrong. They realized you can’t love God if you turn your back on your own child.
“’Course it didn’t hurt that I ended up marrying the preacher’s son,” he added.
“Why couldn’t I have parents like that?” the boy asked aloud, and then I felt him stiffen as the hand holding the gun started to shake.
“NO!” he shouted. “My old man would never accept me bein’ gay. He’d beat the crap outta me. He’d tell me what a worthless piece of shit I am. I’d be lucky if he only threw me out of the house. He’d prolly kill me!
“Well guess what, Pop?” the boy spat out as he slowly began to turn the gun back toward me. “You’ve got a gay son! I’m a worthless little faggot. You always said you’d be better off with a dead son than a faggot, and you’re right! You’re gonna get your wish! All faggots must die!”
The gun was now pointed back at my head and his hand was shaking. His whole body was shaking and he held on tight to me. This was it; I was gonna die. It therefore came as no surprise when I heard the loudest sound I’d ever heard in my life, right next to my head. I fell to the ground and expected everything to go black, but it didn’t. Instead I felt warm stuff all over me.
At first I thought that maybe I’d passed so quickly into the afterlife that I didn’t even feel myself die but, if I were dead, why did I feel warm, soft, oozy stuff all over me? Why could I still hear a loud ringing in my ears? Why could I still open my eyes and see the grass of the field, and why could I still smell the grass of the field? Why could I feel myself taking breath after breath? If I were dead, I wouldn’t be breathing at all.
Slowly and tentatively, I started to get up, but the boy’s arm was still wrapped around me. I pried myself loose and looked down at him. It was then I realized there was nothing left of his head, and that I was covered with his blood and his brains. Looking up, I saw that Trevor was splattered with them, too.
Suddenly, I remembered my slain friends and I cried out, “Bret! Larry!” I tried to take off in a run back to the locker room, but something or someone was restraining me. There were people everywhere. I felt something sharp in my arm, and then I felt nothing as my world finally did fade to a blurry deep gray, then black.
It wasn’t until two days later that I woke up. I’d been sedated the entire time and have no memories but I’m told I kept calling out for Bret and Larry. The good news was that the bullet missed Larry’s heart, pierced his left lung and passed right through without hitting any major structures. They did exploratory surgery and closed him right back up. Because Bret tripped over Larry and was falling forward, the bullet missed him entirely. It was a miracle it didn’t hit me, given I was right behind him.
Of all of us, it was Trevor who had the hardest time dealing with the events of that day. He went into shock and had to be sedated and treated with antidepressants. He underwent months of counseling and therapy but never did completely get over it. He doesn’t like to admit it but Kurt says he still occasionally has nightmares some thirty years later.
I always wondered why Trevor never got some kind of special award or medal for his bravery. Perhaps he would have if Jamal Sawyer hadn’t killed himself. Maybe Trevor didn’t deserve a Congressional Gold Medal the way Kurt did but he’s dedicated so much of his life to helping gay youth. I wasn’t sure how to go about it but I vowed that I was going to do something to see that he finally received the recognition he deserved.
The events of that day marked a lot of us for life. Before then I’d always known how difficult life could be for gay teens and particularly for gay African American teens but I’d had it lucky. My parents had been accepting and so had Rick’s. Not everyone had parents who could accept their kids for who they were.
I knew some of my friends planned to take homeless gay teens into their homes but how much better it would be to prevent them from becoming homeless in the first place. As I went through college and then began my career in the NFL, the idea took hold in my mind of using my fame and fortune to do something about the plight of gay teens, particularly those in the African American community. It was then that the Sanctuary Project was born.
Working with professional and retired athletes all over the U.S., most of them straight, but all of them caring, we set up a series of group homes to serve as places of refuge for gay youth. Our goal wasn’t to house gay kids until they reached eighteen but to try to return them to their own homes. A lot of parents had preconceived ideas about what it means to be gay. They listened to their preachers and not their hearts. Fortunately, most of them had a hard time ignoring the message when it came from a Super Bowl-winning quarterback. We never put kids back into dangerous situations, particularly if there’d been a pattern of abuse, but we did everything we could to repair the family structure, or to find a suitable long-term placement if it couldn’t be repaired.
<> <> <>
“Mr. Mathews?” Dare asked as he looked up at me with his big brown eyes.
“Please, Dare, call me Billy,” I admonished him. “Everyone else around here does.
“Billy?” he began again. “I think — I guess maybe I am gay. I don’t want to be — I can’t be — but I think maybe I am.”
“I think maybe you are, too,” I replied, “but tell me why you think you are?”
“What Rye did to me today really hurt. Sayin’ it was all my fault and all,” Dare explained. “I mean, I thought I meant more to him than that.”
“I know, Dare,” I said as I squeezed his shoulder. “It hurts when the person you love turns their back on you.”
“Do you think I love him?” Dare asked as his voice cracked.
“What do you think?” I asked in return.
Just then, the social worker’s phone rang and she answered it. “I’m going to need to take this,” she said as she left the room.
“I think I do,” Dare answered, picking up right where we left off.
“To be fair,” I said, “a lot of boys your age experiment with each other. Sex feels good, whether it’s with a boy or a girl. Some boys don’t figure out their sexuality until they’re fully grown. Others know before they finish elementary school, as was the case with me. Some boys like both boys and girls. Best advice — don’t be in a hurry to label yourself.”
“No, Billy, I’m gay,” Dare said with conviction. “I didn’t want it to be that way, but I am. I’ve tried to convince myself I’m interested in girls, but I’m only interested in Rye. Why did he do that to me?” Dare added as he broke down and cried. I reached out and pulled him into my arms and hugged him as he cried his eyes out.
It was as Dare was starting to calm down that the social worker returned. I released Dare from my arms and he returned to his seat.
“Is there any chance you can take another boy tonight?” she asked as she seated herself.
“I don’t know,” I answered honestly. “We’re already pretty full, and it’s getting late. It’s really too late to call in more help and we’re stretched thin as it is.”
“It’s Ryland Tanner,” she added.
“It’s Ryland?” Dare shouted. “What happened to him? Is he OK?” Then before getting any answers, he turned to me and said, “Please let him come here, Billy. Please! He can sleep with me. He won’t be any trouble. No trouble at all.”
I almost had to laugh at the boy’s enthusiasm. He’d obviously been in love with the boy for a long time — perhaps from the same age as when Rick and I fell in love with each other, in the fifth grade.
“What exactly is the situation?” I asked.
“Apparently he blew up when his father ranted on and on about how Darryl was a bad influence on him, and how he never wanted the two of them to see each other ever again. Let’s just say he ended up outing himself and his father went berserk. If it hadn’t been for his mother calling the police and then interceding, it could have been much worse.
“I have to pick him up from St. Vincent’s Hospital but, except for some pretty serious bruises, it appears he’s all right,” she added.
“Considering that the cases are related, we’ll take him and worry about increasing our staffing in the morning,” I agreed as I looked Dare in the eyes and smiled. His whole face lit up. I had a feeling there would be a tearful reunion later that evening.
There was a knock on the door and one of the older boys opened the door and peered in. “You asked me to let you know when the news conference begins,” he announced and then closed the door behind him.
“I still can’t believe David Reynolds is dead,” I said aloud to no one in particular. “As a boy, he was my hero when I was trying to be an out and proud pre-teen and teen in middle school. As the president, he did so much for the country and the world.”
Then with tears in my eyes, I added, “I was the one who arranged for President Reynolds’ trip to Saint Louis. I’ll never forgive myself for what happened…”
“And if it hadn’t been for a last-minute change in plans,” Rick countered as he entered the room, “you’d have been with the President in his motorcade. You might well have been with him in the presidential limousine when he came under attack. You might well have been killed, too.
“Come on, let’s go see what the new president has to say,” Rick said as he motioned for me to follow.
The author gratefully acknowledges the invaluable assistance of David of Hope in editing, Low Flyer in proofreading and Ed in beta reading my stories, as well as Gay Authors, Awesome Dude and Nifty for hosting them. © Altimexis 2012