Speech and Debate Pt. 08

My phone buzzed before I'd made it home. I know it's dangerous, but I suspected it was from Daniel and in my hormone induced stupidity, I answered it while driving.

DANIEL: One day, you'll have to find a way to spend the night. ;) Missing you already. - D

I was hard for the rest of the ride home. I had to stay in my car for a good five minutes and think of completely non-sexual things before it was safe to return inside. That task proved more difficult than I'd have imagined: when you are as wrapped up in a person as I was with Daniel, you can make just about anything track back to them, from the most mundane to the most fantastical.

For the next few days Daniel and I did our best to cool down our interactions. There were still the furtive glances, the secret text messages, and stolen physical moments. But we tried to make ourselves as discreet as possible. Daniel was more than willing to keep things going as they had been to this point. He wouldn't have minded escalating them, truth be told. But he followed my lead in this.

Since the possible spy had thrown a wrench into our dalliance, I found myself contemplating what I really wanted from all of this, from whatever I had with Daniel. I know, as an out gay man, I SHOULD have been seeking an open and honest relationship, a title, an acknowledgement of what we meant to each other in the eyes of our peers and friends. But, for some reason I still can't explain, I just didn't want that. The idea was somewhat repugnant to me.

In my mind, "Boyfriends," and "Girlfriends," came with a bunch of social stigma that I just didn't have any desire to wade through. And because we were 18 and still in High School, there was also a never-spoken assumption that the titles were fleeting and would soon dissolve as we aged and moved away to college. The era of marrying your High School Sweetheart was long gone for the vast majority of the world. I didn't want to look back 20 years from now and think of Daniel as just my "High School Boyfriend." That didn't do him justice. Not by a long shot.

I didn't want to hide myself or Daniel from anyone. Not really. But I found that I was highly protective of our relationship, jealously guarding it close to me at all costs. I didn't want that to change; the idea of it changing frightened me more than the discovery itself. I didn't want to suddenly be out in the open and have everyone know, assume, guess, ask what we did together. Not because I was ashamed of it. Quite the contrary. I wasn't afraid of their bigotry or hate. I was afraid that their judgments would distract me from what mattered most: Daniel and my growing love for him.

Back in Boston, I had been keen to point out that I was okay with Daniel and his "exploration." We had moved past that. We had explored the caves we discovered together. We had staked a claim to them and they were ours. Our special place together. I didn't want to have anyone else trampling on that sacred ground.

Daniel understood this. The stakes for him were equally as high, though in a different way. I wondered if he ever thought about going public, or if the possible loss of social stature put him off the idea. He seemed more than willing to continue our relationship, encouraging it at every turning point. But he still dated Amy. It was blatantly obvious in comparison that he felt little for her, certainly no where near the level of emotional availability and vulnerability he displayed with me as we lay side by side, fingers entwined. That choice was his and his alone. I wouldn't push him in it, and I loved him all the more for his not pushing me towards my own choice.

The away game coming up would be the first time Daniel and I had been together away from school and home and parents since Boston. At night, I dreamed of a repeat of that magical weekend. As the days dragged by, each of them adding to my growing frustrations as Daniel and I kept our distance as much as we could, I had something to look forward to.

The fact that this something was a Sports Event is entirely beside the point.