The First Time [Pride Piece]

// This is a rewrite/repost of a Pride Piece I originally wrote back in 2021. With Pride month finally here, I wanted to share it again. I have a deep connection to this due to both the personal nature and the themes behind it. I hope you enjoy and you are valid, no matter what anyone says //

Trigger Warning

Gay

Growing up, I always knew something was different about me. I wasn’t like the other kids in elementary school. I had always chalked it up to me being raised in a foster family, so naturally I tried to ignore it and move on with my life. While all the other kids were talking about family vacations and setting up playdates, I was more comfortable being by myself, coloring in the corner, ignoring the boring math classes or watching old movies on my foster dad’s old fat TV. Life was good to me, I never felt pressure to be anything other than myself. I was always drawn to Broadway performances and acting. So, being the naive kid, I believed it would be me one day on the television, rocking a solo or playing a Romeo; looking for my Juliet.

As I got older, I slowly lost interest in this dream as I was gradually introduced to new activities by my father. He took me hunting, fishing, paintballing, etc. He wanted me to follow in his footsteps. I think when he retired from the Military, he was looking for someone to take his place and continue the family legacy of being soldiers. Every day after school when I walked through my front door, I was greeted by the wall of medals and newspaper clippings. The light reflecting the Latin phrases on the medals and the wings of my foster grandfather’s parachuting wings from WWII. By the time middle school rolled around, I had already killed my first buck as well as caught enough fish to feed a small village. Naturally, my father was happy with me. Every time I took the shot or smacked the fish on the head with the wooden rod, he’d smile at me and grab my shoulder. There were never any words spoken as he walked off to examine the kill, or he would simply turn away and continue to reel his line slowly through the water. “A man of little words,” my mother would call him as she helped to unload the carcass. “A man of little words but proud of the young man you are becoming.”

Middle school blew by fast as I made new friends and continued to improve on skills my father was teaching. I mastered them fast, not wanting to disappoint my father. When he taught me about guns, I think I spent days in an old shed beside our house. Unloading, dismantling, cleaning, and reassembling the countless guns my father kept so that next time he taught me, I could show him how fast I could do it. Making him proud was one of the things I clung onto throughout those years. There were never any secrets in my family. The moment I turned five, my foster parents sat me down and explained the adoption and how this didn’t mean I wasn’t their child and how they would love and cherish me the same as if I was. Being this young, I didn’t know the meaning of this and simply nodded before hugging them and retreating to my room. As I got older, however, that small sliver of doubt began rising in me. At times I would sit back and wonder. Maybe my father would say more to me if I was actually his son, maybe I just don’t belong.

When high school rolled around, I had already established myself as one of the popular kids. I never had the fear of being rejected or being alone that other kids deal with. I had a group of friends who shared the same activities as me, and we would often go hunting in the land behind my house after school. Aiden, my best friend since middle school, was one of my favorites. We were practically brothers. He was always there to hunt or simply chill in my basement and play video games. We even had a threesome with this super hot girl at one of my parties. Needless to say, we were close. My parents were cool with me doing whatever as long as I kept my grades high enough to apply to ROTC after I graduated. If I ever slipped below a B, my parents would ground me and forbid anyone from coming over but Aiden since we were in the same classes and we would need to study together. Aiden was a straight-A student, so he had no problem convincing my parents to allow him to tutor me. There was rarely a day that went by where I didn't see him.

We would spend a few hours on science or math before being distracted by our phones as every teenager struggles with. More often than not, the night would end with us both chilling side by side in my bed and looking at our phones. Like I said, we were like brothers. I would die for him, and him, me. There never was any reason to suspect anything else, so it always confused me when my mom would walk in on us both in my bed and sour her face, telling Aiden it was time to leave. It was a weekly occurrence, so after a month, it became normal and she stopped questioning it.

______

The day started off normally. Aiden had arrived at seven with his usual stack of supplies and a greeting to my mother. Walking in and finding me in the kitchen, shirtless after a workout and drinking some juice, Aiden quickly looked away and cleared his throat, which caused me to raise an eyebrow at him. He had seen me shirtless countless times, why was he making that face now? He placed the books on the edge of the granite counter before grabbing a shirt from the laundry basket and throwing it at me.

“Put a shirt on,” he said, looking away, hiding the blush that was slowly appearing on his face.

“What's the matter?” I asked as I did a 360 spin and struck a pose. Instead of insulting me, which would be his normal reaction, I was met with silence as he picked the books up and headed to my room. I frowned, quickly putting the shirt on and following slowly behind him. “What’s up with you? You’re acting weird.” A statement he rolled his eyes at before pushing past me and closing the door.

“I… I think I like someone,” he mumbled, his voice barely a whisper. He wouldn’t look at me.

“Okay… so what?” I responded.

“I don’t think… she likes me back,” he said hesitantly.

“Oh,” a twinge of jealousy pulled at me. I didn’t want to lose my best friend and brother to some girl.

“And I think it would be weird to tell them,” he said with a sigh as he stood against the door.

“Well… That's when you just walk up to them and kiss them,” I stated with a shrug, to which he responded with a puzzled look.

“Bro-” he tried to say before I cut him off, keeping my tone steady and looking into his eyes to convey how serious I was.

“I'm not kidding! Walk up and kiss them. If they freak out, then I guess they don’t feel the same way as you.”

The look I got in response almost made me break character, but I managed to keep a straight face. I could see him trying to figure out whether I was serious. He narrowed his eyes. “That’ll never work.”

I was about to argue that it would work but was cut off by Aiden leaning in quickly and kissing me.

I shoved him back. “What the FUCK!” I exclaimed, wiping my mouth repeatedly. He remained in silence, examining me with sadness and embarrassment before rushing out the door, leaving me in complete shock before being interrupted by my mom.

“Why was Aiden in such a rush?” she asked, a question I had no patience to indulge.

“I don’t know,” I lied. “Go away!” I spat, closing the door in her face.

Returning to my bed with a sigh, I placed my hands on my face and bit my knuckle before

knocking everything off my nightstand, my internal monologue spouting questions at me left and right. Why was this affecting me so much? Was I supposed to be angry? Should I be disgusted? But all I could think about was the memory of how soft his lips had felt, how they slightly trembled as they brushed against mine. What the hell was wrong with me?

Weeks went by without me seeing him. Every time I saw him at school, he’d turn tail and head the opposite way. People started to inquire about the events, but I shrugged them off. I finally managed to ambush him behind the school gym. “Stop avoiding me!” I said, grabbing his arm to stop him from walking away. “Can’t you just tell me why you kissed me?” I asked, silently dreading the answer I already knew was coming. He tried to shove past me, but my grip was firm.

“Because I really like you… more than a friend,” he finally said with a sigh as his arm fell limp in defeat.

My heart plummeted, confusion flooding me. I bit my lip to keep my emotions in check. But years of being raised with that "men are men" mentality left me with one instinct: I punched him. He jerked back, clutching his nose as blood began to spurt. It didn’t help, though. The anger didn’t fade. Even if I was ashamed, the physical act of punching something often made me feel better.

I swore, my hands trembling as they shot up to my head. I closed my eyes, but the chaos in my chest didn’t subside. Something else rose up instead, something I never thought I’d act on. I reached for him again, but this time... I lifted his chin, and I kissed him.

His eyes went wide in shock, but it only pushed me further. I kissed him harder, unable to pull back. His gaze locked onto mine and we both froze. Then, without thinking, I shoved him against the brick wall, pressing my lips to his again.

His arms wrapped around my waist, pulling me closer, and in that moment, everything I had been suppressing burst free. All my confused thoughts; every corrupt feeling. It felt like a storm breaking through. Our lips moved against each other, messy and urgent. The raw ion was so overwhelming and it was all I could do to let myself feel it.

After what seemed like an eternity, he pulled away and looked at me. “This feels…” I muttered.

He looked at me, that cute smile tugging on his lips. “It feels…?” he repeated before finishing my thought. “... right.”