Picture it, August 1989…

It was homeroom, and I was in middle school, seventh grade to be exact when I first saw him. It was the first day of school, and he was the new kid in our class. This incident happened before I fully understood that I was attracted to guys. I told myself it was admiration and a desire to be like the guys I had “crushes” on. I wouldn’t allow myself to think that I could be gay. I dated girls all through school and even the early years of college.

On that day many years ago, someone in my class called me a faggot, queer, or some other derogatory term for sissy or gay. I was constantly bullied and called gay slurs from probably fifth grade. They would mock my voice and exaggerate my mannerism that they thought were sissified. When I think back now, I doubt they knew what gay was or even what they were saying. None of us did. Like me, they just knew it was terrible and reserved for those less masculine than what everything seemed to teach us about what a man should be, and I was not the most masculine of guys. I was tall and, I would say, non-descriptively handsome. I had brown hair, brown eyes, and an olive complexion. I was the smartest person in my class, automatically making me a queer nerd. 

Anyway, a group of guys were calling me names and bullying me when I heard a masculine voice tell them to stop. I looked to see a vision of beauty, not by everyone’s standards, but he was so handsome and my definition of masculine beauty. He was tall, with blond hair, blue eyes, and that pinkish complexion that comes from fair skin guys who don’t tan but burn in the sunlight. He was also as masculine as a middle schooler can be. Without realizing it, I had my first boy crush from that day forward. I basically worshipped this kid. He was my hero and a genuinely good guy. I fell in love, but it was not something I understood. He never had any idea that I had a crush on him, and as far as I know, he never did. We became friends, or really just acquaintances. We didn’t hang out all the time or anything like that, but he was always friendly to me and took up for me when guys were bullying me. He was not a bully, but people still respected him. He was a genuinely nice guy. 

I had all sorts of fantasies about him. I never contemplated being gay until college, although I had fantasized about a number of guys once I’d had my sexual awakening. However, that new kid in seventh grade was the person who almost always fueled my sexual fantasies. Thinking back on it, he probably fueled my whole sexual awakening. I was utterly delusional, though. I had no awareness I was gay. I rarely ever fantasized about girls, and when I did, it was because I thought that was what I should be fantasizing about. However, the fantasies always ended up centering on a guy, not the girl. In fact, by the time I reached climax, no girl was in my thoughts. I had crushes on several guys, and they were always the guys who were nice to me. Being kind was and still is a sure way to my heart.

As we grew older and made our way out of middle school to high school, he became more built and handsome. He was the star jock at our school, playing football, basketball, baseball, and running track. I couldn’t compete with his athleticism and never was very good at sports. I refused to play football but played basketball, track, and golf for our school. I always wanted to play baseball, but my eyesight and coordination were never good enough to see the ball let alone hit or catch it. I think this is part of why I find baseball players so sexy. By our junior year of high school, we were the top guys in our class. I was the smartest; he was the best athlete. He was always very popular, and I was mostly just tolerated. He played sports, and I did all the other extracurricular activities.

During our senior year, the baseball team all got a buzz-cut. We were either at lunch or on break, and someone, probably his girlfriend, said something about how soft his hair felt being cut so short. How I did it, I’ll never remember, but I got up the nerve to ask if I could feel it. I then ran my hand over his head, feeling the soft short hair. It was one of the few times I ever got to touch him. Guys weren’t touchy feeling back then, and no guy would have been seen touching or getting touched by the gay kid. I admit it; the feel of his soft blond hair was my main fantasy that night. It still turns me on to run my hands over the head of a guy with short, buzz-cut hair. When I was in grad school and out to everyone, there was this one guy who I played poker with. He always let me flirt with him even though he was very straight. He had short blond hair. I always loved standing behind him after I’d lost all my chips, of course, and run my hands over his head, but he’s a story for another time. There were a few guys during that time in my life when I flirted unmercifully with a few straight guys who were good sports about it.

Anyway, let’s get back to that first crush. When I lived in Alabama, I’d run into him occasionally. Now, I just keep up with him and his family on Facebook. He is beefier than he used to be but still a fine specimen of manhood. Good Lord, he still makes me weak in the knees. We never forget our first crush, do we?

Who was your first crush?