fatfiction

Tap. Tap. Tap. I was utterly dazed and in a state of total confusion. Someone was at my door, and they were knocking in a very precise nature. It was a constant string of taps with hardly any pause between them. I figured whoever it was would go away after realizing I wasn’t going to answer, but the knocks were persisting, the tone not even increasing in volume. There was no urgency, so I moved slowly, not completely awake. I have to get up, I thought. I reached for my glasses, putting them on my face sleepily. I looked over at my digital clock, noting that it was nearly three. Who in the hell would be at my door at three in the morning? I was suddenly much more alert, kicking off my comforter. I stood up, pulled on a pair of shorts, and ran to answer the door. “I’m coming!” I called, my mind waking more and more by the second. At the sound of my voice the knocking stopped. They hadn’t been knocking as though they were in distress. It could be the building manager, but in my two years

Chapter 1 His name was Amos Stanton, and we’d met online. He was twenty-nine years old, eight years my senior, and we had been corresponding with one another since I was nineteen. He’d wanted to meet up with me on multiple occasions, offering to arrange everything to make it happen, but in the end, I always chickened out. In all honesty, I was surprised he put up with me and my apprehension considering he seemed well-off and very honest about his intentions. I always had the feeling that he thought I was a flake who couldn’t truly commit. It wasn’t that I didn’t like him. I thought about him constantly, but I had my reasons for being so hesitant to meet him in person. We’d had hundreds of phone calls over the years, but only a handful of video chatting sessions. Aside from a couple of photographs, I hadn’t even really seen his body. I sent him loads of pictures, but he was a more reserved sort of guy. I only had a foggy idea of what to expect from an actual meet-up. I guess it was a

Mason Megalos had been my best friend for over a decade when everything fell apart. I still hadn’t gotten over how suddenly we went our separate ways. Like many a sexually confused adolescent, I had fallen in love with my best friend. We were both boys, and I had come to realize my love for him was one of the worst things that could have ever happened. I heard how other guys talked. I knew that liking Mason wasn’t something I could act on. We’d been about a month into our freshman year when I felt him slipping away from me. He had joined the football team and started hanging out with a bunch of his misogynistic, homophobic, and slightly racist teammates. Most people would say these guys were harmless, but I knew that the longer Mason hung around them, the more influence they’d have over his ideologies. He was being brainwashed! I had to win him back over from the dark side. Mason wasn’t a hateful person, and I was determined to come out to him before it was too late. I trusted him

“Welcome back, my friend,” Papa said, greeting another customer in his deep, booming voice. He smiled wide at the man who had entered, appearing genuinely pleased to see him again. Alphonse, who was one of the few men in the house unable to earn enough to be in Papa’s good graces, cleaned the floorboards near his employer’s feet. He looked up to see what he considered to be an abnormal expression on Papa’s face. When not in front of patrons, Papa was a domineering tyrant. “Hello Deidrick,” the man, a coal miner, replied. “Would you like a bath? Or are you here to see one of my sons?” Al rolled his eyes every time Papa referred to the men who worked in the bathhouse as his sons. No real father would sell his children to horny men day after day, happily hoarding the earnings and keeping his offspring in servitude. Alphonse continued scrubbing, his arms somewhat sore. He’d been at it for nearly an hour. There was soot everywhere, as the late-night rush had brought the men who worked the

I was your typical drama-geek, though a lot more subdued—hopefully. I prayed I wasn’t as obnoxious as those kids on TV shows about high school students. I wasn’t constantly giving long monologues about the idiocy of mainstream culture or strumming a guitar singing covers of Bruno Mars songs. I just highly valued theater as an art form. Man, that seemed kind of pretentious, but it was true! As lame as it may have sounded, theater honestly was my life. I had been in every production since freshman year—the fall plays, winter dramas, and spring musicals. Sure, I was a good student, but that wasn’t fun. And it wasn’t like I was athletic or exceedingly popular. My passion was performing on stage, no doubt about it, and it was a surprise even to myself. I didn’t talk much, and I dreaded holding conversation with people. When I was in the fall play freshman year, it was the first time many of my peers heard my voice. I will say as I’ve matured, I’ve become more willing to speak up for myself