Sex and Sexuality - 1. Sex and Sexuality

The honest truth was that I, Shawn Nathaniel McGuire, have never been depressed for the last eighteen years of my life. Hence it was not surprising that I was the centre of attention during another typical McGuire merry-family dinner on a Wednesday night after having displayed, for the last two weeks, demeanour classically rendered as symptoms of what society has been accustomed to label as 'depression'. Before the age of eleven, I was so shielded with the insouciance of childhood to even have anything to be depressed about; and after that for the next seven years, I have never been familiar with the concept of a prolonged period of dejection as Sam had never failed to obliterate any trace of melancholy in me with his impeccable consolation skills.

Most people would think that it was because I was homophobic or because I was a closet-case or because I was afraid that people would assume that I was gay due to my intimacy with Sam, but most people would be wrong. Then again, most people don't understand Shawn and Sam. Even if I were the most homophobic person on earth, my love for Sam would not have allowed me to hate him; I really couldn't care less about what the world thinks of me as long as I have Sam; and I would actually be hopping with jubilation if I were actually gay as well.

I literally had five pairs of eyes appraising my sullen expression as I played around with food that I found delectable no longer. Even my usually rumbustious twelve-year old twin brothers, Devin and Kevin, were just solemnly trying to finish their meals. Dad who was sitting at the end of the dining table was emitting sighs intermittently as he divided his attention between his food and me. Mom, who was sitting to his right had utterly lost her appetite. My sister Jane – my beautiful twenty-one year old sister, with fair locks of blond hair intertwined with brown, eyes as green as the lush mountains, and a slender yet voluptuous figure – who was sitting to Dad's left, had an exasperated expression; she had tried her very best to reach out to me for the last two weeks. The twins sat to mom's right and I sat two sits to the right of Jane. The sit between Jane and me had been empty – for two weeks.

At the beginning, I shrugged it off with “he's busy”, but after almost a week of the same excuse combined with my abrupt change in behaviour, everybody, even the twins, knew that something was wrong. Sam has been an additional member of the McGuire merry-family dinner for the last seven years. His dad was a corporate lawyer at one of the biggest firms in New York, and his mom was the Chief Financial Officer for a Fortune 500 company; having a family dinner was not one of their few family traditions. My parents had cordially invited him to our dinners ever since we found that out. We had also integrated him into the McGuire family experience whenever it did not interfere with his own family time – which can sometimes even include Christmas! Hence, it was no surprise that he had a permanent sit at the McGuire family table – which even in his absence, would be kept vacant.

“Seriously Shawn, it has been two weeks, tell us what is wrong!” Jane uttered only to receive a blank stare from me.

“Does your brooding mood have anything related to Sam's absence?” My mom asked patiently, to which I gently nodded.

“Did you guys have a fight?” My mom asked again hesitantly, attempting to confirm her fear.

“Kind of,” I answered. The table gasped; Sam and I never had fought, not for the last seven years.

“What did you guys fight about?” Jane asked with astonishment pervading every inch of her facial expression.

“He...,” I stammered. “He told me he's gay.”

* * *

Shawn Nathaniel McGuire was six foot and three inches tall complemented with a well-defined and built torso – broad shoulders, firm arms and sturdy thighs – as expected of the school senior quarterback. He had medium-length golden brown hair, almost always hidden beneath a baseball cap worn backwards and olive green eyes. As soon as football practice ended that day, he ran to Sam's house two blocks away from his. He would have usually sauntered on a typical day to pick up Sam and subsequently walked together to his house to spend the rest of the day, but that day, he ran! Sam told him before he left school and he had something he wanted to discuss with Shawn; code BLUE.

Sam and I designed a code system to alert each other of extremely unusual circumstances. We interacted each and every day on a very casual basis on almost any topic that we thought it shrewd to design codes for extraordinary circumstances lest they be shrugged off as jokes amidst our casual interactions. For example, code RED was for a literal emergency – it demands that the matter be placed at the highest priority and no explanation was needed. There were at least half a dozen more codes in The Book of Shawn and Sam. Code BLUE was for matters intended to be taken solemnly with no infused exaggeration. “We need to talk; code BLUE” was what he uttered to me after the last period of school, which was before practice. The last time that line was used was when I had to tell him that I lost the Shawn and Sam Friendship Emblem two years ago. We were twelve when we made two uniquely shaped pieces of metal in my dad's workroom; it had our initials on it – S.M. for Shawn McGuire and Samuel Matthews. We had kept it since as the symbol of our friendship. Beth, my girlfriend threw it away when her friends commented on how 'uncool' it was for me to regard so dearly a piece of metal. I broke up with her at that instance – she never questioned the friendship between Sam and me ever since. Sam managed to convince me to take her back after throwing away his as well and designing a new and improved set of emblems. Understanding that, one would agree that it was justified for me to run as fast as I could after practice without even showering.

Samuel Bryan Matthews sat beside me on his bed. He was five feet ten, had neatly trimmed brown hair, and deep amber eyes. Anyone inferring from his seemingly slender body that he was the weaker half compared to me would be a fool. With martial arts training as young as young as six, our school swimmer could literally kick my ass – in fact that was what sparked seven years of impregnable friendship.

I still had my football pants on which cling tautly to my ass and thighs and a sweatshirt reeked with body odour. That didn't stop me from reaching my arms out to him to pull him to me though. “What's wrong?”

He flinched and stood up to face me. That freaked me. You could say that we express a lot of our affection through physical touch. Whenever we have any kind of conversation while alone – serious or casual – we would be in some form of physical contact. Sometimes he would lay on my thighs, or I would lay on his chest while he played with my hair. And when he slept over, which was really every other night, we would typically end up cuddling with our limbs all entwined. Sure, sometimes we would have hard-ons but we never really thought it to be something sexual – just our bodies' response to physical touch. I was honestly never sexually attracted to any men or even Sam for that matter.

“Shawn, I think I'm gay,” he muttered.

The talk did not end up well at all. After that line, it was mostly me screaming and screeching, ending it with “Why did you have to ruin it?” before running home with tears cascading down my cheeks.

* * *

“What?!” Jane literally shouted. “Honey, with the way you two behave, the entire city wouldn't be surprised if you two got married tomorrow!”

I frowned with a tinge of anger.

“Shawny, I thought you told me that you'd love Sam no matter what or who he is; why are you having a problem because he is gay?” Mom asked.

That was the last straw. “Fuck! Nobody will ever understand!” My bellow reverberated across the walls of the house as I strutted off to my room.

You see, from the very first encounter with Sam, for inexplicable reasons, I somehow knew that, unless God would forbid, I would be spending the rest of my life with that boy.

* * *

It happened when I was eleven and was burdened with the responsibility of taking the five-year old Kevin to the park. A random kid with thick-framed glasses and freckles beneath it was standing before me. It was right after I taunted him and pushed him to the ground that this other random kid came running to us.

“Hey!” The petite kid said. “What do think you're doing?” He stood confidently in between me and the freckled kid who was on the ground. He was inches shorter and was almost half my width.

“Why don't you mind your own business?” I said as I tried to push pass him in order to get to that freckled kid.

In a flash of moment, he grabbed the arm that I used to push him, swung it behind my back and locked me in a position that had me screaming in pain. The freckled kid ran away as Kevin started to cry.

“Fuck! Let me go!” I begged.

“That's what you get for bullying,” he uttered as Kevin started to cry even harder.

“Fuck you doofus! He stole Kev's limited edition figurine we got him for his birthday. And now we'll never get him back and you got Kev all crying!” I retorted.

“Shit, is that true?” he released me in an instance.

“You can go ask him!” I pointed at the crying Kevin.

He approached Kevin and as soon as he tried to direct his question, Kevin had just nodded continuously while wailing in tears.

“Oh fuck, I am so sorry!” He said to me as he started to fret.

“Don't apologise to me,” I remarked while pointing to Kevin.

“Shit! I am so sorry Kevin!” He apologised profusely to no avail.

“What should I do? I am really horrible at this! I am the only child.” He begged me for help.

“How would I know? It was his favourite toy; we got it for him last year and it has never left his sight since,” I tried to further guilt-trip him, secretly enjoying his pained expression.

“Here, I only have fifty dollars left,” he said. “Would you be able to buy him something and tell him I'm sorry? If you need more money, just come find me and I'll give you more next month when my allowance comes. I'll give you my address.”

I gave him a stern look, ignoring the money he held in his hand before I approached the crying Kevin and took him into my embrace.

“It's alright Kev; it's alright,” I soothed as Kevin's cries abated to sobs. I released him short after he was calmed and return my attention to the boy before me who still held fifty dollars in his hands.

“I'm really sorry,” he apologised again as tears begun to form in his eyes.

“What, are you going to cry now?” I taunted. To which he did not respond but begun to sob lightly.

“Oh God,” I muttered as I pulled him into my embrace the same way I did with Kevin. “Keep your money, it was not your fault really, you didn't steal his toy. And I'm Shawn by the way.”

“Sam,” he murmured as he wrapped his arms around me and sobbed into my shoulders.

* * *

And that first encounter was forever etched into history – in The Book of Shawn and Sam at least. Despite the doubt of my family members, there was really no lack of certainty that my love for Sam would never abate no matter what he was – gay, straight, tall, short, fat, bald or even a murderer. So why was I in distraught after Sam came out, you might ask. To be honest, I was not entirely sure about that as well. It was probably due to an accumulation of a variety of factors; and probably also due to my screwed up mind that perpetually produced bizarre conclusions – so screwed up that nobody could ever understand; nobody but Sam.

First and foremost, we have long decided that even with wives and children at our side in the future, we would forever remain the most important male member in each others' lives. Hence his being gay would change everything! He would probably find a handsome and intelligent guy to be his husband and best friend, and I would no longer be the number one guy in his life. I know my reasoning might wasn't the most logical one but when jealousy poisoned every inch of my mind, one can hardly expect me to be sound. I was not afflicted with exaggeration when I said my mind was screwed.

* * *

BAM! For the umpteenth time, I was thrown against the soft mats placed in my garage – soft as it was, the impact of being slung so swiftly against the floor mats was still quite excruciating.

“Tell me again why we are even bothering with this? You're not even taking this seriously,” Sam said as sweat trickled from his forehead onto his sweat-soaked Judogi.

I stood up and attempted for another grapple only to be helplessly thrown again in a matter of seconds. “Maybe I just enjoy having you throw me around,” I said while panting heavily.

“You're weird,” Sam chuckled. It was quite an impressive sight though – a hundred and eighty pounds of pure muscle being thrown around like a weightless doll by a lithe and slender figure with the refined techniques of Judo.

“Argh!!” I roared as I stood up once again to tackle Sam, not with the Judo techniques that was futilely thought to me, but instead with pure brutality of a second-string junior quarterback. Sam knew I was fooling around and hence allowed me to tackle him to the ground while chuckling relentlessly. We were both sixteen that fall at the start of our junior year.

I lay on top of Sam in silence – we were both worn out by the exercise and hence took a moment to recuperate. My chest was pressed against his; I was able to feel the rhythmic beating of his heart and feel the ebb and flow of his chest as he breathed. My face laid beside his with my nose nuzzled up against the side of his neck; I could smell the scent distinct to Sam, a musky scent that would forever be welcome by my nose.

“I'm going to be asking Beth out tomorrow,” I said with my voice partially muffled by his neck.

“All the best,” he said with a slight smile.

“Why don't you ask Beth's best friend, Amber out tomorrow as well!” I said, as I abruptly and excitedly roused to straddle Sam's hips.

“Not interested,” he said nonchalantly. His eyes were partially dilated and I was able to stare directly into his mesmerising hazel eyes that was beautifully embedded beneath his immaculate soft eyebrows.

“Oh come on,” I whined and subsequently laid back down, with my face nestled against the front of his neck and my hair tickling his chin. “We could go on a double date!”

“There is really no point in a double date, we'd just end up ignoring them,” he said as a matter of fact and I chuckled into his neck in response.

“Do you promise that no matter which girl we end up with, no matter how hot or sweet they are, we'd still be the number one guy in each others' lives?” I asked to seek confirmation on a matter that I was already quite certain on.

“I promise,” he said softly. He began to stroke my delicate hair with his fingers as I was rubbing my nose against his neck. We lay there for the rest of the evening basking in each others' touch.

* * *

After skipping dinner and throwing a tantrum in front of my entire family , I had a brilliant thought along the lines of turning myself gay. Sure, most people would say that sexual orientation cannot be changed; but then you have the very same people believing in sexual fluidity – a bunch of hypocrites if you asked me. I thought, maybe if I tried hard enough, I would be able to learn to enjoy sex with men. The emotional part was of no concern at all since I loved Sam more than I did my very own girlfriend. Sex was the only hindrance between having the perfect relationship with Sam. I was of course assuming that Sam would find me sexually appealing as well; but come on, false modesty aside, I was pretty hot.

'Urgh, disgusting!' were the words the flashed through my mind as I surfed through the multitude of gay pornographic videos and pictures online. It was as if my dick was shrinking inwards – probably how Sam would feel if he were watching straight porn.

Though, a revelation came to me during those moments of revulsion. I closed my eyes to the gay porn on my screen and gradually bent my head backwards into a comfortable position. While trying to stroke my dick to life, I pictured Sam's soft smile in my mind. His brown eyes, gleaming with lust, gazed intently into mine. My focus slowly moved from his face to his slender torso, which now laid naked before me. A mild tingling sensation began forming in my groins. He stepped towards me and I imagined feeling his breath on my shoulders. He gradually knelt while caressing my ripped torso. I imagined feeling his moist lips on my dick, which finally was at its grown form at eight and a half inches. I could feel pre-cum leaking as I stroked faster. It was working, and that made me very happy. My fantasies grew wilder and wilder. I started imagining myself pummelling his tight virgin ass. Save my baseball cap, we were stripped of every strand of clothing. He was kneeling on all fours while I had one hand grasping his soft brown hair and the other jacking his pulsating dick. I imagined hearing his moans and squeals. Before I was even aware, I started shooting gallons of cum onto my chest.

Amidst the mirth from my new found revelation, I ran to Sam's house that very night.

* * *

“Shawn?” Sam murmured with a tinge of surprise palpable in his tone, as he opened the door before me.

“Can we talk?” I asked meekly. “In your room.”

“Code GREEN,” was all I said to him when we reached his bedroom before I shovelled him towards the wall and started planting my lips all over him. Code GREEN literally meant 'Do first, ask later'.

“Wow, Shawn, stop!” He commanded.

I stared into his eyes dumbfounded. I was bewildered at the thought that he would violate our code. The only valid excuse to break code GREEN was...

“Shawn, I am not interested in you that way,” Sam murmured. Against one's interest – the only exception to code GREEN.

Devastated was an understatement of how I felt standing there before him. It was as if I was struck by a concoction of rejection, dejection, humiliation, and a dozen of other awful emotion. I was a second away from springing out of the room.

“Code RED!” Sam yelled. Prior to that, code RED had actually never been used.

“Sit!” Sam commanded with the most unnerving gaze he can conjure.

I sat on the bed while he sat opposite me on his chair with both his hands tightly griping mine.

* * *

There was a time when my parents were not as open to the idea of Sam sleeping over all the time. Sam did have his own home after all, and it would seem a little crude to have him spend more time over at my home than his – that was the logic behind their conviction at that time. We were in grade ten. Before then we did have occasional sleepovers when Sam's parents were out of town, but that usually happened twice a month at most, and were during weekends.

Since time immemorial, I have always had trouble sleeping the night before a big important event. My first day of school for example involved my parents singing to me all night before I finally had two hours worth of sleep. After teenage self-consciousness started kicking in, that was no longer a practical option. Hence I would often suffer from sleep deprivation depending on the degree of 'importance' of the event on the following day. A big test would usually only warrant a few hours but something more considerable, say for example, the night before my first week long vacation with Sam at my family cabin, would usually warrant a sleepless night.

It all started the night before my first football game in high school in grade nine. I was whining to Sam about it and how I would screw everything up due to my lethargy from sleep deprivation. We finally came up with the idea of having him sleep over and perhaps he could sing songs to me like my parents did; or some other method he would devise. He was Sam after all, with infinite wits and ideas. I was actually hopeful that my entire football career would not be ruined by my inability to sleep like a normal person.

Convincing my parents to have him over during a school night was though, but my relentless whining combined with his sound reasoning was capable of even selling ice to the Eskimos.

“Do you really want me to sing to you?” He asked as we laid face to face, inches apart, on my bed.

A shrug was all I could muster in response.

“Oh my needy Shawn,” he whispered as he started stroking my hair. It was ironic, really. Sam is my rock in all aspects – emotionally, socially, and even physically sometimes. Standing around and looking good has been my only contribution to our relationship. Those who subscribed to the fantasy of Sam and I being in a gay relationship tend to assume that I was the dominant one and he the submissive – God knows how wrong they were. Jane was right about one thing – the entire city would not be surprised if we were getting married.

And it was that moment when his hands gently ran through my hair that I instinctively wrapped myself around his body. He was a little held back at first, but after a short moment, began running his hands along my spine in hopes of soothing me to sleep. We had never cuddle in sleep before; our prior sleepovers always involved us talking until dawn when we would inevitably fall into deep slumber unknowingly.

When I next opened my eyes, it was due to the cacophonous alarm clock. Sam laid on his back while my limbs wrapped around him with my nose deeply nuzzled in his neck. It was by far the best sleep I have ever had.

Ever since that experience, I tried to have Sam sleep over before every football game, test, date, or any other major event. My parents weren't fond of the idea at all initially. Sam had to eventually pull out the “I feel all lonely and sad in my empty house at night since my parents work all night sometimes” card in order to win over the argument.

With my parents on our side, our cuddling sessions became as frequent as three times a week.

* * *

“Now breathe!” Sam commanded again.

My anxiety was palpable as I attempted to take in deep breaths to clam myself down.

“What?” I said in snide when I heard Sam trying to suppress his giggles.

“It's been awhile since you've gone on a full-blown panic where I needed to sit you down and help you process it step by step. After you freaked out two weeks ago, I thought this time, I'd give you time to sort things out by yourself. But I guess I just have to relent to the fact that you're a wreck without me,” Sam said as he removed my back-tilted baseball cap and ran his fingers through my hair.

“Not helping,” I said; though I was too trying to suppress the smile elicited by Sam's ever-reassuring touch.

“Alright, start from the beginning,” Sam said solemnly.

“So, you're gay,” I uttered meekly, to which Sam nodded.

“And that means we can't be best friends any more!” My tone rose due to the emotional implication of my words.

“No, that's not how it works; come on, step by step, we've done this before,” Sam said calmly.

“You're gay; you'd probably find a boyfriend who'd you do all the stuff with – all the stuff we do. And then he'd replace me and you wouldn't need a best guy friend any more. But then I thought if I were gay, I can be your boyfriend and we can do all the stuff together and still be best friends! But then you don't love me that way and now we can't be best friends any more!” I blabbered.

Sam noticed that I was quivering violently and decided to lay me down on his bed, hoping to place me in a more comfortable position. Though as soon as we laid ourselves on bed, I instinctively curled up to him, nuzzled my nose to his neck, and wrapped my limps around his torso; as if it were the most natural thing to do.

He then gently stroked his fingers up and down my hair, nape and back before continuing our discussion. “So before I told you I was gay, you never thought about how a girlfriend would come in between our friendship?” Sam asked.

“Well, not really. I mean, look at Beth, we'd have sex with each other, we'd show each other off in school and to other people, and that's about it. Aren't that what girlfriends are for?” I replied frankly. That statement might have sounded too naïve, but that was what I genuinely believed at that time. I believed that a girlfriend or a wife is just this girl society expected you to have – someone to show to the public, to relieve your sexual urges with, and to maybe bear children with you. I really had no shred of doubt that the person whom I'd be happy with, whose shoulders I'd cry on, and whom I'd share my life with was no other than Sam.

“But boyfriends are different?” Sam asked with no trace of condescension. Sam was perhaps the only one who knew how my mind worked, and also perhaps the only one who would genuinely not pass any judgement on my peculiarities.

“Aren't they? I mean, were your boyfriend good at martial arts, would we still get to wrestle like we do? Were your boyfriend on a football team playing against me, would you still cheer for me? Were your boyfriend good in everything I'm good at, would you still want to spend your life with me?” I asked, tears brimming in my eyes.

“Yes, yes, and definitely yes,” Sam answered firmly. “Just like you, I might find someone I'm sexually attracted to, someone I'd want to make out with, and someone I'd like to show off as my boyfriend. But also just like how you'd love me and only me, I'd love you and only you.”

And with that confirmation, I fell asleep while basking in the warmth and sense of security emanating from Sam; peacefully and soundly.

* * *

As the years went by, and as Sam and I spent more time together, I realised how naïve my reaction was to all that that happened. Society might have expectations on how sex, sexuality and romance should pan out across the human race. Most people might fit into these expectations, but some definitely do not.

Sam and I seldom expect people to understand our relationship. “I don't think that's how it's supposed to work”, “I think something is mentally wrong with you”, “ Maybe you guys had some traumatic experiences when you were younger,” and “I think you'd be happier if you engage in a healthier relationship” were amongst the comments we got the few times we attempted to explain our relationship.

It can be upsetting at times that others fail to accept us the way we are, but it is only minuscule in comparison with the happiness we provide each other with; and of course the happiness Alex provides us with. I haven't mention Alex, have I? Well, Alex is part of the family.

* * *

“Daddy! Papa nearly got into an accident!” Alex shouted as he burst from the door before scuttling to his room.

“What?!” I stood up in shock with a visible frown.

“He's exaggerating! Though I really should never ever drive,” said Sam and he walked in the door.

“How can you be so selfish as to put the two most important people in my life at risk?” I quipped as I guided him to our living room while massaging his shoulders. Yes, OUR living room.

We used to have a few sexual partners of our own once in awhile. Though that stopped ever since Alex joined our little quirky family. It would be quite impossible to articulate our family dynamics in words. The simplest way to put it is that we are three people living happily together.