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    D.K. Daniels
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Stories posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you. 
p style="text-align:center;"> As They Say is available for purchase in eBook and Paperback, if you'd like to support my venture as an author.

Links to Amazon and Google via my website - www.dk-daniels.com 

As They Say - (Revised) - 22. Entry 30

27th May 1991:

Well, today wasn't as bad. After breakfast, I headed over to Carl's since I agreed to help him on the farm. It's a weird notion to comprehend, and I wouldn't usually say something like this out loud, but I enjoyed feeding pigs and shovelling horse shit.

When I see Carl doing something like this, I wouldn't be so enthusiastically inclined to actually do it. It felt like I was helpful for the first time in God knows how long. I had a moment to think about everything that has happened over the last week or two. I'm a bit confused, and I'm not sure what I'm supposed to do. Considering I live in the middle of nowhere, all I can do is contemplate. So, while I was shovelling horse manure and feeding pigs, there was a state where I reached absolute clarity. I'm pretty sure now that Ross is flirting with me. I'm getting a vibe from him, not a bad vibe. It's like the sort of vibe that, agh… I have no idea how to describe it; it's just there.

It's like Ross knows who I am and what I'm hiding. Yet, at the same time, it feels like I know what Ross is hiding.

Is it possible Ross is gay?

I'm not sure if I'm gay; all I know is I like boys. I don’t know how to go about this though, with Ross. I’m afraid I’ll mess up. What if I don’t tell him? What if I told him? It could be good. Telling Ross is a different matter entirely; but he's just too cute to pass up. I really need to tell him how I feel, though. Out of all that time I had to myself this morning, I didn't come up with a logical way of telling Ross how I feel. All I could find was this constant static.

While shovelling, Carl chatted as he rolled the wheelbarrow in and out to collect the horse shit I was scooping up.

Carl stopped the wheelbarrow short of me and then continued the conversation where we left off every time he returned. Carl rested for a second and let me fill the next batch to the brim; he cautiously drove the conversation forward.

"Ross is cool, ain't he?" Carl said.

I said, "Yeah, he's all right... "

Carl pivoted his head up and down, agreeing with me. Out of nowhere, he asked, "So what were you guys doing away from the group yesterday?"

I began to panic; we weren't doing anything. All we were doing was chasing each other. I pursued Ross so that I could inevitably paintball him. Though it turned into an accident. I have no idea why I began to panic, but I just did. The way Carl hinted that there is something there... I don't know.

Is Carl trying to pry information out of me? Did Carl catch us in close quarters?

We weren't kissing or touching, or anything inappropriate like that. I just froze. I couldn't come up with a reasonable excuse, not that we needed one.

I offered, "Paintballing."

Carl chuckled, and he just plucked up his next wheelbarrow load and sauntered out the door like it was no big deal. I stood there apprehensively waiting for his return; I was thinking up what to say next. I knew that when Carl came back through the door, he would inevitably drag on about it. I leaned the shovel against the wall, and I began to pace around the room, attempting to gather myself.

Does Carl know that I am gay? He can't tell, right? I don't look at Carl weirdly.

I hope I'm not looking at him weirdly.

I'm not.

Are my glances and admiration for Ross all that noticeable? Does Ross know of the way I'm looking at him? Oh God, what if my Mam recognises?

What will I do?

Why am I dead set that Ross is gay? Ross hasn't done anything weird. Well, there is that statement in the tent and a couple of funny looks, but nothing like... gay.

When Carl returned, a lump developed in the back of my throat. It felt like someone had put a rope in there entirely and just began pulling from each end, and the tighter it got, the harder it was to breathe. There was pulsing in my throat even though I wasn't talking. It reminded me of when I stayed home sick from school because of a throat infection.

Carl could sense the vibe in the room, but as I began to fill the next shipment of horse manure cautiously, he took his break and pressed on.

"So, you are hanging out with him a lot?” Carl asked.

If I wasn't petrified by then, and Carl did not pick up on it, then he must be genuinely blind. I felt like I was going to faint. What is Carl trying to insinuate?

I couldn't think of a valid excuse, and I pride myself on being the master of excuses, but for all the reasons unknown, I couldn't come up with one. So instead, I just scooped faster and flung the crap into the barrow. I guess it was my logical reasoning for getting rid of Carl faster. When I filled it to the brim one time, Carl didn't move; he just stood there for a moment and glanced at me. He appeared to be waiting for my response; that's when I remembered I hadn't given one. Here I was scrounging in agony about how to handle this interaction. If I said the wrong thing, I'd out myself. I swallowed hard, attempting to not faint with fear.

I said, "Yeah, I like having Ross around; he hasn't got many friends. Besides, he lives next door to me, so it's obvious that we see each other a little bit more."

You should have seen the relief after Carl accepted this as a reasonable excuse. He pondered for a moment and then picked up the wheelbarrow and then left again. I slumped with ease; I could have sunk to the ground like chocolate melting in a hot desert. It felt like heaven and hell had opened up, but I wasn't too sure who wanted me first.

It felt like an interrogation on my behalf, not that I like them— actually, scratch that who loves interrogations? They're invasive and never really any good.

When Carl returned, he let the wheelbarrow slack, and it made a massive clump. The metallic sound ricocheted throughout the room, and I got the impression that Carl was... I don't know, a little bit bothered. But Carl just carried on with what we set out to do. As another couple of wheelbarrow loads went, only a couple of interactions were made between the two of us. With the last batch loaded, you could practically see the concrete in the stables; and I was sweating from all the work.

Topping it off, Carl asked, "Am I not fun anymore?"

Carl didn't appear to be referencing anything to Ross and me. It was only after he mentioned it that I finally clued into the bigger picture. It made sense, right? Carl thinks that I'm choosing Ross over him. Though he didn't seem overly mad about the situation, he was just merely asking. I felt bad. I wasn't intentionally trying to ignore him. It's just… ugh… Ross is like a once-in-a-lifetime thing.

 

I just said, "No, man, you're still my best friend. I just feel for him because he has no friends. Plus, please don't tell anyone, but… his parents are splitting up."

Carl reflected a bit and then gave me a grateful smile. I haven't seen one of those in so long. It made me feel gooey inside, like a hot chocolate cookie that has a delicious melted middle. It all made sense now; Carl was just worried about our friendship. Which is kind of cute when you think of it. Carl has taken our relationship seriously; I admire that about him.

 

After lunch, John kept his promise. He took us into Ballyoran to get a late lunch and then from there, we went to Killarney. I didn't know what Carl and I were going to do while his dad went shopping. John said he needed to get some parts for a tractor, and Carl said he needed to get a new pair of shoes. I'd accompany Carl on his pursuit of finding a new pair of runners. I couldn't help but feel relaxed, doing nothing other than shopping for glamorous things on a gorgeous day like today. The sun was splitting the trees; I could've been swimming out in the lake, but no, I felt content spending it with Carl shoe shopping and scooping up shit.

We went into Shoes Galore, which is off the main street. The place was swarming with tourists, and it made navigating the path slower. Nothing unusual there; it just sometimes feels like it's overbearing considering they are right on your back door. This is the nearest town for miles if you want to get anything halfway decent.

I patiently sat staring as Carl transitioned from one set of shoes to the next and walk by like a runway model. I couldn't help but glance around occasionally. I never really noticed this about town before, but there are people of all different races, nationalities, religions, and ideologies. Thanks, religion; I knew you'd come in handy someday. I felt so grown-up for some weird reason; I never noticed it before, but I seem to see it now. I realise that there are millions more than me who are quite more varied. It made me wonder if I'm like this and possibly Ross, then that means there could be a lot more people like Ross and me.

I can't help but wonder how many people there are. It doesn't matter what colour your skin is, whether you're a boy or girl. It's how we approach others that counts. Don't treat somebody in a way you wouldn't like to be treated yourself. What happens if you're a girl that likes another girl or you're a boy that fancies another boy? Does that make you different to the rest of the world? I guess so; that's the only little thing that's different from everybody.

Scratch that out, Adam.

Nobody has everything in common; everybody is different in some way or another. But the human skeleton is universal. I think people look at what's on the outside and say it's a boy, and that is a girl. But beneath it all, we are no more alike than we are different.

What I'm trying to say is just because you're perceived as being a boy or girl doesn't mean you're naturally expected to be a boy or a girl. Or... whether you're supposed to like what the world tells you you're supposed to like. The way I see it, I think boys and girls should like whoever they want. It is like selecting your favourite type of music or your favourite colour. Not quite, but it does help if that's what you're interested in. Right??? It has to be because it's a lot more complicated than that. No one person likes the same music; the only thing that everybody has in common is our bodies. Well, minus the mickey and vagina. Other than that, everyone is theoretically the same.

I can't explain it, but I was in a state of WOW for the rest of the day. I couldn't care what shoes Carl got. I was more in tune about what was going on around me, rather than what was happening with just me. I wonder how awful it would feel, feeling trapped in a body you don't feel like you belong in. That's how I feel; like I shouldn't be this way, but it just won't leave me alone.

 

Anyway, I guess the rest of the news is mediocre; Carl got his cool Nike runners, and we called it quits after we got back to his house. Come to think of it, I haven't done you know what in a while. I'm going to have an early night; I think it's probably best for everyone. So, with that, I'm going to settle down for the night, play with myself, and hopefully fall asleep. Then tomorrow, I'm going to meet with Ross and tell him how much I adore him.

Well, night,

Adam

Copyright © 2023 D.K. Daniels; All Rights Reserved.
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p style="text-align:center;"> Thanks for reading, if you liked the chapter, let me know what you thought. If you want to read uninterrupted, consider grabbing a copy.

Links to Amazon and Google via my website - www.dk-daniels.com 

Stories posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you. 
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