The Greatest Lie Part 1

The greatest lie that they tell you is that what happens in high school doesn't really matter: that life begins in college. I pretended to agree, though I never believed it. For as you will see, I am the world's greatest liar.

"Take Sadie Hawkins Day, for example," I said to my buddy Quinn as we hung around outside the art room, "what chickenshit! Just a chance for some cheerleader wannabee airheads to feed the egos of their dumb jock boyfriends."

"And their libidos," Quinn remarked sourly. Barb and Anne, our all-too-platonic art room friends, nodded their heads in agreement. They were far too hip to invite me or Quinn.

"Let's go to the Bergman film festival instead, Alex," Barb suggested.

I nodded in agreement, but did not commit. For the girl who lived inside me knew it was a lie. She would have been thrilled to ask a boy to go to a Sadie Hawkins dance, to spin in endless blind circles across the dance floor with her love, tiara glinting in the strobe lights, before collapsing into passion and bliss. But not with any of the slobs and idiots that ruled this school: the stupid pampered jocks who hassled me in the locker room and bumped me in the halls; the dopers who mocked me from their outpost in the quad; or the motorheads that eyed me with contempt mixed with pure aggression as they spat "maricon" or "faggot" at me whenever circumstances forced me into their path. Our school's thugs may have been complete idiots when it came to anything but petty crime or cars, but they seemed to be able to look through me into my secret soul.

Inside myself hid a girl whose existence was kept secret from my mom and dad and my art room friends. She never came out except at night, when I lay in my bed and stroked my modest dick while dreaming of being fondled, trussed, and ravished by imaginary male lovers. Each night, my imaginary breasts swelled with fantasy implants, and my ass was penetrated by many phantom cocks before I finally came, my ass up and my face buried in shame in my pillows.