Mortimer Part 2: High School Changes

Mortimer Part 2: High School Changes

In the year 1998, Mortimer and I entered high school. Being freshmen, we were on the bottom on the food chain. Not too many senior students messed with us because we were already bigger than the majority of them. Yes, me too. Puberty and fast food had given me the gift of obesity. It didn't help that I liked lifting weights with Mortimer because I enjoyed hearing him explain things to me. Mortimer was at best an average student. I knew that it made him feel inferior at times, but when it came to sport-related activities, I was the idiot. It was a pleasure to listen and watch him confidently teach me about proper lifting techniques, exercise, and diet.

By the time we entered our sophomore year, we began to resemble one another. Our deep set in eyes and full lips became our trademarks, although Mortimer's nose was wider than mine. My skin color darker than his. The main difference was that Mortimer was popular and I not so much. He quickly became a favored defense player of our high school football team. He was very popular with the ladies and envied by the boys. Our friendship seemed to trouble some students. It was to be expected because not too many popular male students would be caught dead speaking to the gay guy. Mortimer started to feel the peer pressure to completely reject our friendship weigh upon him. One day, he came up with a solution:

“I'm'a start telling people that we're cousins.” He proposed.
“Cousins?”
“Yeah, everybody asks why we're friends. They think that we mess around... and I'm tired of it. So for now on, we're family.”
“But I am not Latino and you don't want anybody to confuse you for a Black person.”
“Doesn't matter. Just tell people you're half Dominican but you speak English at home.”
“So you want me to lie to the entire school because you're ashamed of me. That's wonderful.”
“Shit, Marcus. No! I ain't ashamed of you. It's just that... you know how people are. They always have something to say. I mean... don't take it the wrong way.”

I realized that I wasn't the only person who had to bear the cross of my homosexuality. Those who chose to associate with me, in a way had to bear it as well. That realization caused me to put my pride aside for just a moment.

“Alright, we're cousins.”

This agreement made some significant changes in my social capital. The fact that I was now related to one of the most popular guys in the school somehow made me more approachable. People who had previously walked past me without even looking at me in the eye were now greeting me. Yet, the biggest boost in my popularity came from an unexpected turn of events.

Juan Fernandez was the star quarterback of the football team. His father was also an accomplished quarterback who in his day almost made it the NFL. Parents have the tendency to live vicariously through their children and Juan Sr. was no exception. Since age 3, Juan had been immersed in the world of football. Surprisingly, Juan hated the sport but played it for the love of his father. Soon enough, Juan had a minor breakdown a few days before the championship game. He closed himself in his bedroom and refused to come out. Mortimer begged me to speak with him. I agreed.

I arrived to the Fernandez residence and was greeted by his parents and Coach Winters. The coach was oddly happy to see me because he would normally cringe every time he saw me.

I went to Juan's bedroom door and simply opened it. I found him in his bed, curled up in a ball, covered with a blanket.

“Juan. What the hell is wrong with you?”
“What? How'd you get in here?”
“The door wasn't locked. What are you doing in here?”
“I don't want to play football anymore.”
“Why don't you want to play football?”
“'Cause I don't want to!”
“I bet your father wants you do. Am I right?”
“Well, fuck him. It's all about me now.”
“And it should be, Juan. But there's one problem. Despite of the real reason why you signed up to play this year, when you did it you accepted the responsibility of being a player.”
“Well, fuck the responsibility!”
“Juan, I will tell you something that my father has always told me. A part of being an adult is doing the things that we don't want to do. Your decision not to play doesn't only affect you. It affects the team, and in turn, the school. It's going to be a long rest of the school year if you decide not to play this game.”

My words made a difference. Juan played the championship game and it was ironically the best game of his career. Our team won the championship and everybody was at peace. Juan then focused his energy on his true passion; break-dancing. Sadly, years later he died due to a freak accident during a dance competition. But I'd say he died a happy man.

After helping Juan, I became the unofficial school psychiatrist. Numerous students would approach me with their issues. The answers were obvious but I suppose coming from me, they were a source of comfort. My illegal psychiatric practice and my imaginary family relation with Mortimer made me the most popular nerd in the school. But it didn't save me from being bothered by one of my classmates.

As I explained earlier, I was no longer the scrawny little boy back in elementary school. Everything on me was big, including my rear end. My change in body size seemed to come without any warning. I didn't even realize until I wore a pair of sweatpants that I assumed still fit me to school. There was a group of football players seated at the bench by the school office. All three were staring at me as I walked past and one of them said, “Damn.”

“I ain't goin say it, man.” One of them said.
“I will, homeboy gotta big ass booty!”

The words of the bold one echoed in my head. That afternoon, I found myself in the Big and Tall section to shop for more suitable fitting clothing. From the moment on, the loudmouth that insulted me became obsessed with my ass. I worked as a teacher's assistant in his English class. He would spend the hours making jokes about my body. It got so bad that the teacher asked me if I wanted to file a sexual harassment complaint against him. I declined. I had bigger plans for Anthony Stevens.

I was changed to another physical education class after getting into a shouting match with Coach Winters when I refused to suit up for class for the third time. I ended up in Ms. Blaine's class and Anthony was also a student. The day before my transfer, Anthony had ran up behind me and gave my ass a hard slap in front of a huge group of students. I can still feel the sting today. I had about enough of him. If Anthony wanted ass, then that's what he was going to get.

In Ms. Blaine's class, my chronic refusal to suit-up was not an issue. I had bought several pairs of brightly colored spandex shorts and I wore them for every class. The first day I wore red, and Anthony had field day making jokes about it. The jokes didn't bother me anymore. I just wanted to get inside the boy's head. By the time the yellow shorts had made their debut, Anthony couldn't keep his eyes off my rear. Sometimes, I would make my cheeks twitch just to mess with him even more.

Ms. Blaine was ill one day and Coach Winters had to fill in for her. He didn't approve of my attire but at least I suited up. He told us we were going to do a mile run since it was nice outside. As soon as we started running, Anthony started up with his jokes. At this point, the students were no longer laughing and stopped paying attention. I ran at my own pace and Anthony kept up behind me. When I saw that it was pretty much he and I running in the park next to the school, I reached back and purposefully adjusted my shorts. I looked back at Anthony and smiled and then turned towards a wooded area. Anthony followed. I stopped behind several trees and Anthony stopped in front of me.

“Is your ass so big 'cause you're a faggot?” He asked, nearly out of breath.
“Could be. Why do you talk about it so much?”
“Because you show it off so much, it's like you want people to talk about it.”
“No, Anthony. I prefer that people look at it. But I really want somebody to touch it.”
Anthony gulped a little.
“Wa wa wa... why? Why you want that?”
“Because it feels good, Anthony. (moving closer to him) You wanna touch my ass?”

Anthony had the classic dumbfounded look of lust in his eyes. I took his hand and moved it closer to my ass. He strongly grabbed my buttocks and looked into my eyes, smiling.

“Damn... It feels... hella good. You got me on the hard, wanna see it?”
I was about to have my first sexual experience but...
“What the fuck are you two doing?!” Coach Winters barked. Anthony took off running and left me with the angry coach.
“I suggest that you cruise on your own time, boy.” The Coach coldly said to me.
“Cruise? Interesting vocabulary for a straight man. See you later.” I tried to take off running but the Coach grabbed my arm.
“You watch your mouth and stay in a child's place.”
“And I suggest you stay in an educator's place and unhand me. It's just you and I here, and I could be very convincing if I were to speak to the proper authorities.”

The Coach let me go and I took off running but not without looking back and giving him the appropriate smirk. Our battle had only begun. The important thing was that my plan worked, Anthony was so freaked out about the minor gay experience we shared that he never said a word about my body again. What I didn't expect was how much I was turned on by it all.

It's clear that I should explain what I had against Coach Winters. He had this overcompensating masculinity, speaking in a tone so low that I'm sure harmed his vocal cords. He would march around campus like a drill sargent wearing the classic shorts and t-shirt that once fit him perfectly in his high school days. If he moved too much, his round hairy belly would pop out and often he would neglect to lower his shirt. His small shorts did nothing to hide his huge rear and sizable package. Looking back, I probably had a physical crush on the Coach but his attitude made him a target for my insults.

The first day we met was during a workout session with Mortimer. Winters walked into the room and his eyes glowed upon seeing me.

“Hey Mortimer, who's your friend?” Winters asked.
“This is Marcus. Marcus, this is our coach.” Mortimer replied.
“Nice to meet you. You know, it's not too late to sign up for the team this year, big man.”
“Thanks, but I'm not keen on sports.” I answered while Mortimer began to laugh.
“Well, you just think about it. There's a lot of perks that come with being on our team. Aside from the attention you'll get from the ladies, I can also make sure that your teachers go easy on you. Easy C's. Your GPA will never look better.”

At this point, Mortimer returned to his weight-lifting. He knew that the Coach was basically asking for what happened next.

“I believe I have an even better idea. I'll just spend my afternoons slamming my body against the concrete in the school parking lot instead of studying. That way, I can develop life-long injuries while doing a worthless activity at a faster rate.”

From that moment on, Coach Winters hated my guts.

I found Mortimer during our lunch break and had to tell him all about the incident with Anthony and the Coach.

“Bullshit!”
“Mortimer, I swear to you it's true.”
“Wow, look at Mr. Hookup. Don't tell me you're going to start hanging out by the gloryhole in the boy's locker room.”
“Don't worry about that. Either way, that's the Coach's territory.”

Yes, there was a hole in the boy's locker room and according to legend, the Coach did the drilling. The hole was located in the wall near the main changing area. Nobody knew what laid on the other side of the wall and nobody had the nerve to ask. Every once in a while, the maintenance man would come around and sloppily apply putty over the hole. Of all the materials in the world, putty. My instinct told me that there was some storage area on the other side of the wall. The messy queen in me said that the Coach probably had a stool in that storage area to make viewing comfortable.

Surely, Coach Winters felt us talking about him because the devil himself came strutting around the corner smiling at Mortimer and grimacing at me. And I thought he was done playing with me. My move was next.
“I hear you like to look into holes.” I stated.


The Coach stopped in mid-march and turned in my direction. His manhood wouldn't allow him to express the feeling of utter shock that he had to be feeling. No student, not even the football players spoke to the Coach the way that I did, and nobody ever will. The Coach stood before me, a few inches away from my face, making eye-contact. I sort of wanted to kiss him and I wasn't sure if it was in a taunting way or not.

“Oh yeah?” he asked in his lowest possible register.
“That's what I heard.” I said, looking right back into his eyes.
“Well, I don't look into holes. I plug 'em up. Alright?”
“Alright.” I replied. I was tempted to say, 'with your dick?' but it was clear that I was already pressing my luck.

After the Coach Winters walked away, Mortimer grabbed my shoulder.

“Man, what the hell?! Are you crazy?! He's going to get you suspended!”
“He won't. Relax. He likes the attention.” I knew the kind of of man with whom I was dealing. Although he would never admit it, he respected me for what I said.
“But still, you have to... wow...”

Mortimer's statement was interrupted by a large presence walking by. I admit this being caught my eye too. Thick legs, round buttocks, broad shoulders, and long hair?

“Hey, Mort.” The strong woman said with an impressive baritone.
“What's up, Lua.” Mortimer said.

The feminine power lifter continued down the hall with her large rump following behind her. I looked back at Mortimer and the tiny pool of drool collecting near his feet.

“Marcus, I think I love that girl.”
“Pardon?”
“I mean, I really like her.”
“She's a lot of woman. Are you sure you can handle that?”
“I don't know. I think that's why I like her. You know, you have everything I want in a woman. But, you're a dude. If I can find the female version of you, I would be happy.”
“Let's walk home, Mortimer. And just so you know, I am not a fan of incest, cousin.”
“Shut the fuck up!” Mortimer replied, laughing.

The gentle giant and I walked home together for the first time in many months. During the walk it felt as if the outside interferences no longer mattered. I wasn't the fictitious cousin that he could use to deflect any comment questioning his sexual preference, I was just his friend. I relished in this experience with him knowing that it would be hard to come by in the future. We looked into each
others eyes, finished each others sentences, and sometimes his hand rested on my shoulder. Perhaps, Mortimer was right. If I didn't see him like a brother, we would be perfect for one another. Aside from the fact that I wasn't an amateur powerlifter with a vagina and he didn't like boys.