Justin has just a great personality. I was just completely drawn to it. He is as gay as it gets, but nobody knows but me.

This happened in tenth grade, on the verge of turning fifteen.

I sat in the back of Ms. Johnson’s American Literature class. Being one of the brightest kids in the class, I could pretty much just sit there and stare at the back of Justin’s head. I could draw his entire rear structure without even looking at him. He was always extremely happy, very flamboyant, but he had the hottest girlfriend in the school. That did not throw me off one bit. He had the smile—the smile that only a gay guy wears all the time—yes, the stereotypical, happy, show-all-teeth smile.

The perfect tan didn’t stop with his neck; his face was a great shade of light brown, the very sexy color that a well-tanned Caucasian boy gets. His clothes were top of the line fashion.

I remember on the day of our Christmas party in English (The smart kids get to do all of this fun stuff like breakfast and parties and whatnot) He was wearing mesh jogging pants with a figure hugging top. The mesh seemed to be floating on top of his hot, gorgeous, sweet ass. I thought out the whole situation where I would screw him senseless as he moaned in pleasure. I wanted to do things to him that I never wanted to do to anyone. I wanted to throw him around in a very forceful, sexy way; I wanted to slam him into walls as I kissed and bit his lips.