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Introduction to Reality

      To begin to comprehend me, you must first understand who I am. Andrew is the same as any queer here or anywhere. I am who you are because we're all queer just differently: some of us are sexually queer, others are mentally queer and even still others are so queer we call them freaks. Andrew is a bit of each. We're here we're queer nothing is so poignant to tell the animal race of our impending takeover if we haven't already. Let's talk about Andrew for a while and why I named this essay the memoirs of a dying child. I, Andrew of some soundness and state of mind, will respond to the charges of my homosexuality, bisexuality, asexuality, "antisexuality", "choasexualty" or nothingness (so many labels so little time).

      I believe I coined the collective of T.A.F.R.A.D.O.T.: The Association for Research and Development of Trans-dimensional-sexuality. There has to be such a group the world couldn't spin without it; I'm rambling, it's a bad habit of mine.

      I look queer to you, don't I? Oh wait this is a letter and you can't see me.

      I guess I'll have to tell you a bit about myself and you can come to your own conclusions. I was born in the autumn of 1975. It only took me eight or nine years to discover the meaning of pain. In the summer of 1984 and until the summer of '86 I was molested, raped, forced to commit acts of perversion, tortured mentally, annihilated morally, humiliated and I go on. Though I believe this did not affect my physical stability, it destroyed my emotional stability.

      In nineteen eighty-eight I attended a private high school were I was exposed to my first sexual experience with boys of my own age. These experiences usually took place in the showers after gym, where I'd let Robert, David or William become my lovers. Robert used to enjoy spraying his piss on me and then having me finger his ass till he came. David was a big guy who loved to ram his hard cock deep into me either in my ass or my mouth. William was special he liked the idea of having a slave and he was my master for my most high school experience. If he'd ask me to suck him off, I would, if he'd tell me to suck someone I'd do that too, he once rented me to Mr. Bellows our science teacher.

      I was seventeen by the time I graduated high school, William had found a younger boy for his adventures and I fell in love with a handsome butch gyrl, Samantha. Sam and I were living perfectly or so it seemed.

      But I was seventeen and at seventeen we're still young, immature, bastard pricks who don't understand why life is supposed to be so good and it's really a fucked up hell-hole. I wanted to die and get it over with, Sam saw my pain and she introduced me to Justin with whom I built a powerful and intense relationship. One night while I sucked his nipple he told about his fantasies of raping me and I remember wanting it so much.

      One day, while I walked to my car, in a dark parking lot, a man jumped out of the darkness and slammed my head against my car. He spread me out on the hood and forced down my pants. I could feel the blood trickle down my face. The man pulled down my pants and slid his long hard cock into me and fucked me with long deep strokes. One of his hands held my head down on the hood while the other stroked my cock furiously. I remember cumming and passing out. The next day, I awoke in Justin's apartment, my head was sore and my body numb. I was shocked by the realization that I was tied down to bed... there was something hard in my ass that I couldn't figure.

      But wait, this is all very personal now and you don't want to hear personal stuff, maybe later in the further pages of the memoirs of a dying child.

The Rape

      The summer of nineteen eighty-four, I had my first true sexual experience, although it was one I didn't want (weird me not wanting sex but that was how sick the experience was to me).

      Let me remember I was about eight, I believe at the time I had been at my friend George's house, oh George now there was a boy who could have been something. George and I were close friends, my first feelings for a boy were for George but his brother wanted more from me.

      His brother Glen only wanted sex, there was nothing sensual about him. The first time he fucked me it was without feeling. I was just another whore to him. I had gone to the bathroom to piss and he had followed me in and watched, he was a voyeur. I couldn't piss cause he was there and he got upset. He slapped me across the face, pulled out his cock and forced me to suck it until he pissed something in my mouth. I'm not complaining about the taste though, I kind of like that, but it is the moral that goes along with it (there I go again, talking about things that I know nothing about).

      These sexual activities went for about two years. Sometimes he would fuck me, let me remind you that my ass was smaller then. Sometimes I would suck him off. Once he even took some quite graphic pictures of me in various positions, he even made a movie of me having sexual experiences with George (under any other circumstance it would have been fun).

      This may seem as if I'm taking these experiences in a very nonchalant way, but it really does perturb me a lot when I think of what happened. I've come up with dozens of reasons why Glen did these things, but they all fall short of any possible reason. It's quite reasonable that he was sicker than I have thought.

      Though something good has come from this experience, for now I believe I can live forever queer. Some fags get beaten to death, or almost, by skins or thugs, some others catch diseases. I think I've already paid my dues. I paid it with my pride and that's something that's hard to get back (it's even harder than Kurt).

Robert & David

      My life recovered some normality after George and Glen moved away in nineteen eighty-six. In June of 1988, I graduated grade school with 90s; so my parents, the unsuspecting people they are, decided to enroll me in a private high school (to enrich my social existence and to get me out of their hair).

      I attended and lived at Sir John Weatherby high, this is where I was exposed to my first mutual sexual experience. Sir John Weatherby high was a boys' school, the only people of the opposite sex there were some of the teachers, well I believe they were anyway.

      My first friend was David, he was a rugby player and had an impressive build. He and Robert shared a room with me, initially we lived three to a room and that was quite crowded. Anyway, I used to help David with his math, french and Latin homework and he'd pay me back by letting me suck him off after gym class. I loved the taste of his sweat, especially the smell of his sweaty cock.

      I was caught one afternoon sucking him off by Robert, who had watched until David had cum. Robert walked in the room and said he wouldn't tell the dean (cause sex between students was punished with expulsion) if I'd suck him as well, which I did. Robert's prick reminded me of a dogs'; it was long and thin, unlike David's, which was (please excuse my french) meaty.

      David had barely made it into this school, his parents, both wealthy, new some people in high places helped get him here. Even if it was against his own judgement. David excelled in sports, during the summer he played rugby and in the winter he played hockey. Robert, on the other hand, was, more of what people call, a nerd, except without the glasses and pocket protector. He was a ninety's student. The thing I most enjoyed about Robert was that he had admitted about being queer to his conservative family (this may seem racist to say but they were Jewish as well). They sent him to this school to set him "straight", aren't parents smart.

      In my second year, Robert, David and I were placed in the same gym class this was my first gym class, so I was looking forward to the group shower (I've never been untacky). The courses were long, though they did build up in the anticipation department. My first shower I had twenty handsome and not so handsome (and some gruesome) boys around me, including David and Robert. I remember watching Simon and Richard, two boys who were also in my math class, screw each other. I went over to them, dropped on my knees and began to suck Richard off, he shot so violently in my mouth that I almost choked on his cum. When they were finished they just walked away without saying a word, leaving me aroused and unfinished.

      Robert had something in mind, when everyone else had left, including David, he told me to get on my knees while he stood over me. He then began to piss. I felt his hot urine splash against my back, it was wonderful.

      When we returned to our room, David was waiting for us. As I closed the door, I pulled off my pants and forced my cock into David's unsuspecting mouth. I felt Robert trying to push his cock in my ass. David put his hands on my ass and pushed my cock deeper into his mouth. Robert found his target and painfully fucked my ass. He kissed my neck as I rocked between David's mouth and Robert's wanting cock. Robert came simultaneously with me. Robert pulled out of me and put his pants back on and started his homework.

      David had other ideas he turned me around and sucked on my anus, sticking his tongue deep inside, chills ran up and down my spine. He walked over to his desk and pulled out a jar of Vaseline. He coated his hand with some and returned to me. Slowly he pushed a finger in my ass and finger-fucked me for several minutes, then he slid another one in and did the same until he had his entire fist was inserted. He managed to get it in up to his wrist, at that point it was too much for me and I passed out. The next morning I awoke with a crippling pain, he never fisted me again though I silently wish he had.

Xmass

      Xmas is a time for giving, sharing and being lonely, even when you're with someone. The holiday season seems isolating.

      The first Xmas I spent away from home was with Justin. I spent the night laying on his hard, slightly fuzzy chest while staring at the Xmas tree and wondering where I'd be next year.

      Last Xmas I spent alone in my apartment sitting with my back to the couch and wondering why I was alone. It seems that Xmas is just a time to get together and remember all your sorrows. When you reach a certain age, the gifts stop having any meaning, other then the satisfaction of receiving something. I do agree with some that Xmas is the warmest and most open season of the year.

      I remember when I was kid, how I'd used to get excited on Xmas morning, getting up at four in the morning to open gifts, waking the whole house with me. Those are my fondest memories of Xmas. There are the parties, the loved ones, the family that you haven't seen since last year and "the joy" but those memories only come from old photographs.

      I've cried every Xmas for the deaths of those I've loved and lost and for the friends whom I've lost to my own insecurities and lovers lost to lost love.

      Do you remember the first time you heard a Xmas carol?

      Around this time of year the child in me crawls up through the murk and despair of my life to see that beautiful snow fall and try to wait up for Santa Claus.

Memoirs of a Dying Child

      This is what you've come to read, my life story and what a story it is. I'd ask you what you think but I can just hear the responses: whore, slut, slave, faerie, cocksucker, camp, queen, butch, goddess; Yes I am, I am all these and more.

      I've become some fifteen-year-olds wet-dream come true. I'm that guy who sucked you off on the bus last night. I'm that young boy you played with in the bathroom. I'm simply arrogant and egotistical. What do I say? What do I care? I'm the fag, the whore, if God is empty then I'll fill him up (oh that's sick).

      I could describe myself to you and still you'd never know who I am. Some say I'm six feet tall, others say taller; some say I'm six inches long, others say longer (no one who's met me, has ever said shorter).

      I've slept with beauties and beasts, monsters and creeps, sluts and whores, masters and slaves; I've been with them all, I've been them all and I'm more, I'm full of it but then the less you know the more I can tell you.

      My life is that of lies and truths: the lies are true and the truths are lies; And so am I or am I? What you believe and don't, may not be what others believe. Truth has always been in the eyes of the beholder, but no one beholds the truth.

Music, Art, Fashion and Life

      Ah music, something I do enjoy in quantity and quality. It's hard being a queen and not like disco, but I get along pretty good. The style has little to be desired. I grew up in the eighties with eighties music; the soundtracks to top gun, footloose, dirty dancing, (and of course) leftover ABBA. What can I say, my parents loved disco...

      It's not my fault my father used to listen to big band jazz and other "great swinging music", it wasn't until the nineties that jazz became fashionable once again.

      But I've never followed musical trends, I've listened to crap from Megadeth to Metallica, Iron Maiden to Metallica, all a bunch of beer-drinking, red neck, 'roteux' music.

      I've fallen in love with punk and hardcore, and for a while I liked rap and hip hop, actually if it wasn't for the black power, cunt sucking points of view I'd still be listening.

      No, my heart lives inside the darkest of sounds, the classical, Gothic, doomy, black orchestral, symphonic, nightmarish sounds of the alternative. Something drew me in and never let go: The Cure, My Dying Bride, The Gathering, Skinny Puppy and so on. I gathered my fantasies from these groups, your nightmares were my daydreams, I wanted to be one of them, one with them, to be on stage and have the crowd rape me with their eyes. I used to go to shows, just to be surrounded by people like me. We'd crash our bodies into each other in the mosh pit, creating a bizarre orgy. I never felt satisfied unless I left the show beaten and broken. I remember being groped as I moshed through the crowd, all those hands feeling me all over, the sweating bodies next to mine, heating me up.

      I have dreamed of sucking Trent Reznor live on the stage before thousands of wanting eyes. Sex was never so pleasant as when I did it after a violent concert, there were times with Justin were orgasms seemed to last forever. We even made our sexual practices into art, Justin would film me masturbating, until I exploded on the lens.

      Last night I watched Gabriel and his dominatrix, Dominique, perform in front of a handful of people at The Basement. I wish I had the courage to be with him, to have all those voyeurs wanting me, feeling my pain inside their minds. Nothing, except sex, can be more satisfying.

      There is something of a style in the underground: the pretty clothes, wearing the nicest, finest or simply the most decent, cleanest looking clothes in the fashion industry; unlike grunge were people spend money to look like street folk (there's nothing wrong with that, I like fucking punks, and they ain't that clean). We were flamboyant and sometimes scary.

      I can't say much about fashion, since I know nothing. I do know what looks nice and what looks good on people, but don't ask for my statement on clothes in general. All I know is that I like clothes that are dark and scary. Something that gives potential lovers goose-bumps all over.

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