“Come live your secret dream…” 

My eighth grade teacher explained to us, separated from our female peers, that it’s okay to masturbate. That we shouldn’t feel shame- that it’s normal human behavior. Later, on the playground, we collectively processed this information; we were uncomfortable. We accused one another of being masturbators. Each boy denied this accusation with vehemence; each boy except Teddy. Teddy stood with defiance; he refused to engage; he thought talking about it was “gay.” He would neither confirm nor deny his status as masturbator. Later that night- in a remote part of town, behind the neighborhood water tower, where a teenager could explore the night time world without invasive eyes- in the shadow of an older brother’s car headlights, a struggle session took place. Dave was never happy with the unresolved. Things got tense. Knowledge of truth’s existence will demand its reveal by way of invisible forces and self-perpetuating inertia. Even still, Teddy refused to budge. Later that night we listened to Metallica while looking at his collection of Playboy magazines.

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