Golden Boys – Part II

  1. Campers are not permitted to wear any item of clothing that is of the following colour: pink, purple or yellow. Any variation of shade of said colours are also prohibited, especially pastels.

 

Inside cabin five, myself and the other              10’s            put our suitcases on our adopted beds. Trevor

walking down the line, trails

footprints of                blood,

discarding our queer clothing onto a pile

where the windows filter dusty sunlight.

“This is where your therapy begins. This is the start of your new legitimate lives. This is where you are saved from the flood.”

YMCA Trevor stops at the bed next to mine.

A black, overweight guy… girl… guy…

ambivalent

stands tchupsing next to their suitcase.

“You were told in the brochure before you arrived the rules concerning clothing: no yellows, no purples and definitely no pinks. For you to be heterosexual, you must look heterosexual. Do you want to be saved?”

The ambivalent pulls down her fake Chanel sunglasses like a B-List celebrity.

“What is your name?” asks Trevor.

“It’s Carmen.”

“Do you want to be saved, Carmen?” he snatches the sunglasses off Carmen’s face.

“Sure honey, whatever.”

Trevor turns their suitcase upside down. A fabric rainbow tumbles out: kimonos, long shirts, tiny denim shorts and other                  faggy               clothes land next to his manlybrownboots.

“Looks like we’re going to have to get you some new clothes.”

Brushing their hands through their short afro

and flinging their silk scarf over their shoulder in one

fabulous motion,

Carmen sits down on their camp bed like a queen without a castle.

 

The gay inside of me winces as it anticipates my turn; out go my yellow and green stripped socks and my pink Hollister T-shirt.

“And what is this?” His triumph thickens the air as he pulls out a long, black

box.

“Oh, that? That’s my flute.”

“A flute? Why would you bring that to camp?”

“I, umm… thought I’d get some practice in.”

“Well you won’t have time for any practice.”

Trevor confiscates my flute, along with my clothes.

Yet,                                         I still feel the same.                             Nothing’s                     changed.

Gabriel’s bed is next to mine. His clothes are fine though, they’re mostly black.

Mostly                                                                                                    straight.

Mostly                                                                                                 normal.

 

In Trevor’s image our

bleached blue bodies appear

flawless.

He returns to the front of the cabin and addresses his hetero creations:

“Well, now that’s over. Welcome to Camp Noah! My name is Trevor and I shall be Cabin Five’s personal Camp Instructor. In here is all you will need for the next two weeks: your sleeping quarters, a bathroom to the back and the pin board on the door that has the timetable of your daily activities and therapies. Congratulations for completing your first one. You are all one step close to being cured! By removing any homo-suggestive clothing you are opening up your body and soul to change. As you look more heterosexual, you will act more heterosexual. Our second activity will be tonight at the welcome camp fire. Everyone needs to be there at eight o’clock. Go and settle yourselves in and let’s begin to build the ark to save your souls!”

“Don’t think I have a soul left to save; sorry, sexy,” Gabriel says, stretching out on his bed.

“You will address me as Trevor, and not use any of your homosexual language here. You do have a soul, camper Gabriel. And we shall build the ark that will keep it afloat.”

“Whatever you say, sexy,” says Gabriel.

Flustered, Trevor leaves the cabin, his heavy footsteps following him

out of the door.

 

Between a tranny and Gabriel, I sit on my bed                      drowning.

“Hey, number Ten, you any good.” Gabriel rolls over on his side,

His eyes darting over my submerged body.

“Any good at what?”

“Blowjobs. What you think? Your flute, queer boy.”

“Yeah, I’m not bad,” I say.

“Strange thing to bring to a camp like this though…”

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