Shame (GM)

I intended to post this in the Blendeds vs. Exclusives vs. Sitch Molesters,
following LOD's admission. Since I'm not 100% sure I'm exclusive, it's here instead.

Gym with Fatso. The usual routine, sit ups, push ups, running around.
Anything to control the young males around the females. I glance at the girls, their big boobs (DD? They're far too large for my taste), big butts, hairy legs and armpits. As the other guys regain their energy, they drool, as always. Those girls are attractive? I am repulsed. Surely, there must be a miss Right for me, somewhere. (How naive I was, wanting to be normal). Just not any of them.

A whistle sounds, a number of girls enter, followed by Butch, the misandric. I cast a brief glance, which become a look, then a stare. They are nine or ten years old, some of them wearing tightfitting shorts and tops, leaving their tummies bare.

Groans and moans and murmur - having to share with little girls, how awful! For the next hours, I'm in heaven. These girls are, in some strange way I can't quite admit (even to myself) or understand , much cuter than they're supposed to be. Attractive? No, no, that can't be. At 15, I'm too old for them. Yet, I turn my eyes from the Medusi, towards these goddesses. Glances:

The petite redhead, hair shining even in the harsh illumination. She runs oblivious to any commands, as if catching butterflies on meadow in summer. Did she just catch my heart?

The blonde, doing sit ups. A bead of perspiration, running slowly down her tanned tummy. I wish I was that bead, caressing her skin, finding final rest near the holy oasis.

The brunette, a brief glimpse of an iota of that perfect behind, while doing push ups. Then running past, she brushes my arm. I exhale, my last breath? I was touched by that holy spirit, touched.

Fatso whistles, everyone stops. Intoxicated from her touch, I find courage. We exchange a few words, with her I have no need for rest. She's M, and has been doing this (gymnastics? heartstealing?) since she was four. I'm impressed, and tell her so. A smile. She flexes her abs, relaxes. flexes. Grins, when I can't take my eyes of her. Something inside me stir... I desperately conjure up images of Butch in the shower, M winks and runs off.

Fatso's whistle - it ends, all to soon. I drag my feet, fighting gravity. Butch's whistle. I'm exiled from this unknown paradise, into a stinky hell.

In the showers, this time I'm thankful for bad pipes with mostly cold water. I try to keep my mind on Butch, when much more pleasant images intrude and my imagination, however briefly, takes over.
That thing happens, to the amusement of the guys, and my shame.
"Queer!" "Alan's a fucking queer!" Laughter. I flee from the shower, wishing I could jump into a hole to anywhere (my deceitful imagination conjures up a particulary nice place, which doesn't help at all under the circumstances). No hole, not even an easy death. Instead Stinky, aptly named since he has refused to wash during the years I've known him, nude infront of me, asking for my oral services.
Knowing I'm fucked, but hopefully not litteraly, I give him what he wants: I enlighten him on his lack of personal hygine, throwing in a hint that, straight as I am, I prefer any pussy but him.

My head snaps back in an explosion of pain, as Stinky hits my nose. As his friends join in the fun begins. I get in a few punches, some even in hurtful places. In the end I'm bloody, from a cut lip and busted nose. Every breath hurts from bruised ribs. And through the pain, I am happy. Alone in the locker room, I laugh like mad. They didn't know shit, thinking I was queer, and they never will.