When I was twelve I had just started seventh grade in middle school in my small town in Oregon, let's just say it was an eventful year for me. I had always known that I was different from most other boys, they always talked about girls while I always stared at my male classmates. I knew I liked boys, but I never had a term for what that was until a few days later. There was a dance coming up and I, being ignorant at the time, asked one of my friends to come with me, as a date. It didn't go so well. He and some of my other "friends" came up to me later that day, cornered me, and began pushing me while saying vulgar obscenities: "faggot," "cocksucker," "queer," "gay," etc. as well as many other things their seventh grade minds could think of. I went home that day crying and longing for my mother. When I got home I told her everything! Did I get the reaction I wanted, my mother loved me and told me everything will be okay? No. Instead I went by more vulgar names: “ball licker,” “cum eater,” “gay,” and my favorite “penis breath.” Not only did I free myself...