Not Another Teen Movie


The other day, I was channel surfing and American Pie was on. I watched it. It’s one of those movies that feels important. It had such a big part in shaping the adolescence of so many people, whilst also ruining flutes for a good portion of the population. But as I watched, what struck me was a complete absence of queer characters. And, quite frankly, that shit is whack. 

Whether we like it or not teen movies are important in shaping our sexual and social development. For most of us, they offer some of our first moments of self-recognition, some of our first moments of arousal or attraction. You watch teen gross-out movies and feel good about all of your angst and your feelings and how sometimes you touch yourself down there. In a time where our entire world is in a state of flux, teen-movies reassure us that it’s okay, that we’re okay and that we aren’t completely disgusting.  But as I watched Jim stick his dick into that pie, I couldn’t help but feel a little bit gipped by the whole operation.

Where the fuck was my pie? 

As a gay man and a closeted teen, the closest thing I got to mainstream representation was watching a news report about George Michael fucking a stranger in a bathroom. I watched it while eating dinner with my family one night, and my dad probably said something ridiculous like, ‘more like a ‘Careless Whimper’’ and no one would’ve laughed because he’s not very funny.

But watching Jim hump that pie reminded me of some of the dumb and gross stuff that I did growing up, and in an effort to fill the gap (in representation), I want to give you a slice of gay pie. My gay pie. 

I was around fifteen and I’d just discovered gay porn. It became a nightly ritual that I’d watch some porn, jack off, orgasm and then lie there for a while staring up at my bedroom ceiling. I would try to convince myself that I wasn’t gay, or that I was. Or that what I was doing was okay. I remember laying in bed, tears streaming down my face, trying to mouth or whisper ‘I’m gay’ over and over again without cringing afterwards. I couldn’t.  I didn’t feel gay; it didn’t feel like a real thing that I could be. I wasn’t like those porn stars; I’d never even had something in my ass before… how could I know? I decided that the only way I was going to know if I was gay was if I could put something up my ass. I couldn’t think of anything gayer. 

"That night, mid-jack off (with my opposite hand), I got inspired and grabbed a Crayola pencil from my desk. It was magenta (which wasn’t planned, but fit the whole situation aesthetically)."

The next day I googled, ‘things to put in your ass that aren’t a dildo’ and came across a Yahoo! Answers page that said one should get a penis shaped vegetable (eg: a cucumber) and warm it up in the microwave so that it ‘felt human’. I ran to the fridge and opened up the vegetable crisper. There were no cucumbers, only a zucchini and a carrot. I went with a smallish carrot, and put it in the microwave for two minutes. When the buzzer sounded, I reached in and grabbed the carrot and burnt the inside of my hand. I ran back to the Yahoo! answers page, which told me that I should microwave my vegetable for twenty seconds. I threw the carrot away.  How could I be gay? Gay guys were meant to be good in the kitchen. 

That night, mid-jack off (with my opposite hand), I got inspired and grabbed a Crayola pencil from my desk. It was magenta (which wasn’t planned, but fit the whole situation aesthetically). I spat on it and pushed it in to my anus slowly. It was uncomfortable, it felt lifeless and I couldn’t help but think that maybe I should’ve warmed it up first. But I kept going; if I could finish I’d finally be gay, I told myself. This was it. That was what it was going to take. And I did finish, but as my body twitched and convulsed as I climaxed, I heard a sudden and sharp snapping sound, and felt the pressure in my asshole ease a little: did the pencil cum, too? I thought. 

No. No it hadn’t. The pencil broke. And it was inside of me. 

Five thoughts ran through my head:
1.    Do I go and get mum? (No).
2.    Maybe if I keep it in there, and then stage a fall in art class, I can get away with it?
3.    How strong is my anus?
4.    Splinters, dear God splinters. 
5.    If I die right now, will my cause of death be ‘Crayola’ for fuck sake?

After about two hours of careful shuffling and swaying my hips side to side as I lay there, the situation sorted itself out. I haven’t used a Crayola since… but I kind of like that a Crayola pencil is my placeholder for the heterosexual American Apple Pie. I sincerely hope they’re sturdier now. Every now and then I’ll see someone using one, and they’ll put it in their mouth for a second and I can’t help but feel violently ill. 

But, as a gay teen, I never really got to be represented by Jim’s dick in that pie or a flute in a vagina. But I did stick a pencil up my ass. And that’s teen movie enough for me...